“MY FRIENDS WHO STAYED AT HOME”

Putaruru Press, Volume XVI, Issue 957, 20 November 1941, Page 6

“MY FRIENDS WHO STAYED AT HOME”

POEM FROM TOBRUK Dead Legacy The appended pointed poem was sent to the editor of the Putaruru Press by 22224 Lance-Corporal H. M. McArthur, 21st Battalion, Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force, Middle East, and will without doubt be read with interest, as its application also covers New Zealand. “Mac,” who is well known in the district, stated in a covering note that he was well, and added facetiously that “ the country was wonderful, with the sand very soothing to the eyes.” The enclosure from Lance-Corporal McArthur was as follows: “ The author of this remarkable piece of verse is believed to be a man now dead. He was a member of the A.I.F. (Australian Imperial Forces), believed to have been a truck driver, who was killed in action at Tobruk shortly after he had scrawled the stanzas on the wall of a dugout. They were later copied by another A.I.F. man, Driver J. Nightingale, and sent to Australia. The poetry, which has not been ‘ touched up,’ but is published exactly as it was written, is not technically perfect, but it reveals a remarkable sense of feeling and power l of expression. I’m pulling down my colours, I'll sling away my web, I’m going down to Cairo to buy myself a bed. I’m tired of being a soldier, so help me bob, I am, Of getting bully and biscuits and of eating bread and jam, Of fighting dirty Dagoe9 and Jerries on my own, When I think of dear old Aussie and my friends who stayed at home. I’ll bet they are walking down the street, their cheeks puffed out with prida, And skiting to their cobbers how I saved their worthless hide, While here’s me in the desert, afraid to show my head, For fear some dh-ty Dago will fill it full of lead. I’m just a nerve-racked soldier a heap of skin and bone, But still I’ll do the fighting for my friends who stayed at home. When I told my dear old dad that I’d volunteered to fight, He said: “ God bless you, son, and bring you back alright ” ; They called us chocolate soldiers and five bob tourists too. They said “ You’ll never see the front or even get a view,” They said “ You’ll have a picnic over there across the foam,” But they’re not too game to join us—my friends who stayed a$ home. They are not such bad shots either, along the rabbit track, But then they’re out of danger, for a rabbit can’t hit back, They shine before the barmaid—they brag, they’re full of skite, But on the comers of the street is where they have their fight, A billiard cue for rifle—a bar their fighting zone, But there ain’t no bullets there for my friends who stayed at home. So now I’ll pick my rifle up and buckle my web about, Though I’m only a flaming driver I’ll see this business out, And if I stop a bullet I’ll die without a moan, For they put the kybosh on it—my friends who stayed at home.