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Edward 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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