C.J. Dennis, The Moods of Ginger Mick - Part 6

92   THE MOODS OF GINGER MICK–—

'E sort o' takes it personal, yeh see.         

'E used to 'awk 'em fer a crust, did Mick.

Now, makin' 'im play rabbits seems to be

A narsty trick.

To shove 'im like a bunny down a 'ole

It looks like chuckin' orf, an' sours 'is soul.

"Fair doos," 'e sez. "I joined the bloomin' ranks

To git away frum rabbits: thinks I'm done

Wiv them Australian pests, an' 'ere's their thanks:

They makes me one!

An' 'ere I'm squattin', scared to shift about;

Jist waitin' fer me little tail to sprout.

"Ar, strike me up a wattle! but it's tough!

But 'ere's the dizzy limit, fer a cert—

To live this bunny's life is bad enough,

But 'ere's reel dirt:

Some tart at 'ome 'as sent, wiv lovin' care,

A coat uv rabbit-skins fer me to wear!

"That's done it! Now I'm nibblin' at me food,

An' if a dawg shows up I'll start to squeal.

I s'pose I orter melt wiv gratichude:

"Tain't 'ow I feel.

She might 'a' fixed a note on wiv a pin;

'Please, Mister Rabbit, yeh fergot yer skin!'

RABBITS     93

"I sees me finish! . . . War? Why, this ain't war!

It's ferritin'! An' I'm the bloomin' game.

Me skin alone is worth the 'untin' for—

That tart's to blame!

Before we're done, I've got a silly scare,

Some trappin' Turk will catch me in a snare.

" 'E'll skin me, wiv the others 'e 'as there,

An' shove us on a truck, an' bung us 'round

Constantinople at a bob a pair—

'Orl fresh an' sound!

'Eads down, 'eels up, 'e'll 'awk us in a row

Around the 'arems, 'owlin' 'Rabbee-oh!

"But, dead in earnest, it's a job I 'ate.

We've got to do it, an' it's gittin' done;

But this soul-dopin' game uv sit-an' wait

It ain't no fun.

There's times I wish, if we weren't short uv men,

That I wus back in 'orspital agen.

"Ar, 'orspital! There is the place to git.

If I thort Paradise wus 'arf so snug

I'd shove me 'ead above the parapit

An' stop a slug.

But one thing blocks me playin' sich a joke:

I want another scrap before I croak.

94  THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

"I want it bad. I want to git right out

An' plug some josser in the briskit—'ard,

I want to 'owl an' chuck me arms about,

An' jab, an' guard.

An' swing, an' upper-cut, an' crool some pitch,

Or git passed out meself—I don't care w'ich.

"There's some blokes 'ere they've tumbled to a stunt

Fer gittin' 'em the spell that they deserves,

They chews some cordite when life at the front

Gits on their nerves.

It sends yer tempracher clean out uv sight,

An', if yeh strike a simple doc, yer right.

"I tries it once. Me soul 'ad got the sinks,

Me thorts annoyed me, an' I 'ad the joes,

I feels like no one loves me, so I thinks,

Well, Mick, 'ere goes!

I breaks a cartridge open, chews a bit,

Reports I'm sick, an' throws a fancy fit.

"Me lovin' sargint spreads the gloomy noos,

I gits paraded; but, aw, 'Struth! me luck!

It weren't no baby doc I interviews,

But some ole buck

Wiv gimblet eyes. 'Put out yer tongue!' 'e 'owls.

Then takes me temp, an' stares at me, an' growls.

RABBITS     95

"'Well well' 'e sez. 'Wot is yer trouble, lad?'

I grabs me tummy ;ard, an' sez I'm ill.

'You are.' sez 'e. Yeh got corditis, bad.

Yeh need a pill.

Before yeh go to sleep', 'e sez, 'to-night,

Swaller the bullet, son, an' you'll be right.'

" 'Ow's that fer rotten luck? But orl the same,

I ain't complainin' when I thinks it out.

I seen it weren't no way to play the game,

This pullin' out.

We're orl uv us in this to see it thro',

An' bli'me, wot we've got to do, we'll do.

"But 'oles an' burrers! Strike! An' this is war!

This is the bonzer scrappin' uv me dreams!

