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Edward Dyson - Bricks
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Dear Ned, I now take up my pen to write 
     you these few lines, 
And hopin` how they find you fit. Gorbli`, 
     it seems an age 
Since Jumbo ducked the Port, `n` drilled `n` 
     polished to the nines, 
He walked his pork on Collins like a hero off 
     the stage, 
Then hiked a rifle `cross the sea this bleedin` 
     war to wage. 

The things what`s `appened lately calls to 
     Jumbo`s mind that day 
Our push took on the Peewee pack, `n` 
     belted out their lard, 
With twenty cops to top it off. But now I`m 
     stowed away, 
A bullet in me gizzard where I took it good 
     and hard, 
A-dealin`-stoush `n` mullock to the Prussian 
     flamin` Guard. 

At Bullcoor mortal charnce had dumped a 
     mutton-truck of us 
From good ole Port ker-flummox where we 
     didn`t orter be, 
All in a `elpless hole-the Pug, Bill Carkeek, 
     Son, `n` Gus, 
Don, Steve, `n` Jack, `n` seven more, `n`, as 
     it `appens, me, 
With nothin` in since breakfast, `n` a week 
     to go for tea. 

Worked loose from Caddy`s bunch, we went 
     it gay until we found 
We`d took to `arf the ragin` German Hempire 
     on our own. 
Then down we went so `umble, with our noses 
     in the ground, 
Takin` cover in the rubble. If a German head 
     was shown 
It was fare-the-well to Herman with a bullet 
     through the bone. 

We slogged the cows remorseless, `n` they 
     laid for us a treat. 
We held that stinkin` cellar, though, `n` when 
     the day was done 
Son pussied on his bingie where a Maxie trim 
     `n` neat 
Had spit out loaded lightnin`, and he slugged 
     a tubby Hun, 
Then choked a Fritzie with his dukes, `n` 
     pinched the sooner`s gun! 

We rigged her on her knuckle-bones. Cri`, 
     how she lapped `em up! 
We hosed `em out with livin` lead. That was 
     the second day. 
Me left eye I`d `ave give for jest a bubble in a 
     cup, 
Three fingers I`d `ave parted for a bone I`ve 
     flung away; 
But the butcher wasn`t callin`, `n` the fountain 
     didn`t play. 

T`was rotten mozzle, Neddo. We had blown 
     out ever clip, 
`N` `blooed the hammunition for the little box 
     of tricks. 
Each took a batten in his fist. Sez Billy 
     “Let `er rip!” 
But Son he claws his stubble. Sez—he: 
     “Hold a brace of ticks.” 
Then “Yow!” he pipes `n` “Strewth!” he 
     sez, “it`s bricks, you blighters, 
     bricks!” 

There`s more than `arf a million spilt where 
     somethin` hit a pub; 
We creeps among `n` sorts `em, stack afore, 
     `n` stack behind; 
The Hun is comin` at us with his napper like 
     a tub— 
You couldn`t `ope to miss it, pickled, par- 
     alysed, `n` blind. 
Sez Sonny: “Lay `em open! Give `em 
     blotches on the rind!” 

Then bricks was flyin` in the wind. Mine 
     dinted Otto`s chin; 
Ole Nosey got his brother, which he never 
     more will roam. 
When Ulrich stopped a Port bookay he rolled 
     his alley in. 
Their fire was somethin` fierce. Poor Son 
     was blowin` blood `n` foam, 
“Fill up,” he coughs, “`n` plug `em! S`elp 
     me Gord, we`re goin` `ome!” 

With bricks we drove right at `em `n` we 
     wanged `em best we could. 
`Twas either bed `n` breakfast or a scribble 
     and a wreath. 
Haynes bust a Prussian`s almond, took the 
     bay`net where he stood, 
Then heaved his last `arf-Brunswick, split 
     the demon`s grinnin` teeth, 
And Son went down in glory, with a German 
     underneath! 

We`d started out with gibbers in our clobber 
     and our `ats. 
They gave us floatin` lead enough to stop an 
     army cor. 
We yelled like fiends, `n` countered with a 
     lovely flight of bats, 
Then rushed in close formation, heavin` cot- 
     tages, n` tore 
Through blinded, bleedin` Bosches, `n` lor 
     love yeh, it was war! 

We came peltin`, headfirst, `elpless, in a drain 
     among a lot 
Of dirty, damned old Tommies (Gord! The 
     best that ever blew!) 
Eight left of us, all punctured, each man 
     holdin` what he`d got. 
Me wild, a rat hole in me lung, but in me 
     mauley, too, 
A bull-nosed brick with whiskers where no 
     whiskers ever grew. 

There`s nothin` doin` now. I wear me blan- 
     kets like a toff. 
The way this fat nurse pets me, strewth, it`s 
     well to be so sick, 
A-dreamin` of our contract `n` the way we 
     pulled it off. 
I reckon Haig is phonin` Hughes: “Hullo, 
     there, Billy. Quick— 
A dozen of the pushes and a thousan` tons 
     of brick!”
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