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Robert W Service - The Haggis Of Private McPhee
Work rating: Medium

"Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither`s postit tae me?
It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee.
"And whit did she send ye?" says Private McPhun,
As he cockit his rifle and bleezed at a Hun.
"A haggis! A Haggis!" says Private McPhee;
"The brawest big haggis I ever did see.
And think! it`s the morn when fond memory turns
Tae haggis and whuskey—the Birthday o` Burns.
We maun find a dram; then we`ll ca` in the rest
O` the lads, and we`ll hae a Burns` Nicht wi` the best."

"Be ready at sundoon," snapped Sergeant McCole;
"I want you two men for the List`nin` Patrol."
Then Private McPhee looked at Private McPhun:
"I`m thinkin`, ma lad, we`re confoundedly done."
Then Private McPhun looked at Private McPhee:
"I`m thinkin` auld chap, it`s a` aff wi` oor spree."
But up spoke their crony, wee Wullie McNair:
"Jist lea` yer braw haggis for me tae prepare;
And as for the dram, if I search the camp roun`,
We maun hae a drappie tae jist haud it doon.
Sae rin, lads, and think, though the nicht it be black,
O` the haggis that`s waitin` ye when ye get back."

My! but it wis waesome on Naebuddy`s Land,
And the deid they were rottin` on every hand.
And the rockets like corpse candles hauntit the sky,
And the winds o` destruction went shudderin` by.
There wis skelpin` o` bullets and skirlin` o` shells,
And breengin` o` bombs and a thoosand death-knells;
But cooryin` doon in a Jack Johnson hole
Little fashed the twa men o` the List`nin` Patrol.
For sweeter than honey and bricht as a gem
Wis the thocht o` the haggis that waitit for them.

Yet alas! in oor moments o` sunniest cheer
Calamity`s aften maist cruelly near.
And while the twa talked o` their puddin` divine
The Boches below them were howkin` a mine.
And while the twa cracked o` the feast they would hae,
The fuse it wis burnin` and burnin` away.
Then sudden a roar like the thunner o` doom,
A hell-leap o` flame . . . then the wheesht o` the tomb.

"Haw, Jock! Are ye hurtit?" says Private McPhun.
"Ay, Geordie, they`ve got me; I`m fearin` I`m done.
It`s ma leg; I`m jist thinkin` it`s aff at the knee;
Ye`d best gang and leave me," says Private McPhee.
"Oh leave ye I wunna," says Private McPhun;
"And leave ye I canna, for though I micht run,
It`s no faur I wud gang, it`s no muckle I`d see:
I`m blindit, and that`s whit`s the maitter wi` me."
Then Private McPhee sadly shakit his heid:
"If we bide here for lang, we`ll be bidin` for deid.
And yet, Geordie lad, I could gang weel content
If I`d tasted that haggis ma auld mither sent."
"That`s droll," says McPhun; "ye`ve jist speakit ma mind.
Oh I ken it`s a terrible thing tae be blind;
And yet it`s no that that embitters ma lot—
It`s missin` that braw muckle haggis ye`ve got."
For a while they were silent; then up once again
Spoke Private McPhee, though he whussilt wi` pain:
"And why should we miss it? Between you and me
We`ve legs for tae run, and we`ve eyes for tae see.
You lend me your shanks and I`ll lend you ma sicht,
And we`ll baith hae a kyte-fu` o` haggis the nicht."

Oh the sky it wis dourlike and dreepin` a wee,
When Private McPhun gruppit Private McPhee.
Oh the glaur it wis fylin` and crieshin` the grun`,
When Private McPhee guidit Private McPhun.
"Keep clear o` them corpses—they`re maybe no deid!
Haud on! There`s a big muckle crater aheid.
Look oot! There`s a sap; we`ll be haein` a coup.
A staur-shell! For Godsake! Doun, lad, on yer daup.
Bear aff tae yer richt. . . . Aw yer jist daein` fine:
Before the nicht`s feenished on haggis we`ll dine."

There wis death and destruction on every hand;
There wis havoc and horror on Naebuddy`s Land.
And the shells bickered doun wi` a crump and a glare,
And the hameless wee bullets were dingin` the air.
Yet on they went staggerin`, cooryin` doun
When the stutter and cluck o` a Maxim crept roun`.
And the legs o` McPhun they were sturdy and stoot,
And McPhee on his back kept a bonnie look-oot.
"On, on, ma brave lad! We`re no faur frae the goal;
I can hear the braw sweerin` o` Sergeant McCole."

But strength has its leemit, and Private McPhun,
Wi` a sab and a curse fell his length on the grun`.
Then Private McPhee shoutit doon in his ear:
"Jist think o` the haggis! I smell it from here.
It`s gushin` wi` juice, it`s embaumin` the air;
It`s steamin` for us, and we`re—jist—aboot—there."
Then Private McPhun answers: "Dommit, auld chap!
For the sake o` that haggis I`ll gang till I drap."
And he gets on his feet wi` a heave and a strain,
And onward he staggers in passion and pain.
And the flare and the glare and the fury increase,
Till you`d think they`d jist taken a` hell on a lease.
And on they go reelin` in peetifu` plight,
And someone is shoutin` away on their right;
And someone is runnin`, and noo they can hear
A sound like a prayer and a sound like a cheer;
And swift through the crash and the flash and the din,
The lads o` the Hielands are bringin` them in.

"They`re baith sairly woundit, but is it no droll
Hoo they rave aboot haggis?" says Sergeant McCole.
When hirplin alang comes wee Wullie McNair,
And they a` wonnert why he wis greetin` sae sair.
And he says: "I`d jist liftit it oot o` the pot,
And there it lay steamin` and savoury hot,
When sudden I dooked at the fleech o` a shell,
And it—dropped on the haggis and dinged it tae hell."

And oh but the lads were fair taken aback;
Then sudden the order wis passed tae attack,
And up from the trenches like lions they leapt,
And on through the nicht like a torrent they swept.
On, on, wi` their bayonets thirstin` before!
On, on tae the foe wi` a rush and a roar!
And wild to the welkin their battle-cry rang,
And doon on the Boches like tigers they sprang:
And there wisna a man but had death in his ee,
For he thocht o` the haggis o` Private McPhee.
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