A DIGGER ON GALLIPOLI.

New Zealand Times, Volume LI, Issue 12016, 19 December 1924, Page 16

A DIGGER ON GALLIPOLI.

t::s Recollections cf “The Sentimental Bloke.”) - » There’s a Digger on Gallipoli; ’is name was Ginger Mick; But ’e won’t ever need our help no more. When Jacko’a bullet sent ’im We3t it ’urt me to the quick; An’, ever since, I’ve missed me cobber sore. There’s a Digger on Gallipoli ’oo was a friend of mqge; Down there by Sari Bair ’e’s sleepin’ well. * ’E reckoned war was bonzer sport and soljerin’ was fine; But, if ’o come back now, ’e’d think it—’ell. ’E’d think it ’ell to mooch around in these ’ere peaceful days, An’ beg a favour that should bo a right. ’E’d think it ’ell that countrymen, ’oo smothered ’im with praise An’ promises when ’e went out to fight, Could turn ’im down when ’e come, back—stone cold, an’ go their ways Pass, gay an’ ’eedless. on the other side, An’ let ’ira Rattle. . . When I think these things, why, spare mb days, I ain't so sorry now, that Ginger died. For Ginger was a ’ero onoe, like ev’ry other- lad—A ’em great and glorious was ’e. Hut Ginger ’ome. nr.’ down an’ out, ’is luck all to the had, An’ 0-lager arrtin’ aid—wot Would ’o he? Why. ji«t a Digger out of work, the satno as other hoys, A worthy bloke, but slightly In the way. . .' . Well; when ole Ginger spilt ’is thorte ’e made a wicked noise." Ah’ this ,is wot I reckon Mick would,say. , , ’E’d say: “Gawblimeyl Ain’t a bloke the same bloke, ’ore to-day, As marched down this same street a few years back „ In a bloomin’ blaze of glcjry, an’ to one lqng, loud ’Ohray 1 , That you yelled until we thort yer -lungs would crack P ( Yer purses were wide open thenthe quids were flyin’ round; An’ promises? Oh, ’strewthl You made a row I Them promises rang in our ears with’quite a pleasin’ sound; An 1 now —Well, blimey 1 What about it now? t ■ ' “Jist think them thorts you. used to think when things were lookin’ blue An’ cannons made the musio ‘over there.’ You didn’t 'think' of givin’ then.. No fearl You dam well knew You’d fork out every bean that- yon could spare. There was rumours in the paper, there was rumblin’s in the ground, There was hugles wailin’—wailin’ on the breeze, ~ > n s An' the soljer boys in khaki was meanderin’ around, , An’ a Digger was a Digger, if you please. s , “Oh, a Digger WAS a Bigger, when you wanted coves to fight, An’tieath an’‘war waa, ’ard things to ferget; An’ a Digger was a ’ero when the world looked black as night. . . a. Well—a Digger out o’- work a Digger, yet. Awl Never mind the promises, an’ never mind the cheers, > . An’ jist ferget them things you used .to.say. I Pcr’aps you was excited in them soul-upsettin’ years:; 'But, blimey! Do the dinkum thing to-day! “Wot would you do if war come down an’ gripped you in the night? Wot would you do if bugles blared again P < Wot would you do if, once again, the world went mad with fight, An’ the country sent a call around for- men? Wot would you do—Aw, blimey 1 Wot?—-if danger loomed ahead, An*' the sway of war seemed goin’ any’ow, While ev’ry day you read the lists of dyin’—an’ the dead? .. , . Well, take a tumble,, friends pj&pl da it; now 1” There’s a Digger on Gallipoli, tucked in ’is little grave. An’ ’e’ll never tread the Melbourne streets ¥ more. *E marched away and took the count, *is countrymen to sava^ But ’E ain’t arstin’ ’elp: ’e’s marked ’is score. There’s Diggers on Gallipoli, there’s men asleep in France— Aye, sound asleep, an’ tslk they never will. But I seem to ’ear s whisperin’: “Ah, give’the .hoys a chancel An’ don’t ferget there’s Diggers livin’ .still.” / C. J. DENNIS. (Reprinted by the kind Permissiqn of the “Melbourne The Wellington War Memorial Fund is still £6COO short of the Required Amount.