_Kabul town’s by Kabul river--
Blow the bugle, draw the sword--
There I lef’ my mate for ever,
Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,
Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!
There’s the river up and brimmin’, and there’s ’arf a
squadron swimmin’
’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark._
RUDYARD KIPLING’S “Ford o’ Kabul River.”
We had a good time before we started fighting. The French people gave
us everything they had--cigarettes, chocolate, grapes, everything
imaginable. But it is a different France now the German pigs have burnt
all the houses. It does seem a shame: _Pte. A. Wilson, Bedfordshire
Regiment_.
“NO-o-o!”
We passed a wounded “Joey,” whose face was deathly white from
suffering. He opened his eyes as we reached him, smiled, and called out
in a faint voice, “Are we downhearted?” We called back a hearty “No!”
that must have drowned the noise of the cannon, and then we gave three
hearty cheers, just to liven things up: _Pte. T. Ball, Royal Marine
Light Infantry_.