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C J Dennis - `A Gallant Gentleman`
Work rating: Low

A month ago the world grew grey fer me;
   A month ago the light went out fer Rose.
To `er they broke it gentle as might be;
   But fer `is pal `twus one uv them swift blows
That stops the `eart-beat; fer to me it came
Jist, "Killed in Action," an` beneath `is name.

`Ow many times `ave I sat dreamin`  `ere
   An` seen the boys returnin`, gay an` proud.
I`ve seen the greetin`s, `eard `is rousin` cheer,
   An` watched ole Mick come stridin` thro` the crowd.
`Ow many times `ave I sat in this chair
An` seen `is `ard chiv grinnin` over there.

`E`s laughed, an` told me stories uv the war.
   Changed some `e looked, but still the same ole Mick,
Keener an` cleaner than `e wus before;
   `E`s took me `and, an` said `e`s in great nick.
Sich wus the dreamin`s uv a fool `oo tried
To jist crack `ardy, an` `old gloom aside.

An` now - well, wot`s the odds?  I`m only one:
   One out uv many `oo `as lost a friend.
Manlike, I`ll bounce again, an` find me fun;
   But fer Poor Rose it seems the bitter end.
Fer Rose, an` sich as Rose, when one man dies
It seems the world goes black before their eyes.

Ar, well; if Mick could `ear me blither now,
   I know jist wot `e`d say an` `ow `e`d look:
"Aw, cut it out, mate; chuck that silly row!
   There ain`t so sense in takin` sich things crook.
I`ve took me gamble; an` there`s none to blame
Becos I drew a blank; it`s in the game."

A parson cove he broke the noos to Rose -
   A friend uv mine, a bloke wiv snowy `air,
An` gentle, soothin` sort o`ways, `oo goes
   Thro` life jist `umpin` others` loads uv care.
Instid uv Mick - jist one rough soljer lad -
Yeh`d think `e`d lost the dearest friend `e `ad.

But `ow kin blows be sof`n`d sich as that?
   Rose took it as `er sort must take sich things.
An` if the jolt uv it `as knocked me flat,
   Well, `oo is there to blame `er if it brings
Black thorts that comes to women when they frets,
An` makes `er tork wild tork an` foolish threats.

An` then there comes the letter that wus sent
   To give the strength uv Ginger`s passin` out -
A long, straight letter frum a bloke called Trent;
   `Tain`t no use tellin` wot it`s orl about:
There`s things that`s in it I kin see quite clear
Ole Ginger Mick ud be ashamed to `ear.

Things praisin `im, that pore ole Mick ud say
   Wus comin` it too `ot; fer, spare me days!
I well remember that `e `ad a way
   Uv curlin` up when `e wus slung bokays.
An` Trent `e seems to think that in some way
`E owes Mick somethin` that `e can`t repay.

Well, p`raps `e does,- an` in the note `e sends
   `E arsts if Mick `as people `e kin find.
Fer Trent`s an English toff wiv swanky friends,
   An` wants to `elp wot Ginger`s left be`ind.
`E sez strange things in this `ere note `e sends:
"He was a gallant gentleman," it ends.

A gallant gentleman!  Well, I dunno.
   I `ardly think that Mick ud like that name.
But this `ere Trent`s a toff, an` ort to know
   The breedin` uv the stock frum which `e came.
Gallant an` game Mick might `a` bin; but then -
Lord!  Fancy `im among the gentlemen!

`E wus a man; that`s good enough fer me,
   `Oo wus `is cobber many years before
`E writ it plain fer other blokes to see,
   An` proved it good an` pleny at the war.
`E wus a man; an`, by the way `e died,
`E wus a man `is friend can claim wiv pride.

The way `e died… Gawd! but it makes me proud
   I ever `eld `is `and, to read that tale.
An` Trent is one uv that `igh-steppin` crowd
   That don`t sling pral`se around be ev`ry mail.
To `im it seemed some great `eroic lurk;
But Mick, I know, jist took it wiv `is work.

No matter wot `e done.  It`s jist a thing
   I knoo `e`d do if once `e got the show.
An` it would never please `im fer to sling
   Tall tork at `im jist cos `e acted so.
"Don`t make a song uv it!" I `ear `im growl,
"I`ve done me limit, an` tossed in the tow`l."

This little job, `e knoo - an` I know well -
   A thousand uv `is cobbers would `ave done.
Fer they are soljers; an` it`s crook to tell
   A tale that marks fer praise a single one.
An` that`s `ow Mick wopuold `ave it, as I kow;
An`, as `e`d `ave it, so we`ll let it go.

Trent tells `ow, when they found `im, near the end,
   `E starts a fag an` grins orl bright an` gay.
An` when they arsts fer messages to send
   To friends, `is look goes dreamin` far away.
"Look after Rose," `e sez, "when I move on.
Look after… Rose… Mafeesh!" An` `e wus gone.

"We buried `im," sez Trent, "down by the beach.
   We put mimosa on the mound uv sand
Above `im.  `Twus the nearest thing in reach
   To golden wattle uv `is native land.
But never wus the fairest wattle wreath
More golden than the `eart uv `im beneath."

An` so - Mafeesh! as Mick `ad learned to say.
   `E`s finished; an` there`s few `as marked `im go.
Only one soljer, outed in the fray,
   `Oo took `is gamble, an` `oo `a `is show.
There`s few to mourn `im: an` the less they leave,
The less uv sorrer, fewer `earts to grieve.

An` when I`m feelin` blue, an` mopin` `ere
   About h epal I`ve lorst; Doreen, my wifem
She come an` takes my `and, an` tells me, "Dear,
   Ther`s be more cause to mourn a wasted life.
`E proved `imself a man, an` `e`s at rest."
An` so, I tries to think sich things is best.

A gallant gentleman… Well, let it go.
   They sez they`ve put them words above `is `ead,
Out there where lonely graves stretch in a row;
   But Mick `ell never mind it now `e`s dead.
An` where `e`s gone, when they weigh praise an` blame,
P`raps gentlemen an` men is much the same.

They fights; an` orl the land is filled wiv cheers.
   They dies; an` `ere an` there a `eart is broke.
An` when I weighs it orl - the shouts, the tears -
   I sees it`s well Mick wus a lonely bloke.
`E found a game `e knoo, an` played it well;
An` now `e`s gone.  Wot more is there to tell?

A month ago, fer me the world grew grey;
   A month ago the light went out fer Rose;
Becos one common soljer crossed the way,
   Leavin` a common message as `e goes.
But ev`ry dyin` soljer`s `ope lies there:
"Look after Rose. Mafeesh!" Gawd! It`s a pray`r!

That`s wot it is; an` when yeh sort it out,
   Shuttin` yer ears to orl the sounds o` strife -
The shouts, the cheers, the curses - `oo kin doubt
   The claims uv women; mother, sweet`eart, wife?
An` `oos to `ear our soljers` dyin` wish?
An` `oo`s to `eed? . . . "Look after Rose . . . Mafeesh!"
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