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C J Dennis - The Singing Soldiers
Work rating: Medium

"When I`m sittin` in me dug-out wiv me rifle on me knees,
An` a yowlin`, `owlin` chorus comes a-floatin` up the breeze -
   Jist a bit o` `Bonnie Mary` or `Long Way to Tipperary` -
Then I know I`m in Australia, took an` planted overseas.
   They`ve bin up agin it solid since we crossed the flamin` foam;
   But they`re singin` - alwiz singin` - since we left the wharf at `ome.

"O, it`s `On the Mississippi` or `Me Grey `Ome in the West.`
If it`s death an` `ell nex` minute they must git it orf their chest.
   `Ere`s a snatch o` `When yer Roamin` - When yer Roamin` in the Gloamin`.`
`Struth!  The first time that I `eard it, wiv me `ead on Rosie`s breast,
   We wus comin` frum a picnic in a Ferntree Gully train . . .
   But the shrapnel made the music when I `eard it sung again."

So I gits it straight frum Ginger in `is letter `ome to me,
On a dirty scrap o` paper wiv the writin` `ard to see.
   "Strike!" sez `e.  "It sounds like skitin`; but they`re singin` while 
      they`re fightin`;
An` they socks it into Abdul to the toon o` `Nancy Lee`.
   An` I seen a bloke this mornin` wiv `is arm blown to a rag,
   `Ummin` `Break the Noos to Mother`, w`ile `e sucked a soothin` fag.

"Now, the British Tommy curses, an` the French does fancy stunts,
An` the Turk `e `owls to Aller, an` the Gurkha grins an` grunts;
   But our boys is singin`, singin`, while the blinded shells is flingin`
Mud an` death inter the trenches in them `eavens called the Fronts.
   An` I guess their souls keep singin` when they gits the tip to go . . ."
   So I gits it, straight frum Ginger; an`, Gawstruth!  `e ort to know.

An` `is letter gits me thinkin` when I read sich tales as these,
An` I takes a look around me at the paddicks an` the trees;
   When I `ears the thrushes trillin`, when I `ear the magpies fillin`
All the air frum earth to `eaven wiv their careless melerdies -
   It`s the sunshine uv the country, caught an` turned to bonzer notes;
   It`s the sunbeams changed to music pourin` frum a thousand throats.

Can a soljer `elp `is singin` when `e`s born in sich a land?
Wiv the sunshine an` the music pourin` out on ev`ry `and;
   Where the very air is singin`, an` each breeze that blows is bringin`
`Armony an` mirth an` music fit to beat the `blazin` band.
   On the march, an` in the trenches, when a swingin` chorus starts,
   They are pourin` bottled sunshine of their `Omeland frum their `earts.

O I`ve `eard it, Lord, I`ve `eard it since the days when I wus young,
On the beach an` in the bar-room, in the bush I`ve `eard it sung;
   "Belle Mahone" an` "Annie Laurie," "Sweet Marie" to "Tobermory,"
Common toons and common voices, but I`ve `eard `em when they rung
   Wiv full, `appy `earts be`ind `em, careless as a thrush`s song -
   Wiv me arm around me cliner, an` me notions fur frum wrong.

So they growed wiv `earts a-singin` since the days uv careless kids;
Beefin` out an `appy chorus jist when Mother Nacher bids;
   Singin`, wiv their notes a-quiver, "Down upon the Swanee River,"
Them`s sich times I`d not be sellin` fer a stack uv golden quids.
   An` they`re singin`, still they`re singin`, to the sound uv guns an` drums,
   As they sung one golden Springtime underneath the wavin` gums.

When they socked it to the Southland wiv our sunny boys aboard -
Them that stopped a dam torpeder, an` a knock-out punch wus scored;
   Tho` their `ope o` life grew murky, wiv the ship `ead over turkey,
Dread o` death an` fear o` drownin` wus jist trifles they ignored.
   They spat out the blarsted ocean, an` they filled `emselves wiv air,
   An` they passed along the chorus of "Australia will be There".

Yes, they sung it in the water; an` a bloke aboard a ship
Sez `e knoo they wus Australians be the way thev give it lip -
   Sung it to the soothin` motion of the dam devourin` ocean
Like a crowd o` seaside trippers in to `ave a little dip.
   When I `card that tale, I tell yeh, straight, I sort o` felt a choke;
   Fer I seemed to `ear `em singin`, an` I know that sort o` bloke.

Yes, I know `im; so I seen `im, barrackin` Eternity.
An` the land that `e wus born in is the land that mothered me.
   Strike!  I ain`t no sniv`lin` blighter; but I own me eyes git brighter
When I see `em pokin` mullock at the everlastin` sea:
   When I `ear `em mockin` terror wiv a merry slab o` mirth,
   `Ell!  I`m proud I bin to gaol^ in sich a land as give `em birth!

"When I`m sittin` in me dug-out wiv the bullets droppin` near,"
Writes ole Ginger; "an` a chorus smacks me in the flamin` ear:
   P`raps a song that Rickards billed, or p`raps a line o` Waltz Matilder`,
Then I feel I`m in Australia, took an` shifted over `ere.
   Till the music sort o` gits me, an` I lets me top notes roam
   While I treats the gentle foeman to a chunk uv "Ome, Sweet `Ome`."

They wus singin` on the troopship, they wus singin` in the train;
When they left their land be`ind `em they wus shoutin` a refrain,
   An` I`ll bet they `ave a chorus, gay an` glad in greetin` for us,
When their bit uv scappin`s over, an` they lob back `ome again. . .
   An` the blokes that ain`t returnin` - blokes that`s paid the biggest price,
   They go singin`, singin`, singin` to the Gates uv Paradise.
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