SARI BAIR

Evening Post, Volume LXXXIX, Issue 132, 5 June 1915, Page 10

SARI BAIR

THE AUSTRALASIANS AND ABDUL On the day we hit the transport there waa cheerin' on the pier, An' the girls were wavin' hankie* as they dropped a xjartin' tear, An 1 we felt like little heroes as w« watched the crowd recede, For we sailed to prove Australia, and our boastin' of the br«ed. .There was Green, who's come from clerkin' in a Sydney clothin' store; There was me an' Craig, of Queensland, •with his.hulkin' six foot four; An' little Smith, of Collingwood, who howled a ragtime air. On the day ire left tho Leeuwin bound uor'-Vrest for God'knows-wh«re. On the day we came to Cairo with its luggers an' its din, I To fill our eye» with desert eand, our | souls with Eastern sin, ! There was cursin' and compla-inin 1 ; w« •were hungerin' for fight — Little imitation soldiers full of vanity an' skite. Then they worked us— God ! they worked us, till we knew what drillin' xaeant ; Till men began to feel like men an' wasters to repent; Till we grew to hate all Egypt, an' Its desert, an' ite stinks, . On the days we drilled at Menu., in the shadow of the Sphinx. Then Green of Sydney swore an oath I they meant to hold us tight, i A crowd of flamin* ornaments without a. I chance to fight; But little Smith, of Collingwood, he whistled him a tune And said, "Aw, take a pull, lad ; there'll 1 bo whips o' stoushin' soon." It was waitin', weary waa tin 1 while we itched to meet the foe ; But we'd done with fancy skitin' eai' the comic-op 'ra show : We were soldiers, finished soldiers, and. we felt it in our veins On the days we trod the desert oa old Egypt^ sandy plains. An* Green, of Sydney, grew morose, and all of us were blue, An' Craig, the giant, never joked th« ■way he need to do ; But little Smith, of Oollingwood, aft hummed a, cheerful song And said, "You leave it to the 'ends. Oh, now we shan't be long!" Then Sari Bair, 0 Sari B»ir, 'twas you that saw it done, The day the transports rode yonr bay beneath a smilin' son; We boasted much, an' toasted much; but where yonr tide line creeps, 'Twas you, my lovely Sari Bair, that saw tib play for keepß We were full of savage sfcrtin'- while they kept us on the shelf (Thbugh I tell you, strictly secret, I fraa doubtin' us meself ) ; But we proved it good and plenty that our k'ds can do an' dare ■ On the day we Tvalloped Abdul on tv» sands of Sari Ba-ir. Luck was out with Green, of Sydnay, where he 6tood at my tight hand, For they plunked him on the transport 'fore he had* a chance to land. Then I saw them kill a feller that I knew in Camberwell — Somethin' sort o' went inside me, and— the rest was plain, hot Hell, Through the smoke I caw him strivin', Craig, <rf Queensland, strong and tall, Like a harvester at hay-time, shooting 1 '!Set'«ni! On the ball!" And little Smith, of Collingwood, h» howled a fightin' tune On the day we chased Mahomet <w»r Sari's candy dune. An' Sari Bair, 0 Sari Bair, you saw how it was done— The transports dancin' in your bay beneath the kindly sun ; An', speckled on your p-leaimng shore, the little huddled heaps That showed at last the Southern bwod could play the game for keeps. We found him, Craig, of Queensland, stark, hie hand still on his gun ; We found, alae! too many mor* when that fierce fight was won ; An' little Smith, of Collingwood, he crooned a mournful air The night we planted them -beneath the ' Bands of Sari Bair. On the day we took the transport the** was cheerin' on the pier, An' we were little China gods ; and now • we're sitting here With tho taste of blood and battle strong •upon us, ev'ry man, And every man but hopin' to end' up as we began. For Green is gone, and Craig is gone, and God ! how many mor«, Who sleep the sleep at Sari Bair beside the gun : kissed shore? An' little Smith, of Collingwood, a ibandage round his head, He hums a savage song and vows swift ' vengeance for the deed, But Sari Bair, 0 Sari Bair, the tsecrets that you hold Will move the hearts of Southern men when all the tale is told The sun that lit your smiling bay bora witness to the deed, The day our father's fighting blood woke in the Southern breed. — C. J Dennis. The Bulletin.