BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13497, 25 May 1907, Page 5 (Supplement)

BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS.

A; DIALOGUE OF TO-MORROW. The scene is the barrack-room of the Tuneful Tenth. the" War"Cffice, v after, much vacillation, has at last made up its mind that : singing ■ shall i become a recognised branch of the military curriculum, and an inspection is to be held -this very morning. Scattered -about the room * are warriors anxiously practising chest-notes. [Others have, retired to corners apart, to study that handy little brochure, " Songs' Heard are Sweet," by " Major-General," i without which at this time no soldier moves. ~; .' ■ . ; , , .-..' . :■ i

Private Smith (meditatively): . Doremi—fa! Do—re—mi! Do—re—mi—fa—

• Private Brown: In good voice to-day, Smithy? " ..'::. .. ~.,,',". ■ ' Private Smith: . A trifle roopy, I fear, Brown. And you? . ; ':; _ ' Private Brown : A little weak in the upper register. - I wish this 'ere inspection was over, and that's a fact/ .

Private Brown: Same here. He's a terror, is the colonel, if anything goes, wrong. Had me on the carpet last time;, and walked into me something horrid. Said if I couldn't take a high C better than that, j I'd better chuck the army and go into musical comedy. ■ . • Private Brown: -. Gave me cells once, he j did, because I missed a beat in . my " duet with Sergeant Nightingale. - '

Private Walker (continuing an anecdote) : So he says to me, "Here, you," \ he says, "what do you think you're doing, I won- j der? Sounds like a man without a roof to his mouth calling ',' Brussels sprouts' in a Whitechapel slum. You ain't out _ with your barrow now," he says. So next time— Private Webster: Who's this bloke who's inspecting us to-day, anyhow? Crusoe, or something. - .'

Private Smith: Caruso they called him. A very decent singer, so I 'ear, though not an army man. •

Private Brown: Wonderful how these civilians'pick it tip nowadays. Do—remi! Do—! V

. Private Webster: It's this stomachbreathing what does me. " Don't breathe with your chest, my man," says the bloke. " Blimey," I says to him, "what do you take me for? A bounding acrobat?" . r

Private Wilkinson: Harden Coffin and I— ' ■: " ' .:' '. ':X ■ : Private Walker: Well, of course, I couldn't" say anything at the time, him being a colonel and what not, but what I'd have liked to have said was that I'd forgotten more About tempo di waltz than he'd ever learned. I should have liked to have said to him, " Colonel De Rezske, you fancy you know a lot about voice' productionj I don't think. You ain't fit to be 'confused noise without' in a music-hall sketch." ■ ■•■ • '■.-'■: /--/-.',• "■'■. '';■■/."

Private Smith: Si-do! Do! Do! La —do! ■ .'

Private Brown: What I say is, I wish they'd let us choose our own songs. Stands to reason a chap knows what suits his own voice. - You've 'earn me sing " What, ho! What, ho!! What, ho!!!" . Well, I don't want to seem to boast, but a man once told me it beat anything Harry Randall could have done. But turn me out into a parade-ground, and ask me to give you " Tristan's Farewell"— Private Smith : Do!

Private Wilkinson: People who have leard me and Ksnnerley Rumford— "•■ Private Smith • Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-AH! ' .„.„' Private Gregson (suddenly): Oi ll—er— sine thee saw-ngs ovarraby— , Private Webster And the worst of it is you can't hear yourself speak in here nowadays. Used to be a time when— But now, what with blokes doing their scales, and other blokes letting. off upper G's, and other blokes— , __ /'-•. ' '■;'.. * ■

Private Smith : Ah-AH! • : Private Smith (morosely).: Wish they'd let me exchange into a parrot-'ouse! — Punch. . . .<• '' j