The petty feuds of life depart when roll the Nation's drums,
And common dangers shared remolds, and strength from union comes.
We lived divided in our town,
He up the street where I lived down,
And when we met we used to frown,
For we were Grit and Tory.
But that was in the yesterdays;
Then something came to change our ways;
I'll tell for you the story.
I used to think I hated him, I felt he hated me,
Before the Call of Duty came and took us o'er the sea,
For I was Grit unto the core,
And he was Tory double-bore;
In three campaigns we fought it o'er,
In battles sometimes gory.
For prejudice is rooted deep,
And folk sometimes lose precious sleep,
Because they're Grit and Tory.
It used to be our loudest boast and proudest to relate,
That we were always party men and always voted straight;
And he who holds his cause as right,
Is seldom too darn proud to fight,
And so we fought with all our might
Just like two common bruisers;
But that was in the olden days,
E'er something came to change our ways,
And make us saner hoosiers.
Full sudden came the King's appeal, a call for volunteers,
That stirred the fighting blood of us who rowed for many years;
Then Bill enlisted and I too,
Since there was fighting still to do,
Went o'er the ocean wide and blue,
Convoyed by fighting cruisers;
And as we sailed for sunny France
I wondered which would get his chance
And which would be the loser.
When whole battalions march away and enter in the fray,
The little strifes of little towns seem very far away,
And all the hasty words that's said
Seem petty where great armies tread,
And fields are covered thick with dead,
And stricken comrades dying;
And oft I wondered what I'd say
If Bill and I should meet some day,
Among the wounded lying.
Strange tricks that jade of fortune plays upon the field of strife,
And so it came in war's great game I owed to Bill my life.
We didn't meet till on the Somme--
In No-Man's Land I lay most gone,
While over head the bright sun shone,
And shrapnel shells were flying.
Then suddenly I felt a thrill.
I heard the voice of fighting Bill
For his old foeman calling.
I did my best to cry hello; it was too great a strain;
But in a haze I saw his face and heard him call again.
I knew him by the broken nose
I gave him once when we'd had blows
At one of our big country shows,
When I gave him a mauling,
And then he spied me and cried--Joe!
I raised to greet him kind of slow,
And then he caught me falling.
Such things as this don't happen much, but they do happen though,
And he's a different Bill to-day and I'm a different Joe.
We're back again in that same town.
He up the street where I live down,
And when we meet, we _never_ frown,
But we're still Grit and Tory.
"DE FIGHTIN' FISHERMAN"
Oh, de fish she's all glad in de river,
De trout and de bass jomp wid glee,
For de garcon dat scares all dere liver
Is start o'er de ocean--sapre.
De tackles all pack in de bunker,
De rod he has change for a gun,
Soon he'll troll in a trench for a junker
Wit' a steel bullet fit for a Hun.
For Joe he has tak' the King's shilling.
He march to the Barriefield Camp,
He show he is able and willing,
He's de man of de most best stamp.
So Joe when we hear dat you're goin'
We know that it won't be for play,
An' we lak to giv' somethin' for showin'
We don't forget dem dats away.
An' mebbe when you res' from de fightin',
Wit' dis keepsake pipe in your jaws,
A dream of the office may lighten,
Or your islan' camp, up by de Chats.[1]
Fly de flag on de ole _Foxy Quiller_,
She be sad till you come back again,
A medalled and famous man-killer,
Who laid by de rod to hunt men.
An' if in de fight, as in fishin',
You handle de gun like de rod,
I t'ink Kaiser Bill will be wishin'
You never come over,--by God.
An' jes' at dis time when de nation
Sends her braves' sons over de sea,
We give you our heart's salutation,
Au revoir,--and God bless you, Bebe.
Dere's plenty close shave in dis razor,
An' de time piece gives radian' light,
An' sometam you may capture de Kaiser
If he tries to creep up in de night.
[1] Chats, a waterfall on the Ottawa, pronounced as Shaw.