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C J Dennis - The Call of Stoush
Work rating: Low

Wot price ole Ginger Mick?  `E`s done a break -
   Gone to the flamin` war to stoush the foe.
Wus it fer glory, or a woman`s sake?
   Ar, arst me somethin` easy! I dunno.
`Is Kharki clobber set `im off a treat,
That`s all I know; `is motive`s got me beat.

Ole Mick `e`s trainin` up in Cairo now;
   An` all the cops in Spadger`s Lane is sad.
They miss `is music in the midnight row
   Wot time the pushes mix it good an` glad.
Fer `e wus one o` them, you understand,
Wot "soils the soshul life uv this fair land."

A peb wus Mick; a leery bloke wus `e,
   Low down, an` given to the brinnin` cup;
The sort o` chap that coves like you an` me
   Don`t mix wiv, `cos of our strick bringin`s-up.
An` `e wus sich becos unseein` Fate
Lobbed `im in life a `undred years too late.

`E wus a man uv vierlence, wus Mick,
   Coarse wiv `is speech an` in `is manner low,
Slick wiv `is `ands, an` `andy wiv a brick
   When bricks wus needful to defeat a foe.
An` now `e`s gone an` mizzled to the war,
An` some blokes `as the nerve to arst "Wot for?"

Wot for? gawstruth! `E wus no patriot
   That sits an` brays advice in days uv strife;
`E never flapped no flags nor sich like rot;
   `E never sung "Gawsave" in all `is life.
`E wus dispised be them that make sicg noise:
But now - O strike! - `e`s "one uv our brave boys."

`E`s one uv our brave boys, all right, all right.
   `Is early trainin` down in Spadgers Lane
Done `im no `arm fer this `ere orl-in fight:
   `Is loss o` culcher is `is country`s gain.
`Im wiv `is carst-ir`n chiv an` leery ways -
An` swell tarts `eavin` `im sweet words o` praise.

Why did `e go?  `E `ad a decent job,
   `Is tart an` `im they could `a` made it right.
Why does a wild bull fight to guard the mob?
   Why does a bloomin` bull-ant look fer fight?
Why does a rooster scrap an` flap an` crow?
`E went becos `e dam well `ad to go.

`E never spouted no `igh-soundin` stuff
   About stern jooty an` `is country`s call;
But, in `is way, `e `eard it right enough
   A-callin` like the shout uv "On the Ball!"
Wot time the footer brings the clicks great joy,
An` Saints or Carlton roughs it up wiv `Roy.

The call wot came to cave-men in the days
   When rocks wus stylish in the scrappin` line;
The call wot knights `eard in the minstrel`s lays,
   That sent `em in tin soots to Palerstine;
The call wot draws all fighters to the fray
It come to Mick, an` Mick `e must obey.

The Call uv Stoush!… It`s older than the `ills.
   Lovin` an` fightin` - there`s no more to tell
Concernin` men.  an` when that feelin` thrills
   The blood uv them `oo`s fathers mixed it well,
They `ave to `eed it - bein` `ow they`re built -
As traders `ave to `eed the clink uv gilt.

An` them whose gilt `as stuffed `em stiff wiv pride
   An` `aughty scorn uv blokes like Ginger Mick -
I sez to them, put sich crook thorts aside,
   An` don`t lay on the patronage too think.
Orl men is brothers when it comes to lash
An` `aughty scorn an` Culcher does their lash.

War ain`t no giddy garden feete - it`s war:
   A game that calls up love an` `atred both.
An` them that shudders at the sight o` gore,
   An` shrinks to `ear a drunken soljer`s oath,
Must `ide be`ind the man wot `eaves the bricks,
An` thank their Gawd for all their Ginger Micks.
 
Becos `e never `ad the chance to find
   The glory o` the world by land an` sea,
Becos the beauty `idin` in `is mind
   Wus not writ plain fer blokes like you an` me,
They calls `im crook; but in `im I `ave found
Wot makes a man a man the world around.

Be`ind that dile uv `is, as `ard as sin,
   Wus strange, soft thorts that never yet showed out;
An` down in Spadger`s Lane, in dirt an` din,
   `E dreamed sich dreams as poits sing about.
`E`s `ad `is visions uv the Bonzer Tart;
An` stoushed some coot to ease `is swellin` `eart.

Lovin` an` fightin` . . . when the tale is told,
   That`s all there is to it; an` in their way
Them brave an` noble `ero blokes uv old
   Wus Ginger Micks - the crook `uns uv their day.
Jist let the Call uv Stoush give `im `is chance
An` Ginger Mick`s the `ero of Romance.

So Ginger Mick `e`s mizzled to the war;
   Joy in `is `eart, an` wild dreams in `is brain;
Gawd `elp the foe that `e goes gunnin` for
   If tales is true they tell in Spadger`s Lane -
Tales that ud fairly freeze the gentle `earts
Uv them `oo knits `is socks - the Culchered Tarts.
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