When yesterday I went to see my friends--
(Watching their patient faces in a row,
I want to give each boy a D.S.O.)--
When yesterday I went to see my friends,
With cigarettes and foolish odds and ends
(Knowing they understand how well I know
That nothing I may do can make amends,
But that I must not grieve or tell them so),
A pale-faced Inniskilling, tall and slim,
Who'd fought two years and now was just eighteen,
Smiled up and showed, with eyes a little dim,
How someone left him, where his leg had been,
On the humped bandage that replaced the limb,
A tiny green glass pig to comfort him.
These are the men who've learned to laugh at pain,
And if their lips have quivered when they spoke
They've said brave things or tried to make a joke;
Said it's not worse than trenches in the rain,
Or pools of water on a chalky plain,
Or bitter cold from which you stiffly woke,
Or deep wet mud that left you hardly sane,
Or the tense wait for "Fritz's master stroke."
You seldom hear them talk of their "bad luck,"
And suffering has not spoiled their ready wit,
And oh! you'd hardly doubt their fighting pluck,
When each new operation shows their grit;
Who never brag of blows for England struck,
But only yearn to "get about a bit."
* * * * *
"The Allies had threatened to destroy the Dardanelles if the
Medina garrison did not surrender."--_Birmingham Mail_.
So, being reduced to its last Straits, the garrison surrendered.
* * * * *
"MATRIMONY--Young Lady (21), good prospects, wishes to
correspond with young man, similar age, with a view to above;
no rebels need apply."--_Irish Paper_.
But we guess there will be one Home Ruler in the family.
* * * * *
"Replying to a query concerning the rumour that Messrs.
Guinness were in treaty for the purchase of the National hell
Factory, Parkgate Street, a representative of that firm
said this afternoon: 'We have no statement to make at
all.'"--_Irish Paper_.
We gather that the printer is a Prohibitionist.
* * * * *
"At Doncaster on Saturday, Messrs. ---- sold for £7,100 the
fully licensed house at Armthorpe known as the Plough Inn
to the Markham Main Colliery Company, the proprietors of the
colliery being sunk in the parish."--_Yorkshire Post_.
Not _spurlos versenkt_, we trust. Perhaps it is hoped that the Plough
will unearth them.
* * * * *