¥emm COPYRIGHT DEPOSm WAR VERSES ^.^ The Tri-Color WAR VERSES 1917-1918 BY STEPHEN PELL S. S. U. No. 5—646 V. S. A. A. S. (With French Army) 3 ^^^"^p ^^^^1 >v^ COPYRIGHT, 1919, BT STEPHEN PELL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN ©CI.A525732 m 31 1919 TO THE SPLENDID WOMEN OF MRS. DALY'S UNIT EQUIPE AMERICAINE AUTO. CHIR. NO. 7 AUX ARMEES FRANC AIS AND MORE ESPECIALLY THE EQUIPE DE ANGICOURT M. N.-D., E. A. F., B. E., D.W., A. F. & E. S. WHO TURNED, WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN FOR ME A MONTH OF PAIN AND SUFFERING AND LONELINESS, INTO ONE OF EASE AND HAPPI- NESS, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS MOST GRATE- FULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED CONTENTS PAGE TheTri-Color 3 The Canadian Captain Speaks . 5 "A Toast to the Chasseurs" . . 8 The Vailly Road 11 Cheer Up 15 Great Inventions 20 Chemin Des Dames 24 Le Cafard 27 The Priest 30 Villette 33 The Ravitaillement Man ... 36 The Chasseurs 40 To"X" 44 Conte7its PAGE The " Embusque " 47 The Heart of the Colonel . .51 The Cathedral of Soissons . . 53 Mima and Carlotta 57 Pansements 61 "Awaiting Transportation " . .64 WAR VERSES THE TRI-COLOR The Autumn wind is mellow. The fields are brown and yellow, And everywhere are poppies, through- out the fair expanse. Brilliant scarlet poppies. Cruel scarlet poppies. They typify the broken hearts that haunt the homes of France, We see the airplanes soaring. We hear the big guns roaring. They tell us there is warring in this Country of Romance; 4 War Verses 1917-1918 And always there are crosses, White, pathetic crosses: The little wooden crosses that fill the fields of France. The blue cornflower growing Sedate amidst the sowing. The busy, tired Poilu passes by with but a glance. To me they are the maidens, The million wistful maidens; Who'll never bear a warrior to fight the fights of France! — St Nicholas du Port, September, 1917, THE CANADIAN CAPTAIN SPEAKS There were five of us lived in a dugout, Forty feet under the ground. We roasted the Kasier and toasted the King, And passed the bottle around. (Two were gassed and one was shot, And one of the crowd was drowned.) There was Jimmy Flagg from Ottawa And Kitchin from Sault Marie, Parsons, a Yank from the State of Maine And Bud from the old Countree, 6 War Verses 1917-1918 We all came out with the "Princess Pats." (The rest of the Crowd was Me!) We talked of our girls, we talked of our work, (The oldest was twenty-four) And we planned the "Getting To- gether, " Back home there, after the War. All of the crowd are gone but me. And I'm tired and sick and sore. For what is the use of the cross I wear, Or my bars or my Captain's pay. Or the letter I got from "Pat" herself For stopping a shell one day. When the fellows I wanted to play with — Will never be there to play? War Verses 1917-1918 7 For the things one thinks are going to count, They somehow are pretty small. When you measure them up with THE MIGHT HAVE BEEN, And it doesn't seem fair at all, That they should be buried out there in the mud — Awaiting the Trumpet Call. — St Remi-Aisne, December, 1917, "A TOAST TO THE CHASSEURS" We've seen the Blue Devils in action, We've seen the Blue Devils at play. We've seen the Blue Devils go over the top, Happy and cheerful and gay. We've seen them come out of the trenches, Wounded and bleeding and faint; With never a cry or a whimper. Never a word of complaint. We've carried them down from the abris. To hospitals miles in the rear, War Verses 1917-1918 9 Over roads that were shell torn and rutted. But never a sigh or a tear. We've seen their dead after a battle. With every man's face to the foe. And our hearts have gone sick within us. To see our brave comrades go. But, a curious fancy comes to me, That a Chasseur who dies in a fight. Has a wee bit of Heaven that's all of his own, With gaiety, laughter and light. Like the Heaven reserved for our Red Men, (Good hunting and plenty of game) 10 War Verses 1917-1918 Where a man who has lived and died like a man. Goes on forever the same. I am proud of my Spanish War ribbons, I am proud of my French Four- ragere, But the proudest of all my possessions, Is the little blue "Beret" I wear. So here's to our Grand Old Division! Which is "Somewhere Out There In The Snow"; Here's to the 66th Chasseurs Alpins! And here's to our General-Brissaud ! — St. Remi'Aisne, January 1, 1918, THE VAILLY ROAD There's a winding road through Vailly, Running up from Braine, Past the woods of Chassemy Across the River Aisne, And up the hill to Hameret — Out on the Bascule Plain. I knew the road before the war, That far-off, happy day. One saw the peasants