C.J. Dennis, The Moods of Ginger Mick - Part 4

Sketch - see original
"Brothers they wus, 'oo found their brother'ood."
 

Ginger's Cobber
'''E WEARS perjarmer soots an' cleans 'is teeth."
That's wot I reads. It fairly knocked me flat,
"Me soljer cobber, be the name o' Keith."
Well, if that ain't the limit, strike me fat!
The sort that Ginger Mick would think beneath
'Is notice once. Perjarmers! Cleans 'is teeth'

Ole Ginger Mick 'as sent a billy-doo
Frum somew'ere on the earth where fightin's thick.
The Censor wus a sport to let it thro',

Considerin' the choice remarks o' Mick.

It wus that 'ot, I'm wond'rin' since it came

It didn't set the bloomin' mail aflame.

 

I'd love to let yeh 'ave it word fer word;

But, strickly, it's a bit above the odds;

An' there's remarks that's 'ardly ever 'eard

Amongst the company to w'ich we nods.

It seems they use the style in Ginger's trench

Wot's written out an' 'anded to the Bench.

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52  THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

 

I tones the langwidge down to soot the ears

Of sich as me an' you resorts wiv now.

If I should give it jist as it appears

Partic'lar folk might want ter make a row.

But say, yeh'd think ole Ginger wus a pote

If yeh could read some juicy bits 'e's wrote.

 

It's this noo pal uv 'is that tickles me;

'E's got a mumma, an' 'is name is Keith.

A knut upon the Block 'e used to be,

'Ome 'ere; the sort that flashes golden teeth,

An' wears 'ot socks, an' torks a lot o' guff;

But Ginger sez they're cobbers till they snuff.

 

It come about like this: Mick spragged 'im first

Fer swankin' it too much aboard the ship,

'E 'ad nice manners an' 'e never cursed;

Which set Mick's teeth on edge, as you may tip.

Likewise, 'e 'ad two silver brushes, w'ich

'Is mumma give 'im, 'cos 'e fancied sich.

 

Mick pinched 'em. Not, as you will understand,

Becos uv any base desire fer loot,

But jist becos, in that rough soljer band,

Them silver-backed arrangements didn't soot;

An' etiket must be observed always.

(They fetched ten drinks in Cairo, Ginger says.)

 

GINGER'S  COBBER  53

 

That satisfied Mick's honour fer a bit,

But still 'e picks at Keith fer exercise,

An' all the other blokes near 'as a fit

To see Mick squirm at Keith's perlite replies,

Till one day Keith 'owls back "You flamin' cow!"

Then Mick permotes 'im, an' they 'as a row.

 

I sew "permotes 'im," fer, yeh'll understand,

Ole Ginger 'as 'is pride o' class orl right;

'E's not the bloke to go an' soil 'is 'and

Be stoushin' any coot that wants to fight.

'Im, that 'ad 'ad 'is chances more'n once

Up at the Stajum, ain't no bloomin' dunce.

 

Yeh'll 'ave to guess wot sort o' fight took place.

Keith learnt 'is boxin' at a "culcher" school.

The first three rounds, to save 'im frum disgrace,

Mick kids 'im on an' plays the gentle fool.

An' then 'e outs 'im wiv a little tap,

An' tells 'im 'e's a reg'lar plucky chap.

 

They likes each other better after that,

Fer Ginger alwus 'ad a reel soft spot

Fer blokes 'oo 'ad some man beneath their 'at,

An' never whined about the jolts they got.

Still, pride o' class kept 'em frum gettin' thick.

It's 'ard to git right next to Ginger Mick.

54  THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

 

Then comes Gallipoli an' wot Mick calls

"An orl-in push fight multerplied by ten;"

An' one be one the orfficers they falls,

Until there's no one left to lead the men.

Fer 'arf a mo' they 'esitates stock still;

Fer 'oo's to lead 'em up the flamin''ill?

 

'Oo is to lead 'em if it ain't the bloke

'Oo's 'eaded pushes down in Spadger's Lane,

Since 'e first learnt to walk an' swear an' smoke,

An' mixed it willin' both fer fun an' gain--

That narsty, ugly, vi'lent man,'oo's got

Grip on the minds uv men when blood runs 'ot?

 

Mick led 'em; an' be'ind 'im up the rise,

'Owlin' an' cursin', comes that mumma's boy,

'Is cobber, Keith, with that look in 'is eyes

To give the 'eart uv any leader joy.

An' langwidge! If 'is mar at 'ome 'ad 'eard

She would 'a' threw a fit at ev'ry word.

 

Mick dunno much about wot 'appened then,

Excep' 'e felt 'is Dream uv Stoush come true;

Fer 'im an' Keith they fought like fifty men,

An' felt like gawds wiv ev'ry breath they drew.

Then Ginger gits it solid in the neck,

An' flops; an' counts on passin' in 'is check.

GINGER'S  COBBER      55

 

When 'e come to, the light wus gettin' dim,

The ground wus cold an' sodden underneath,

Someone is lyin' right 'longside uv 'im.