A willin' go is wot I bargained for,

But 'ere it seems

I've died, someway, an' bin condemned to be

Me own Wile Rabbee fer eternity.

"But 'orspital! I tell yeh, square an' all,

If I could meet the murderin' ole Turk

'Oo's bullet sent me there to loaf an' sprawl,

An' dodge me work,

Lord! I'd shake 'an's wiv 'im, an' thank 'im well

Fer givin' me a reel ole bonzer spell.

96   THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

" 'E might 'a' made it jist a wee bit worse.

I'd stand a lot uv that before I'd scream.

The grub wus jist the thing; an', say, me nurse!

She wus a dream!

I used to treat them tony tarts wiv mirth;

But now I know why they wus put on earth.

"It treated me reel mean, that wound uv mine;

It 'ealed too quick, considerin' me state.

An' 'ere I am, back in the firin' line

Gamblin' wiv Fate.

It's like two-up: I'm 'eadin' 'em this trip;

But lookin', day be day, to pass the kip.

"You tell Doreen, yer wife, 'ow I am chock

Full to the neck wiv thanks fer things she sends.

Each time I shoves me foot inside a sock

I bless sich friends.

I'm bustin' wiv glad thorts fer things she did;

So tell'er I serloots 'er, an' the kid.

"Make 'im a soljer, chum, when 'e gits old.

Teach 'im the tale uv wot the Anzacs did.

Teach 'im 'e's got a land to love an' hold.

Gawd bless the kid!

But I'm in 'opes when 'is turn comes around

They'll chuck this style uv rootin' underground.

RABBITS   97

"We're up agin it, mate: we know that well.

There ain't a man among us wouldn't lob

Over the parapit an' charge like 'ell

To end the job.

But this is war; an' discipline–well, lad,

We sez we 'ates it; but we ain't too bad.

"Glory an' gallant scraps is wot I dreamed,

Ragin' around an' smashin' foemen flat:

But war, like other things, ain't wot it seems.

So 'stid uv that,

I'm sittin' in me dug-out scrawlin' this,

An' thankin' Gawd when shells go by—an' miss.

I'm sittin' in me dug-out day be day—

It narks us; but Australia's got a name

Fer doin' little jobs like blokes 'oo play

A clean, straight game.

Wiv luck I might see scrappin' 'fore I'm done, 

Or go where Craig 'as gone, an' miss the fun.

"But if I dodge, an' keep out uv the rain,

An' don't toss in me alley 'fore we wins;

An' if I lobs back 'ome an' meets the Jane

'Oo sent the skins—

These bunnies' overcoats I lives inside—

I'll squeal at 'er, an' run away an' 'ide.
G

98    THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

"But, torkin' straight, the Janes 'as done their bit.

I'd like to 'ug the lot, orl on me pat!

They warms us well, the things they've sewed an' knit"

An' more than that—

I'd like to tell them dear Australian tarts

The spirit uv it warms Australian 'earts."

XII. TO THE BOYS WHO TOOK THE COUNT

Diagram - see original document 
"So 'ere's to the cove 'oo is nursin' 'is 'urts."

To the Boys Who Took the Count

SEE, I'm writin' to Mick as a bloke to a bloke—

To a cobber o' mine at the front—

An' I'm gittin' full up uv the mullock they poke

At the cove that is bearin' the brunt.

Fer 'e musn't do this an' 'e shouldn't do that,

An' 'e's crook if 'e looks a bit shick,

An' 'e's gittin' too uppish, an' don't touch 'is 'at—

But 'ere's 'ow I puts it to Mick.

Now, it's dickin to style if yer playin' the game,

If it's marbles, or shinty, or war;

I've seen 'em lob 'ome 'ere, the 'alt an' the lame,

That wus fine 'efty fellers before.

They wus toughs, they wus crooks, they wuv ev'ry bad

thing.

But they mixed it as gentlemen should.

So 'ere's to the coot wiv 'is eye in a sling,

An' a smile in the one that is good.

101

102  THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

It wus playin' the game in the oval an' ring—

An' playin' fer orl it wus worth—

That give 'em the knack uv a punch wiv a sting

When they fought fer the land uv their birth.

They wus pebs, they wus narks, they wus reel naughty

boys,

But they didn't need no second 'int,

So ere's to the bloke wiv 'is swearin' an' noise,

An' 'is foot in a fathom uv lint.