in the fields. The children at their play, The women at the cottage door Were smiling, cheerful, gay. 11 n War Verses 1917-1918 And now the road to Vailly Is rutted, gutted, worn. The trees that stood on either side Are battered, tattered, torn. The little roseclad cottages Are shattered, scattered, gone. Along the road to Vailly Is ruin, waste and wrack, It's felt the big shells bursting- It's heard the rifles crack. As foot by foot we conquered And forced the vandal back. I've seen the road at midnight, Black shadows everywhere. The great Tanks going forward, War Verses 1917-1918 13 The sudden shocking glare Of shrapnel bursting overhead, While gas shells taint the air. Big guns and ambulances; Troops marching to the fight, Long trains of ammunition. Pack mules to left and right. And all that feeds an army. Goes groping through the night. IVe seen the road at dawning, The wounded like a flood Came pouring from the battle. Covered with clay and blood; In twos and tens and hundreds. Staggering through the mud. 14 War Verses 1917-1918 French "Poilu," English "Tommy," Irish and Kilted "Scot," Black Senegalese and Arab Have left their bones to rot Along the road to Vailly, And made a hallowed spot. — Somewhere in France, December 17, 1917. CHEER UP! In every mile of the trenches, From Switzerland up to the Sea, We're getting the Boches' measure, (He knows it as well as we !) We're learning to play the Boches* game And play it better than he! So Cheer Up, **Back There." English, Scotch and Irish, Frenchmen and Portuguese, Yanks, Canucks and Welchmen, Anzacs and Tonkinese, Belgians, Sikhs and Arabs, Men from the Seven Seas, Are at it "Out Here." 15 16 War Verses 1917-1918 We're all of us killing Germans — We're getting them two for one. We know that with time and patience We'll have the Boche on the run. And the World will be safe forever; Safe from the Swineish Hun, So Buck Up, "Back There." Don't think that the job is easy, To freeze in a trench all night — To starve in a German Prison — To fall from a two-mile height, To lose a leg or part of your face In a long range, big gun fight. But, All's Well, "Out Here." And God! How you long for your woman. (Good or bad, it's all the same!) War Verses 1917-1918 17 The smell of her hair, the feel of her arms. To hear her whisper your name! Chasing lice with a pidgeon lamp, Is Our Prineipial Indoor Game — You bathe "Back There." What of the fellows we've buried In mud that was up to the knee? What of the children and babes at the breast Who've died in the open sea? What of the thousands of cripples And those who will never see? We remember "Out Here." And think of the women and tender girls. Who've felt the feel of the Beast— 18 War Verses 1917-1918 Whose bodies were tainted forever, Wlien the Carrion met for the feast. Give heed to their cry for vengeance! Give heed to that Cry, at least! Remember them " Back There." Is our work to be all for nothing? Our sacrifice all in vain? Shall they swindle the world with a Prussian Peace? Can a Treaty remove the Stain Of Rape and Robbery, Murder and Lies, 'Til they're ready to start again? Must our children come "Out Here"? No ! This is no time for Parleys For he knows as well as we — War Verses 1917-1918 19 That in every mile of the Trenches, From Switzerland up to the Sea. We've learned to play the Boches' game. And play it better than he! SO CHEER UP, "BACK THERE." — St, Remi'Aisne, GREAT INVENTIONS The three great inventions the war has produced To ease a poor man of his pains. To keep his morale at one hundred per cent, Are Pinard, Permish', and Mar- raines ! When you come from the trenches cold, hungry and wet, Or have driven all night in your car. There's nothing like putting right under your belt A quart (more or less) of Pinard 1 20 ^>-//y>J^, On ''permission' (Pinard and a Marraine) War Verses 1917-1918 21 Sometimes it's sour and sometimes it's sweet, It varies from purple to jet. But a large cup or two puts new life into you, And a bidon full makes you forget ! When you've slept in your clothes for a fortnight or more, In a dirty cantonment or shed. When you've struggled with cooties and totos and fleas. You know that "permission's' ahead. When you blush every time that you think of your neck. Just what keeps you going and keen? 22 War Verses 1917-1918 The thought that next day or next week or next month, You'll be rested and mended and clean ! And when on permission what cheers you the most? Is it cocktails or beer or cham- pagne? Not at all! It's the girl you've been dreaming about. Your Dear Little Angel Marraine! She gets all your money and most of your time. And then sees you oiff at the train. With