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Robert W Service - Bill The Bomber
Work rating: Low

The poppies gleamed like bloody pools through cotton-woolly mist;
The Captain kept a-lookin` at the watch upon his wrist;
And there we smoked and squatted, as we watched the shrapnel flame;
`Twas wonnerful, I`m tellin` you, how fast them bullets came.
`Twas weary work the waiting, though; I tried to sleep a wink,
For waitin` means a-thinkin`, and it doesn`t do to think.
So I closed my eyes a little, and I had a niceish dream
Of a-standin` by a dresser with a dish of Devon cream;
But I hadn`t time to sample it, for suddenlike I woke:
"Come on, me lads!" the Captain says, `n I climbed out through the smoke.
We spread out in the open: it was like a bath of lead;
But the boys they cheered and hollered fit to raise the bloody dead,
Till a beastly bullet copped `em, then they lay without a sound,
And it`s odd — we didn`t seem to heed them corpses on the ground.
And I kept on thinkin`, thinkin`, as the bullets faster flew,
How they picks the werry best men, and they lets the rotters through;
So indiscriminatin` like, they spares a man of sin,
And a rare lad wot`s a husband and a father gets done in.
And while havin` these reflections and advancin` on the run,
A bullet biffs me shoulder, and says I: "That`s number one."

Well, it downed me for a jiffy, but I didn`t lose me calm,
For I knew that I was needed: I`m a bomber, so I am.
I `ad lost me cap and rifle, but I "carried on" because
I `ad me bombs and knew that they was needed, so they was.
We didn`t `ave no singin` now, nor many men to cheer;
Maybe the shrapnel drowned `em, crashin` out so werry near;
And the Maxims got us sideways, and the bullets faster flew,
And I copped one on me flipper, and says I: "That`s number two."

I was pleased it was the left one, for I `ad me bombs, ye see,
And `twas `ard if they`d be wasted like, and all along o` me.
And I`d lost me `at and rifle — but I told you that before,
So I packed me mit inside me coat and "carried on" once more.
But the rumpus it was wicked, and the men were scarcer yet,
And I felt me ginger goin`, but me jaws I kindo set,
And we passed the Boche first trenches, which was `eapin` `igh with dead,
And we started for their second, which was fifty feet ahead;
When something like a `ammer smashed me savage on the knee,
And down I came all muck and blood: Says I: "That`s number three."

So there I lay all `elpless like, and bloody sick at that,
And worryin` like anythink, because I`d lost me `at;
And thinkin` of me missis, and the partin` words she said:
"If you gets killed, write quick, ol` man, and tell me as you`re dead."
And lookin` at me bunch o` bombs — that was the `ardest blow,
To think I`d never `ave the chance to `url them at the foe.
And there was all our boys in front, a-fightin` there like mad,
And me as could `ave `elped `em wiv the lovely bombs I `ad.
And so I cussed and cussed, and then I struggled back again,
Into that bit of battered trench, packed solid with its slain.

Now as I lay a-lyin` there and blastin` of me lot,
And wishin` I could just dispose of all them bombs I`d got,
I sees within the doorway of a shy, retirin` dug-out
Six Boches all a-grinnin`, and their Captain stuck `is mug out;
And they `ad a nice machine gun, and I twigged what they was at;
And they fixed it on a tripod, and I watched `em like a cat;
And they got it in position, and they seemed so werry glad,
Like they`d got us in a death-trap, which, condemn their souls! they `ad.
For there our boys was fightin` fifty yards in front, and `ere
This lousy bunch of Boches they `ad got us in the rear.

Oh it set me blood a-boilin` and I quite forgot me pain,
So I started crawlin`, crawlin` over all them mounds of slain;
And them barstards was so busy-like they `ad no eyes for me,
And me bleedin` leg was draggin`, but me right arm it was free. . . .
And now they `ave it all in shape, and swingin` sweet and clear;
And now they`re all excited like, but — I am drawin` near;
And now they `ave it loaded up, and now they`re takin` aim. . . .
Rat-tat-tat-tat! Oh here, says I, is where I join the game.
And my right arm it goes swingin`, and a bomb it goes a-slingin`,
And that "typewriter" goes wingin` in a thunderbolt of flame.

Then these Boches, wot was left of `em, they tumbled down their `ole,
And up I climbed a mound of dead, and down on them I stole.
And oh that blessed moment when I heard their frightened yell,
And I laughed down in that dug-out, ere I bombed their souls to hell.
And now I`m in the hospital, surprised that I`m alive;
We started out a thousand men, we came back thirty-five.
And I`m minus of a trotter, but I`m most amazin` gay,
For me bombs they wasn`t wasted, though, you might say, "thrown away".
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