Groanin' wiv pain, 'e turns, an' sees it's Keith--

Keith, wiv 'is rifle cocked, an' starin' 'ard

Ahead. An' now 'e sez "Ow is it, pard?"

 

Mick gently lifts 'is 'ead an' looks around.

There ain't another flamin' soul in sight,

They're covered be a bit o' risin' ground,

An' rifle-fire is cracklin' to the right.

"Down!" sez the mumma's joy. "Don't show yer 'ead!

Unless yeh want it loaded full o' lead."

 

Then, bit be bit, Mick gits the strength uv it.

They wus so occupied wiv privit scraps,

They never noticed 'ow they come to git

Right out ahead uv orl the other chaps.

They've bin cut orf, wiv jist one little chance

Uv gittin' back. Mick seen it at a glance.

 

" 'Ere Kid," 'e sez, "you sneak around that 'ill.

I'm down an' out; an' you kin tell the boys;"

Keith don't reply to 'im but jist lies still,

An' signs to Giner not to make a noise.

" 'Ere, you!" sez Mick, "I ain't the man to funk--

I won't feel 'ome-sick. Imshee! Do a bunk!"

56   THE MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

 

Keith bites 'is lips; 'e never turns 'is 'ead.

"Wot in the 'ell;" sez Mick, ' 'ere, wot's yer game?"

"I'm an Australian," that wus all 'e said,

An' pride took 'old o' Mick to 'ear that name--

A noo, glad pride that ain't the pride o' class--

An' Mick's contempt, it took the count at lars'!

 

All night they stayed there, Mick near mad wiv pain,

An' Keith jist lettin' up 'is watchful eye

To ease Mick's wounds an' bind 'em up again,

An' give 'im water, w'ile 'imself went dry.

Brothers they wus,'oo found their brother'ood

That night on Sari Bair, an' found it good.

 

Brothers they wus. I'm wonderin', as I read

This scrawl uv Mick's, an' git its meanin' plain,

If you, 'oo never give these things no 'eed,

Ain't got some brothers down in Spadger's Lane--

Brothers you never 'ad the chance to meet

Becos they got no time fer Collins Street.

 

"I'm an Australian." Well, it takes the bun!

It's got that soft spot in the 'eart o' Mick.

But don't make no mistake; 'e don't gush none,

Or come them "brother'ood" remarks too thick.

'E only writes, "This Keith's a decent coot,

Cobber o' mine,an' white from cap to boot."

 

GINGER'S  COBBER     57

" 'E wears perjarmers an' 'e cleans 'is teeth,"

The sort o' bloke that Ginger once dispised!

But once a man shows metal underneath,

Cobbers is found, an' brothers reckernised.

Fer, when a bloke's soul-clobber's shed in war,

'E looks the sort o' man Gawd meant 'im for.

 

VII.  THE SINGING SOLDIERS

[Illustration of 5 soldiers- "Australia, took an' planted overseas."]

 

The Singing Soldiers

 

"WHEN I'm sittin' in me dug-out wiv me rifle on

me knees,

An' a yowlin' 'owlin' chorus comes a-floatin'

up the breeze--

Jist a bit o' 'Bonnie Mary' or 'Long Way to

Tipperary'--

Then I know I'm in Australia, took an' planted overseas.

They've been up agin it solid  since we crossed the flamin'

foam;

But they're singin'-- alwiz singin'--since we left the wharf

at 'ome.

 

"O, its 'On the Mississippi' or 'Me Grey 'Ome in the West.'

If it's death an' 'ell nex' minute they must git it orf their chest.

'Ere's a snatch o' 'When yer Roamin'-- When yer Roamin'

in the Gloamin'.'

'Struth! The first time that I 'eard it, wiv me 'ead on Rosie's

breast,

We wus comin' frum a picnic in a Ferntree Gully train . . . 

But the shrapnel made the music when I 'eard it sung again."

 

So I gits it straight frum Ginger in 'is letter 'ome to me,

On a dirty scrap o' paper wiv the writin' 'ard to see.

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62  THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

 

"Strike!" sez'e. "It sounds like skitin'; but they're singin'

while they're fightin';

An' they socks it into Abdul to the toon o' Nancy Lee.'

An' I seen a bloke this mornin' wiv 'is arm blown to a rag,

'Ummin' 'Break the Noos to Mother,' w'ile 'e sucked a

soothin' fag.

 

"Now, the British Tommy curses, an' the French does fancy

stunts,

An' the Turk 'e' 'owls to Aller, an' the Gurkha grins an' grunts;

But our boys is singin', singin', while the blinded shells is

flingin'

Mud an' death into the trenches in them 'eavens called the

Fronts.

An' I guess their souls keep singin' when they gits the tip

to go . . ."

So I gits it, straight frum Ginger; an' Gawstruth! 'e ort to

know.