a tear in her eye and your roll in her sock. And a prayer that you'll soon come again! War Verses 1917-1918 23 And that's why each Poihi will swear on his life, That the greatest inventions by far. Evolved in these long years of struggle and strife, Are Marraines, Permish', and Pinard ! — Villette, Marne, January 20, 1919, CHEMIN DES DAMES Chemin des Dames, "The Ladies' Way" Built by a King of ancient France. What memories of a by gone day The very name brings into play. Of bold intrigue and sweet romance. Of Gallants brave and Ladies gay. Of posting chaise and sedan chair. Of waving plume and gleaming lance, Of paint and patches, powered hair. Of silk and satin, maidens fair. And all that went with Royal France When King and Queen and Court were there ! War Verses 1917-1918 25 From avions giant bombs have crashed Upon the road, great tanks have smashed And mashed their way across its face 'Til there is hardly left a trace Of what was once the Ladies' Way. One scarce can find the road to-day. Shovel and pick and shot and shell Have done their work and done it well. Chemin des Dames, "The Ladies' Way," Ah ! There's a Heritage for France ! The memory will last for aye. Of those who fought that autumn day. 26 War Verses 1917-1918 When Brissaud's Chasseurs led the dance Of Death across the "Ladies' Way." Through gas and fire anl bursting shell, A lifting barrage, quick advance. Zouave and Chasseur charging Hell O'er trench and wire, ah ! Who can tell The tale of those who died for France The day that Fort Malmaison fell! — Fisme, Marne, February 1, 1918. LE CAFARD. . . . When you hate the War and you hate your work, And you'd welcome a German shell. That would break at your feet or over your head And blow your soul to Hell. When you hate your Chief and you hate your Pals And you curse yourself to sleep. After smoking a hundred cigarettes, Or counting a million sheep! When you hate the sight of a uniform Or the sound of an aeroplane. And the thought of a greasy motor car Just fills your heart with pain. 27 28 War Verses 1917-1918 When you look at the river with long- ing, Or sneak for your piece a load, (Though you know danined well that in War times A IVIAN can't take THAT road). When you hate the bark of a soixante quinze And loathe the sight of a gun, You can bet ten francs to a demi sou You've got "Le Cafard" my son! It generally comes when you're En Repos, And you haven't enough to do. You've hit the Pinard a bit too hard And it's left you a trifle blue. The clouds that gather are darker than dark. And the day gets blacker than black ; War Verses 1917-1918 29 You think of your sins both little and big, For a thousand eons back. The girls you've kissed and the girls you've missed Go shooting across your brain. You long for the sight of a powdered nose And an evening gown again. You're tired of looking at soldiers — You're sick of the khaki shirt — You sigh for the sound of a woman's voice. And the swish of a silken skirt. When the things that you've done that you shouldn't — • And the things that you've left undone. Are racking your soul into fragments You've got "Le Cafard" my son! — La Villette, February -4, 1918, THE PRIEST I saw him first in the Rue Royale And was struck by his kind old face — With his sable robe and golden cross And air of delicate grace. He greeted the poorest girl of the streets And the greatest Dame of the land, With the same sad smile and a gentle nod And a friendly wave of the hand. I thought of the grand old Cardinals Who lived in the long ago: 30 War Verses 1917-1918 31 Whose stories are part of the Stories of France — And their lives in their great Chateaux. And then came the fight for Malmai- son, I saw my Priest again, With gas mask and blue steel helmet, Standing alone in the rain. He stood at a crowded cross roads In a mud bespattered gown. The shells were falling about him As the wounded came struggling down. His own Chasseurs and Poilus, Arabs and Senegalese, For each a smile and a cigarette, 32 War Verses 1917-1918 And a cheery, "Bonne chance, mon fils," And a wave to me as I passed him — (I was driving an ambulance). And the thought was always before me, There stands the SPIRIT OF FRANCE! Simple and brave and courageous, Gentle and debonaire, — The Cause of the Church is surely safe With men like Him Out There! —La Tilley, February, 1918. VILLETTE A charming little town is Villette, The houses tumbled down in Villette, Our rooms are large and airy — And of window panes we've nary Got a one, to keep the rain out in Villette. Our quarters they are warm in Villette, With friendly fleas they swarm in Villette. Arrangements sanitary. They are primitive. Oh ! Very — And the walk across the garden's rather wet ! 