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Robert W Service - The Odyssey Of `Erbert `Iggins
Work rating: Medium

Me and Ed and a stretcher
    Out on the nootral ground.
(If there`s one dead corpse, I`ll betcher
    There`s a `undred smellin` around.)
Me and Eddie O`Brian,
    Both of the R. A. M. C.
"It`as a `ell of a night
For a soul to take flight,"
    As Eddie remarks to me.
Me and Ed crawlin` `omeward,
    Thinkin` our job is done,
When sudden and clear,
Wot do we `ear:
    `Owl of a wounded `Un.

"Got to take `im," snaps Eddy;
    "Got to take all we can.
`E may be a Germ
Wiv the `eart of a worm,
    But, blarst `im! ain`t `e a man?"
So `e sloshes out fixin` a dressin`
    (`E`d always a medical knack),
When that wounded `Un
`E rolls to `is gun,
    And `e plugs me pal in the back.

Now what would you do? I arst you.
    There was me slaughtered mate.
There was that `Un
(I`d collered `is gun),
    A-snarlin` `is `ymn of `ate.
Wot did I do? `Ere, whisper . . .
    `E`d a shiny bald top to `is `ead,
But when I got through,
Between me and you,
    It was `orrid and jaggy and red.

"`Ang on like a limpet, Eddy.
    Thank Gord! you ain`t dead after all."
It`s slow and it`s sure and it`s steady
    (Which is `ard, for `e`s big and I`m small).
The rockets are shootin` and shinin`,
    It`s rainin` a perishin` flood,
The bullets are buzzin` and whinin`,
    And I`m up to me stern in the mud.
There`s all kinds of `owlin` and `ootin`;
    It`s black as a bucket of tar;
Oh, I`m doin` my bit,
But I`m `avin` a fit,
    And I wish I was `ome wiv Mar.

"Stick on like a plaster, Eddy.
    Old sport, you`re a-slackin` your grip."
Gord! But I`m crocky already;
    My feet, `ow they slither and slip!
There goes the biff of a bullet.
    The Boches have got us for fair.
Another one — WHUT!
The son of a slut!
    `E managed to miss by a `air.
`Ow! Wot was it jabbed at me shoulder?
    Gave it a dooce of a wrench.
Is it Eddy or me
Wot`s a-bleedin` so free?
    Crust! but it`s long to the trench.
I ain`t just as strong as a Sandow,
    And Ed ain`t a flapper by far;
I`m blamed if I understand `ow
    We`ve managed to get where we are.
But `ere`s for a bit of a breather.
    "Steady there, Ed, `arf a mo`.
Old pal, it`s all right;
It`s a `ell of a fight,
    But are we down-`earted? No-o-o."

Now war is a funny thing, ain`t it?
    It`s the rummiest sort of a go.
For when it`s most real,
It`s then that you feel
    You`re a-watchin` a cinema show.
`Ere`s me wot`s a barber`s assistant.
    Hey, presto! It`s somewheres in France,
And I`m `ere in a pit
Where a coal-box `as `it,
    And it`s all like a giddy romance.
The ruddy quick-firers are spittin`,
    The `eavies are bellowin` `ate,
And `ere I am cashooly sittin`,
    And `oldin` the `ead of me mate.
Them gharstly green star-shells is beamin`,
    `Ot shrapnel is poppin` like rain,
And I`m sayin`: "Bert `Iggins, you`re dreamin`,
    And you`ll wake up in `Ampstead again.
You`ll wake up and `ear yourself sayin`:
    `Would you like, sir, to `ave a shampoo?`
`Stead of sheddin` yer blood
In the rain and the mud,
    Which is some`ow the right thing to do;
Which is some`ow yer `oary-eyed dooty,
    Wot you`re doin` the best wot you can,
For `Ampstead and `ome and beauty,
    And you`ve been and you`ve slaughtered a man.
A feller wot punctured your partner;
    Oh, you `ammered `im `ard on the `ead,
And you still see `is eyes
Starin` bang at the skies,
    And you ain`t even sorry `e`s dead.
But you wish you was back in your diggin`s
    Asleep on your mouldy old stror.
Oh, you`re doin` yer bit, `Erbert `Iggins,
    But you ain`t just enjoyin` the war."

"`Ang on like a hoctopus, Eddy.
    It`s us for the bomb-belt again.
Except for the shrap
Which `as `it me a tap,
    I`m feelin` as right as the rain.
It`s my silly old feet wot are slippin`,
    It`s as dark as a `ogs`ead o` sin,
But don`t be oneasy, my pippin,
    I`m goin` to pilot you in.
It`s my silly old `ead wot is reelin`.
    The bullets is buzzin` like bees.
Me shoulder`s red-`ot,
And I`m bleedin` a lot,
    And me legs is on`inged at the knees.
But we`re staggerin` nearer and nearer.
    Just stick it, old sport, play the game.
I make `em out clearer and clearer,
    Our trenches a-snappin` with flame.
Oh, we`re stumblin` closer and closer.
    `Ang on there, lad! Just one more try.
Did you say: Put you down? Damn it, no, sir!
    I`ll carry you in if I die.
By cracky! old feller, they`ve seen us.
    They`re sendin` out stretchers for two.
Let`s give `em the hoorah between us
    (`Anged lucky we aren`t booked through).
My flipper is mashed to a jelly.
    A bullet `as tickled your spleen.
We`ve shed lots of gore
And we`re leakin` some more,
    But — wot a hoccasion it`s been!
Ho! `Ere comes the rescuin` party.
    They`re crawlin` out cautious and slow.
Come! Buck up and greet `em, my `earty,
    Shoulder to shoulder — so.
They mustn`t think we was down-`earted.
Old pal, we was never down-`earted.
If they arsts us if we was down-`earted
    We`ll `owl in their fyces: `No-o-o!`"
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