 

An' is letter gits me thinkin' when I read sich tales as these,

An' I takes a look around me at the paddicks an' the trees;

When I 'ears the thrushes trillin', when I 'ear the magpies

fillin'

All the air frum earth to 'eaven wiv their careless melerdies--

It's the sunshine uv the country, caught an' turned to bonzer

notes;

It's the sunbeams changed to music pourin' frum a thousand

throats.

 

THE   SINGING   SOLDIERS   63

 

Can a soljer 'elp 'is singin' when 'e's born in sich a land?

Wiv the sunshine an' the music pourin' out on ev'ry 'and,

Where the very air is singin', an' each breeze that blows is

bringin'

'Armony an' mirth an' music fit to beat the blazin' band.

On the march, an' in the trenches, when a swingin' chorus

starts,

They are pourin' bottled sunshine of their 'Omeland frum

their 'earts.

 

O I've 'eard it, Lord, I've 'eard it since the days when I wus

young,

On the beach an' in the bar-room, in the bush I've 'eard it sung;

"Belle Mahone" an' "Annie Laurie," "Sweet Marie" to

"Tobermory",

Common toons and common voices, but I've 'eard 'em when they

rung

Wiv full, 'appy 'earts be'ind 'em,careless as a thrush's song--

Wiv me arm around me cliner, an' me notions fur frum

wrong.

 

So they growed wiv 'earts a-singin' since the days uv careless

kids;

Beefin' out an 'appy chorus jist when Mother Nacher bids;

Singin', wiv their notes a-quiver, "Down upon the Swanee

River,"

Them's sich times I'd not be sellin' fer a stack uv golden quids.

64   THE MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

 

An' they're singin', still they're singin', to the sound uv guns

an' drums,

As they sung one golden Springtime underneath the wavin'

gums.

 

When they socked it to the Southland wiv our sunny boys

aboard--

Them that stopped a dam torpeder, an' a knock-out punch wus

scored;

Tho' their 'ope o' life grew murky, wiv the ship 'ead over

turkey,

Dread o' death an' fear o' drownin' wus jist trifles they ignored.

They spat out the blarsted ocean, an' they filled 'emselves

wiv air,

An' they passed along the chorus of " Australia will be

There."

 

Yes, they sung it in the water; an' a bloke aboard a ship

Sez 'e knoo they wus Australians be the way they give it lip--

Sung it to the soothin' motion of the dam devourin' ocean

Like a crowd o' seaside trippers in to 'ave a little dip.

When I 'eard that tale, I tell yeh, straight, I sort o' felt a

choke;

Fer I seemed to 'ear 'em singin', an' I know that sort o' bloke.

 

THE   SINGING    SOLDIERS      65

 

Yes, I know 'im; so I seen 'im, barrackin' Eternity.

An' the land that 'e wus born in is the land that mothered me.

Strike! I ain't no sniv'lin' blighter; but I own me eyes git

brighter

When I see 'em pokin' mullock at the everlastin' sea:

When I 'ear 'em mockin' terror wiv a merry slab o' mirth,

'Ell! I'm proud I bin to gaol in sich a land as give 'em birth!

                                     *     *     *     *     *     

"When I'm sittin' in me dug-out wiv the bullets droppin' near,"

Writes ole Ginger; " an' a chorus smacks me in the flamin' ear:

P'raps a song that Rickards billed, er p'raps a line o' 'Waltz

Matilder',

Then I feel I'm in Australia, took an' shifted over 'ere.

Till the music sort o' gits me, an' I lets me top notes roam

While I treats the gentle foeman to a chunk uv ' 'Ome,

Sweet 'Ome.'"

 

They wus singin' on the troopship, they wus singin' in the train;

When they left their land be'ind 'em they wus shoutin' a refrain,

An' I'll bet they 'ave a chorus, gay an' glad in greetin' for us,

When their bit us scrappin's over, an' they lob back 'ome

again . . . 

An' the blokes that ain't returnin' --blokes that's paid the

biggest price,

They go singin',singin', singin' to the Gates uv Paradise.

VIII.  IN SPADGER'S  LANE

[Illustration of a man and woman - "Rosie the Rip wus jist the soft, weak tart."

 

In Spadger's Lane

 

'OLE Mother Moon 'oo yanks 'er beamin' dile

Acrost the sky when we've grown sick o' day.

She's like some fat ole Jane 'oo loves to smile

On all concerned, an' smooth our faults

away;

An', like a woman, tries to 'ide again

The sores an' scars crool day 'as made too plain.

 

To all the earth she gives the soft glad-eye;

She picks no fav'rits in this world o' men;

She peeps in nooks, where 'appy lovers sigh,

To make their joy more bonzer still; an' then,

O'er Spadger's Lane she waves a podgy 'and,

An' turns the scowlin' slums to Fairyland.

 

Aw, strike! I'm gettin' soft in my ole age!

I'm growin' mushy wiv the passin' years.

Me! that 'as called it weakness to ingage

In sloppy thorts that coax the pearly tears.

But say, me state o' mind I can't ixplain

When I seen Rose lars' night in Spadger's Lane.

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