33 34 War Verses 1917-1918 Life is very, very quiet in Villette, A call would cause a riot in Villette. We eat and sleep and rest And do our level best, Not to overwork ourselves in Villette. The streets are very dirty in Villette, The " Jeunne Filles" they are flirty in Villette. But alas! How very sad. Rumor says they are "malade," So, it's EYES FRONT ! FORWARD MARCH! in Villette. When Michel goes on Permish' from Villette. How we curse at every dish in Villette, At camouflaging meat He is very hard to beat. And Golly! How we eat in Villette. War Verses 1917-1918 35 Twice a week we have a drill in Villette. It helps the time to kill in Villette. We hold our sides and laugh At our non-commissioned staff. And the orders that they give in Villette. We would gladly say farewell to Villette. To the dirt and fleas and smell of Villette. We should like to have a chance At some other Villes of France, Than "St. Remy by the Sewer" and Villette. —La Villette, February, 1917, THE RAVITAILLEMENT MAN In all the bloomin' Army that's a fightin' of the Boche. All the way from General Petain down to me, There's none whose work is harder than the Ravitaillement Man — And no one does a better job than he! He wears a dented helmet and a gas mask romid his neck. And a faded uniform that once was blue, — ^ Ravitaillement Man War Verses 1917-1918 37 But he gets the ammunition to the popping Mitrailleuse, And he gets the steamin' soup to me and you ! His work is mostly after dark along a crowded road. With the shadows from the star shells fallin' strange. And he doesn't show a light as he struggles through the night, For he knows the sneakin' Boche has got his range ! When eclat's fallin' round us and some fellow hollers "Gas"! We "heroes" dust for cover as a rule. 38 War Verses 1917-1918 But there ain't no friendly abri for the Ravitaillement Man — He's got to stay and 'tend a kickin' mule! And it ain't no cheery picnic to be sittin' in the rain. With a ton of high explosives for a seat, And shrapnel burstin' over and an ammunition train, Explodin' up the road, a hundred feet! And so I doffs my chapeau to the Ravitaillement Man, For all the way from Petain down to me. War Verses 1917-1918 39 (Exceptin' of the Poilu in the very front line trench) There's no one does a better job than he ! —La Villette, February 16, 1918. THE CHASSEURS Would that 1 could paint a picture. Of the Chasseur as we know him, The Chasseur in the trenches Midst the mud and ice and snow. The Chasseurs we have carried Torn and shattered from the battle. The Chasseur on permission, The Chasseur en repos'. It takes a better pen than mine To really tell the story Of the gallant Chasseur Alpin, Tender, brave, and debonaire. Laughing as he leaves the trenches On the path that leads to glory, 40 War Verses 1917-1918 41 Facing gas and shell and wire, Croix de Bois, or Croix de Guerre! In the crowded first aid abri Lying on his blood soaked stretcher. Cold and wet and black with powder. Worn and faint with wound and burn. Waiting for the tired surgeons (Bare of arm and splashed with scarlet). Cheery whispers to each other. Jesting when it comes their turn! Cut and slashed and patched and bandaged. Packed into our ambulances Over shell holes, ruts and debris, (Would that we could ease their way). 42 War Verses 1917-1918 "Arrives" are falling round us Making flashes in the darkness, Passing troops and guns and wagons — Praying for the light of day. When we reach our destination (Some have died and some are dying) Lift them gently from the stetchers, Wish the conscious ones "Bonne Chance. " Not a word of blame or censure — Just a stricken hero sighing. When you try to show your pity, "Mais Monsieur, c'est pour la France." When the big attack is over, "Holding" troops come to the trenches — War Verses 1917-1918 43 And the weary, fighting Chasseurs (Bearded filthy, caked with clay), March away for rest and patching (Comrades gone are soon forgot- ten!), Pinard, games and songs and laughter, Turn the night-time into day. Never finished TO "X" . . . I found a violet near a trench to-day, A Boche plane soaring proudly in the sky Tells me that Fear and Hate and Death are nigh, Tells me that War is not so far away. In front the constant booming of the guns. Behind are peasants sowing fields of grain, And all about is struggle, striving, strain — The Sense of War one's better na- ture stuns. 