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C J Dennis - Ginger`s Cobber
Work rating: Low

"`E wears perjarmer soots an` cleans `is teeth,"
   That`s wot I reads.  It fairly knocked me flat,
"Me soljer cobber, be the name o` Keith."
   Well, if that ain`t the limit, strike me fat!
The sort that Ginger Mick would think beneath
`Is notice once.  Perjarmers!  Cleans `is teeth?

Ole Ginger Mick `as sent a billy-doo
   Frum somew`ere on the earth where fightin` thick.
The Censor wus a sport to let it thro`,
   Considerin` the choice remarks o` Mick.
It wus that `ot, I`m wond`rin` since it came
It didn`t set the bloomin` mail aflame.

I`d love to let yeh `ave it word fer word;
   But, strickly, it`s a bit above the odds;
An` there`s remarks that`s `ardly ever `eard
   Amongst the company to w`ich we nods.
It seems they use the style in Ginger`s trench
Wot`s written out an` `anded to the Bench.

I tones the langwidge down to soot the ears
   Of sich as me an` you resorts wiv now.
If I should give it jist as it appears
   Partic`lar folk might want ter make a row.
But say, yeh`d think ole Ginger wus a pote
If yeh could read some juicy bits `e`s wrote.

It`s this noo pal uv `is that tickles me;
   `E`s got a mumma, an` `is name is Keith.
A knut upon the Block le used to be,
   `Ome `ere; the sort that flashes golden teeth,
An` wears `or socks, an` torks a lot o` guff;
But Ginger sez they`re cobbers till they snuff.

It come about like this: Mick spragged `im first
   Fer swankin` it too much abroad the ship.
`E `ad nice manners an` `e never cursed;
   Which set Mick`s teeth on edge, as you may tip.
Likewise, `e `ad two silver brushes, w`ich
`Is mumma give `im, `cos `e fancied sich.

Mick pinched `em.  Not, as you will understand,
   Becos uv any base desire fer loot,
But jist becos, in that rough soljer band,
   Them silver-backed arrangements didn`t soot:
An` etiket must be observed always.
(They fetched ten drinks in Cairo, Ginger says.)

That satisfied Mick`s honour fer a bit,
   But still `e picks at Keith fer exercise,
An` all the other blokes near `as a fit
   To see Mick squirm at Keith`s perlite replies,
Till one day Keith `owls back "You flamin` cow!"
Then Mick permotes `im, an` they `as a row.

I sez "permotes `im," fer, yeh`ll understand
   Ole Ginger `as `is pride o` class orl right;
`E`s not the bloke to go an` soil `is `and
   Be stoushin` any coot that wants to fight.
`Im, that `as `ad `is chances more`n once
Up at the Stajum, ain`t no bloomin` dunce.

Yeh`ll `ave to guess wot sort o` fight took place.
   Keith learnt `is boxin` at a "culcher" school.
The first three rounds, to save `im frum disgrace,
   Mick kids `im on an` plays the gentle fool.
An` then `e outs `im wiv a little tap,
An` tells `im `e`s a reg`lar plucky chap.

They likes each other better after that,
   Fer Ginger alwus `ad a reel soft spot
Fer blokes `oo `ad some man beneath their `at,
   An` never whined about the jolts they got.
Still, pride o` class kept `em frum gettin` thick.
It`s `ard to git right next to Ginger Mick.

Then comes Gallipoli an` wot Mick calls
   "An orl-in push fight multerplied be ten,"
An` one be one the orfficers they falls,
   Until there`s no one left to lead the men.
Fer `arf a mo` they `esitates stock still;
Fer `oo`s to lead `em up the flamin` `ill?

`Oo is to lead `em if it ain`t the bloke
   `0o`s `eaded pushes down in Spadger`s Lane,
Since `e first learnt to walk an` swear an` smoke,
   An` mixed it willin` both fer fun an` gain -
That narsty, ugly, vi`lent man, `oo`s got
Grip on the minds uv men when blood runs `ot?

Mick led `em; an` be`ind `im up the rise,
   `Owlin` an` cursin`, comes that mumma`s boy,
`Is cobber, Keith, with that look in `is eyes
   To give the `cart uv any leader joy.
An` langwidge!  If `is mar at `ome `ad `eard
She would `a` threw a fit at ev`ry word.

Mick dunno much about wot `appened then,
   Excep` `e felt `is Dream uv Stoush come true;
Fer `im an` Keith they fought like fifty men,
   An` felt like gawds wiv ev`ry breath they drew.
Then Ginger gits it solid in the neck,
An` flops; an` counts on passin` in `is check.

When `e come to, the light wus gettin` dim,
   The ground wus cold an` sodden underneath,
Someone is lyin` right `longside uv `im.
   Groanin` wiv pain, `e turns, an` sees it`s Keith -
Keith, wiv `is rifle cocked, an` starin` `ard
Ahead.  An` now `e sez "`Ow is it, pard?"

Mick gently lifts `is `ead an` looks around.
   There ain`t another flamin` soul in sight,
They`re covered be a bit o` risin` ground,
   An` rifle-fire is cracklin` to the right.
"Down!" sez the mumma`s joy.  "Don`t show yer `ead!
Unless yeh want it loaded full o` lead."

Then, bit be bit, Mick gits the strength uv it.
   They wus so occupied wiv privit scraps,
They never noticed `ow they come to git
   Right out ahead uv orl the other chaps.
They`ve bin cut orf, wiv jist one little chance
Uv gittin` back.  Mick seen it at a glance.

"`Ere, Kid," `e sez, "you sneak around that `ill.
   I`m down an` out; an` you kin tell the boys;"
Keith don`t reply to `im but jist lies still,
   An` signs to Ginger not to make a noise.
"`Ere, you!" sez Mick, "I ain`t the man to funk -
I won`t feel `ome-sick.  Imshee!  Do a bunk!"

Keith bites `is lips; `e never turns `is `ead.
   "Wot in the `ell;" sez Mick, "`ere, wot`s yer game?"
"I`m an Australian," that wus all `e said,
   An` pride took `old o` Mick to `ear that name -
A noo, glad pride that ain`t the pride o` class -
An` Mick`s contempt, it took the count at lars`!

All night they stayed there, Mick near mad wiv pain,
   An` Keith jist lettin` up `is watchful eye
To ease Mick`s wounds an` bind `em up again,
   An` give `im water, w`ile `imself went dry.
Brothers they wus, `oo found their brotherhood
That night on Sari Bair, an` found it good.

Brothers they wus.  I`m wond`rin`, as I read
   This scrawl uv Mick`s, an` git its meanin` plain,
If you, `oo never give these things no `eed,
   Ain`t got some brothers down in Spadger`s Lane -
Brothers you never `ad the chance to meet
Becos they got no time fer Collins Street.

"I`m an Australian." Well, it takes the bun!
   It`s got that soft spot in the `eart o` Mick.
But don`t make no mistake; `e don`t gush none,
   Or come them "brother`ood" remarks too thick.
`E only writes, "This Keith`s a decent coot,
 Cobber o` mine, an` white from cap to boot."

"`E wears perjarmers an` `e cleans `is teeth,"
   The sort o` bloke that Ginger once dispised!
But once a man shows metal underneath,
  Cobbers is found, an` brothers reckernised.
Fer, when a bloke`s soul-clobber`s shed in war,
`E looks the sort o` man Gawd meant `im for.
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