Book by George Napier Sprod, 1942-1945 - Part 4

KINGS CROSS TRAGEDY

ANON

He grasped me by my slender

neck

I could not cry or scream

He dragged me to his dingy

room

Where we could not be seen

He tore from me my flimsy

wrap

And gazed upon my form

I was so cold, so weak,

so damp

And he, so delightfully warm

He pressed his fevered lips

to mine

I could not make him stop

He drained from me my 

very soul 

He took it, every drop

He made me what I am 

today

That's why you find me here

An empty bottle thrown 

away

That once was full of beer

illustration NATIONAL DRINKS - see original document

The Frenchman likes his glass 

of wine

The German likes his beer

The Briton likes his half and

half

Because it brings good cheer

The Scotchman likes his

whisky neat

But Paddy likes it hot

The Aussie's got no national 

drink

He drinks the — lot.

illustration - see original document
by G. Wearne. 2/15
one of our mob
NOT ME

I wandered down the city streets

As happy as could be

Until I saw a glaring sign

Staring down at me

It said I ought to join a push

And told me what to do

It said to join the A. I. F

And quick about it, too.

Twas done in many colours 
bright
- A blinking circus bill
Again I read the gaudy sign
And looked at it until 
I thought of all the silly mugs
Who'd seen that sign before 
Who'd joined the bloomin' A.I.F
And gone away to war
And then I laughed and shook
my head 
And said to it "Not me!"
I'm not joining any army 
To lump a gun and pack
And end up in a shell hole
With a bullet in my back
I'd sooner stop behind and
cheer
The fellows coming back
I sauntered down the city 
street
As merry as could be
Until another coaxing sign
Above my head I see
It said for me to pull my weight 

And help my country out
-To be a gallant soldier
And not a useless lout
It showed some coves in uniform
All pulling on a rope
They want another chap to help
And will I be that bloke
But I aint no flamin' hero
Nor am I a b — mug
Before I join the army
They can slap me in the jug
So I ramble down the city streets
As pleased as I can be 
Until a little sign I see
Nailed upon a tree
It say, back up your cobbers now
They need you pretty bad
They're in a spot and cornered 
So come and help, my lad
It was only just a little sign
And very plain as well
It had no glaring colours
And hadn't much to sell
But as I looked at it and thought

What it was all about
I thought that maybe I was wrong
My mind began to doubt
I've never let a mate down yet
No matter what the odds
I've always helped my cobbers
out
And there's been some tough jobs 
And there was I just loafing 
round
While they were drenched in gore
From getting belted by a mob
I tell you, I felt sore.
So now I marches down the
street
As proud as I can be
Because the clothes I'm wearing
Are made of tough khaki
And I just laugh and shake 
my head
And say aloud "Not me
You don't get me stopping 
home
I'm off across the sea"

illustration - TWAS CHRISTMAS DAY - see original document

illustration - see original document
Twas Christmas day in the
work-house —
The happiest day of the year —
The paupers' eyes were full
of joy
Their bellies were full of beer. 

illustration - see original document
Up spoke the work-house keeper
And swore by all his gods — 
"You sha'nt have any
Christmas pudding
You worthless lazy sods."

illustration - see original document
And then up spoke a pauper
His face as bold as brass —
"We don't want your Christmas 
pudding 
You can stick it up your ___" 

illustration KEEP IT CLEAN - see original document
[*These lines 
appeared on 
a notice board 
at Changi
19-11-42.*]
Don't be ignorant 
Try to realize 
The terrible diseases
That's carried by flies
Put your waste food (if any!)
And empty tins
Away from the flies

In the garbage bins
Some have wives
And also mothers
By keeping clean 
You're helping others
We know of places
We've never seen
But if you want to see Aussie
Then KEEP IT CLEAN

illustration THE DEATH OF LITTLE WILLIE - see original document
 

illustration - see original document
Oh, he's gone from us for ever,
Our darling blue-haired boy,
Our cock-eyed darling we shall see
no more.
He gently passed away
On the ninety-third of May -
He never died so suddenly before

illustration, see original document
We could tell that he was dying
By the freckles on his breath
His eyeballs they were dangling
in the mud
The doctor came and said
The only way to save his life
Was to stop the circulation of his blood