44 War Verses 1917-1918 45 But, Spring is here and I would fain forget The awful crash and rattle of the fight, And only think of play and youth and light, — And of my Heart's Desire, my love, and yet — How can I take myself away from me? I have my duty here, my work to do, But know. Dear Child, my thoughts are all of you And nothing else seems aught but travesty. But, Peace will come at last and then, perchance, We two may take our Love and run away — 46 War Verses 1917-1918 To some Fair spot where we may idly stray. Forgetting all that war has meant to France — And meant to us who've given of our best To play our part in this Great Tragedy, Let's seek forgetfulness in Arcady Where we may love and in our Love find rest. THE"EMBUSQUE" He never heard a mitrailleuse, He never heard a shell. He never heard a Boche plane over- head. He never saw a barrage And he never knew the Hell, Of sorting out the wounded from the dead. He never knew how shrapnel breaks. Or how a bullet sings — He never got a whiff of poison gas. But, in a Captain's uniform. With braid and bars and things. See better men Salute him as they pass! 47 48 War Verses 1917-1918 He never saw a front line trench, With mud and slush and ice, Or slept in inky abris, foul with dirt, With fifty sweating Poilus. Where you fight with fleas and lice. And pick the merry Toto from your shirt. He never drove a motor car. Along a shell-swept road, He never saw a star shell shining bright, But, he struts the streets of Paris, In a service uniform, And he eats a corking dinner every night. The Girl He Left Behind Him, Wears proudly near her heart, A picture of her Hero far away. War Verses 1917-1918 49 She think he's in the trenches Playing well a soldier's part, And killing slews of Germans every day. I wonder if she'll ever know, That he was in the rear, That he was safe in Paris doing work That any clever girl could do. I wonder if she'll hear That he was but a blooming Office Clerk. For when the War is over, And the fighting men go Home, He'll surely march as proudly as the rest. With a sword (he's never carried) And a pistol (never used) And a "Foreign Service Medal" on his breast. 50 War Verses 1917-1918 So, three cheers for the Embusque, (God knows ! I'd like to boot him) Of all our war time slackers, he's the worst. He dresses like a soldier. While better men salute him, And never guess his Motto! SAFETY FIRST! —La Villette, April 17, 1918. THE HEART OF THE COLONEL. I watched an avion in flight, It seemed a giant dragon fly. And then I saw a shrapnel burst, And fluttering downward from the sky. It came to Earth a Broken Thing, A mass of flame and smoke and fire — Of blistering paint and crumbling wing. Of cracking frame and snapping wire. It fell beyond our furthest line, In No-Man's Land, where none may fare, 51 52 War Verses 1917-1918 And there it lies wrecked, smashed supine And all my heart is lying there. For what is left in Life for me When Faith and Hope and Love are done? When, burned and mangled over there. Lies what was once my only Son. I have my work, my part to play. The welfare of my Regiment, And I must show a smiling face And only sorrow in my tent — For 'tis my fate to be of those Poor mortals singled out by Chance To stand erect and proudly say, "I've given of my all, FOR FRANCE"! —ia Villette, April W, 1918. THE CATHEDRAL OF SOISSONS Above the sleepy city. Dreaming not of its fate, It stood throughout the ages Splendid, inviolate. It had heard the prayers of Saint Louis, It had felt the bended knee Of the Virgin Maid of Orleans In her proud humility. Siege and storm and battle. And the withering Hand of Time, But mellowed its ancient grandeur And left it serene, sublime. 53 54 War Verses 1917-1918 Then! Then came the German Armies, The "Chosen People of God"! And one of Christ's great Temples Died at the Kaiser's nod! Battered by bomb and bullet, Scarred by fire and shell. Roof tree and arches broken And lying just as they fell. Golden glass and mosaic. Marble and plaster and slate,— Crowding the vaulted Chancel, A symbol of Prussian Hate. It fills one's brain with sorrow. It fills one's heart with pain — To feel that the Great Cathedral Never will rise again. War Verses 1917-1918 55 But, above the wreck and the ruin, Tall and straight as a lance The tower is looming proudly — Proud as the Soul of France! It stands erect in its Glory, Shattered and tattered and torn. To tell to the World the story. To tell to the still Unborn, The Tale of the Hate of the Vandal— The Tale of the Hate of the Hun, For all that is written in beauty. And He asks for a "Place in the Sun"! He who in wilful envy, He who in vulgar spite, Is robbing the world of its treasures He asks for a place "In the Light"! 