TOMMY, AS A POET.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXI, Issue 65, 17 March 1900, Page 1 (Supplement)

TOMMY, AS A POET.

One of the sth Lancers shut up in Ladysmith has a sweetheart living near Sydenham, London, whose heart was rejoiced the other day by the receipt of the following lively love letter. It speaks volumes for the "morale" of the Ladysmith garrison:

I take up my pen as I sit in a trench To write you a letter, my dear little wench; Though fighting is glorious and good in its way, I've had plenty to last me for many a day. My chum, Bill Edwards, lies under the veldt, My rations are sometimes a squeeze of the belt; My brother was taken a prey by the Boers, And my tent mate awakens the camp with his snores. 'Tis true now and then we can make up a lark, But I'd rather be walking- with you in the park. Oh', I'd give my right hand for a sight of the Palace, And a stroll round the grounds with mv dear little Alice. Long Tom—oh, confound him! he won't let me writeThat last shell was too near. How I long for a fight. Or even a smoke would be some consolation (Tobacco is now an impossible ration) But what you, my dear, will consider much, harder— The devil himself has run off with the larder. But never mind, Alice, we'll soon make an end Of the excellent Boer—of our very dear friend. Ana when he has trekked to the far land I'll forget all my griefs in your very first kiss, • ■

"And my rations are sometimes a squeeze of the belt." Could Kipling put it better?