Edward Dyson - Weeping WillieEdward Dyson - Weeping Willie
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Whey our trooper hit wide water every
heart was yearin` back
To the little `ouse at Coogee or a hut at Bar-
renjack.
She was `ookin` up to spike the stars, or rootin`
in the wave,
An` me liver turned a hand spring with each
buck the beggar gave.
Then we pulls a sick `n` silly smile `n` tips a
saucy lid,
Crackin` hardy. Willie didn`t. Willie
snivelled like a kid.
At Gallip` the steamer dumped us, `n` we got
right down to work,
Whoopin` up the hill splendacious, playin`
tiggie with the Turk.
When the stinkin` Abdul hit us we curled
down upon a stone,
`N` we yelled for greater glory, crackin` `ardy
on our own.
Not so Willie. He was cursin`, cold ez death
`n` grey ez steel,
`N` the smallest thing that busted made the
little blighter squeal.
In the bitter day`s that follered, spillin` life be-
side the sea,
We would fake a spry expression for the things
that had to be,
Always dressin` up the winder, crackin` `ardy
though we felt
Fearful creepy in the whiskers, very cold be-
neath the belt.
But his jills would sniff `n` shiver in the mother
of a fright,
`N` go blubberin` `n` quakin` out to waller in
the fight.
In the West we liked the weather, `n` we fat-
tened in the mud,
Crackin` `ardy, stewed together, rats an`
slurry men `n` blood.
Weepin` Willie wouldn`t have it these was
pleasin` things abed,
`N` he shuddered in his shimmy if they passed
him with the dead.
When he cried about his mother, in a gentle
voice he`d tell
Them as dumb-well didn`t like it they could go
to sudden `ell.
There was nothin` sweet for Willie in a rough-
up in the wet;
But if all things scared him purple, not a thing
had stopped him yet.
If some chaps was wanted urgent special dirty
work to do
Willie went in with a shudder, but he alwiz
saw it through.
Oh, a busy little body was our Willie in a
crush!
Then he`d cry out in the night about the faces
in the slush.
Well they pinked him one fine mornin` with
a thumpin` `unk iv shell;
Put it in `n` all across him. What he was
you couldn`t tell.
I saw him stitched `n` mended where he
whimpered in his bed,
`N` he`d on`y lived because he was afraid to
die, he said.
Sez he “Struth, they`re out there fightin`,
trimmin` Boshes good `n` smart,
While I`m bedded here `n` `elpless. It fair
breaks a feller`s `eart.”
But he came again last Tuesday `-n` we go it
in a breath—
“London`s big `n` black `n` noisy. It would
scare a bloke to death.”
He`s away now in the trenches, white `n`
nervous, but, you bet,
Playin` lovely `ands of poker with his busy
bay-o-net,
`Fraid of givin` `n` of takin`, `fraid of gases,
`fraid of guns—
But a champion lightweight terror to the gor-
forsaken `Uns!
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