56 War Verses 1917-1918 Drive him back to the Darkness — The Darkness from whence he came There to nourish his Malice, To wallow there in his Shame! — Fontenoy, Aisne, May 1, 1918. The Ruins of the Cathedral af Soissou.s MIMA AND CARLOTTA We sat in the back of the Coloners ear, A slip of a girl and I, While the big bombs crashed, the cannon flashed. And shrapnel broke in the sky. She looked like a Nun in her nurse's gown. Blue veil and cross of red, As the mitrailleuse popped right and left. At an avion overhead. 57 58 War Verses 1917-1918 We should have been safe in an abri, But the moon was shining bright, And she wanted a glimpse at the Ger- man planes Which were somewhere there in the night. So we chatted of frills in Anglo- French, Of W^omen and Work and War, But, alas! She was only a slip of a girl, And I was Forty-Four! Over the trenches the star shells flared As we watched the searchlights play— And all the while I was many a mile — And twenty years away! War Verses 1917-1918 59 I was sitting beneath a big palm tree. With a tiny slip of a girl. The moon on the Bay was gold and grey. And the sky was Mother of Pearl. We laughed at the lights from the battle fleet, Which was anchored close to the shore. And little we cared for the Rules of the Game, And little we cared for the War! I should have been safe on my ship that night. She shouldn't have been with me! But her eyes shone bright in the pale moonlight. And there was the big palm tree! 60 War Verses 1917-1918 We watched the signals flash through the dark. And watched the searchlights play. And laughed when the bugles sounded Taps, And laughed at Reveille! For in Anglo-Spanish we whispered there. Of Women and Work and Frills! 'Til the Moon sank deep in the west- ern sky, And the Dawn came over the Hills ! l' ENVOI A Moon is a Moon and a Girl is a Girl, And a War is always a War, But, Oh ! The different point of view. Of Twenty and Forty-Four! —Royalieu, May SO, 1918. PANSEMENTS I do not like the creepy sound. Of bullets as they sing. And bits of eclat falling round Are not a pleasant thing. I do not like the noise of shells When bursting overhead, I do not like the awful smells Of Boche and horses dead. I do not like the mustard gas That makes you sneeze and cry, I do not like the sight of wounds, I hate to see men die. But worst of all are "pansements, Those cruel, wicked "pansements." 61 62 War Verses 1917-1918 They put you on a table, where you yell and scream with pain. And as they cut and slash you, And slice and pound and mash you, You hear the surgeon saying: "I think it's going to rain." I do not like the winter's mud, I do not like the cold, I do not like the sight of blood. Or dead men, ten days old. I do not like the little fleas That bite you on the back, The lice that crawl about your knees. The totos small and black, I do not like the snow and ice, I think I've had my share. In fact, there isn't much that's nice About this blooming Guerre. ABONDANCE OE SOINS NE NUJT PA<^! ft -^ r>#^ I %f i .ti^^p^ 1 ^: / X . ^\ "«».iii1 ^»T^pwf^ tr-t' -^. -^ ME in the hospital at Angicourt War Verses 1917-1918 63 But worse of all are "pansements," Those tearing, painful "pansements." Your shirt is up around your neck; the nurse says: "That's all right." And as they rip and hack you, And with red pepper pack you. You hear her softly murmur : "I'm dining out to-night." — In hospital at Angicourt, August, 1918. "AWAITING TRANSPORTA- TION" We live in a leaky barrack. With mud half way to the knees, And those who haven't got cooties, Are scratcliing themselves with fleas. We're afraid to look at our "unders" We daren't look at our comb, But nobody cares a blinking damn. We're all of us bound for Home! So pack your kit and mess gear. And kiss your girl good-bye. The trooper's in the harbor, BSbe don't you cry! 64 War Verses 1917-1918 65 Three hundred men on the chow line. It straggles up the hill. We stand in the rain for an hour And the stuff we get is swill. The Vin we buy is watered. The beer is mostly foam. But nobody cares a blinking damn. We're all of us bound for Home! Our Adjutant's a shave-tail, A bomb-proof embusque. He raises hell with the soldier man. For that's the bomb-proof way. The washing we do is sketchy. In water the color of loam. But nobody cares a blinking damn, We're all of us bound for Home! There are some of us time-expired. And some of us furloughed men. 66 War Verses 1917-1918 And some are Class D wounded, And two are bound for the i>en. And every man in the barrack, Swears that he'll never roam. Again away from the U. S. A., If they'll only send us HOME! So pack your kit and mess gear. And kiss your girl good-bye. The trooper's in the harbor, Behe don't you cry ! — Fori Bouguen, Brest, December, 1918, THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y.