There wus fellers I knoo in the soft days uv peace;

An' I didn't know much to their good;

An' they give more 'ard graft to the overworked p'leece

Than a reel puffick gentleman should.

They wus lookin' fer lash long before it wus doo;

When it come, they wus into it, straight.

So 'ere's to the bloke wiv 'is shoulder shot thro'

'Oo is cursin' the days 'e's to wait.

Ar, dickin to swank! when it comes to a mill,

It's the bloke wiv a punch 'oo's yer friend.

An' a coarse, narsty man wiv the moniker Bill

Earns the thanks uv the crowd in the end.

(An' when I sez "earns" I am 'opin' no stint

Will be charged agin us by-an'-bye.)

So 'ere's to the boy wiv 'is arm in a splint

An' a "don't-care-a-dam" in 'is eye.

TO  THE  BOYS  WHO  TOOK  THE  COUNT    103

'Cos the fightin's too far fer to give us a grip

Of the 'ell full uv slaughter an' noise,

There's a breed that gives me the partic'lar pip

Be the way that they torks uv the boys.

O, they're coarse, an' they're rude, an' it's awful to live

Wiv their cursin' an' shoutin' an' fuss.

Dam it! 'Ere's to the bloke wiv the bad-lookin' chiv

That 'e poked inter trouble fer us!

O, it's dead agin etikit, dead agin style

Fer to swear an' to swagger an' skite;

But a battle ain't won wiv a drorin'-room smile,

An' yeh 'ave to be rude in a fight.

An' it's bein' reel rude to enemy blokes

That'll earn yeh that 'ero-like touch,

So'ere's to the boy wiv 'is curses an' jokes

'Oo is 'oppin' about on a crutch.

Now, the Turk is a gent, an' they greets 'im as such,

An' they gives doo respect to 'is Nibs;

But 'e never 'eld orf to apolergise much

When 'e slid 'is cold steel in their ribs.

An' our boys won the name that they give 'em of late

'Cos they fought like a jugful uv crooks,

So 'ere's to the bloke wiv the swaggerin' gait

An' a bullet mark spoilin' 'is looks.

104  THE  MOODS  OF  GINGER  MICK

So, the bloke wiv the scoff, an' the bloke wiv the sneer,

An' the coot wiv the sensitive soul,

'E 'as got to sit back, an' jist change 'is idear

Uv the stuffin' that makes a man whole.

Fer the polish an' gilt that's a win wiv the skirts

It wears thin wiv the friction uv war.

So 'ere's to the cove 'oo is nursin' 'is 'urts

Wiv an oath in the set uv 'is jor.

When yeh've stripped a cove clean an' got down to the buff

Yeh come to the meat that's the man.

If yeh want to find grit an' sich similar stuff,

Yeh've to strip on a similar plan.

Fer there's nothin' like scrappin' to bare a man's soul,

If it's Billo, or Percy, or Gus.

So 'ere's to the bloke 'oo 'ops round on a pole

An' 'owls songs goin' 'ome on the bus.

Spare me days! When a bloke takes the count in a scrap

That 'e's fightin' fer you an' fer me,

Is it fair that a snob 'as the nerve fer to snout

Any swad 'cos 'is manners is free?

They're deservin' our thanks, frum the best to the worst—

An' there's some is reel rorty, I own—

But 'ere's to the coot wiv the 'ang-over thirst

'Oo sprags a stray toff fer a loan.

TO  THE  BOYS  WHO  TOOK  THE  COUNT    105

So I'm writin' to Mick; an' I'm feelin' reel wet

Wiv the sort o' superior nark,

'Oo tilts up 'is conk an' gits orl the boys set,

'Oo are out fer a bit uv a lark.

So I puts it to Mick, as I sez when I starts,

An' I ends wiv the solemest toast:

'Ere's to 'im—(raise yer glass)—'oo left pride in our 'earts

An' 'is bones on Gallipoli coast.

XIII.   THE GAME

Diagram - see original document 
"Yeh ort to see the boys uv my ole squad."

The Game

"HO! the sky's as blue as blazes an' the sun is

shinin' bright,

An' the dicky birds is singin' over'ead,

An' I'm 'ummin, softly 'ummin', w'ile I'm

achin' fer a fight,

An' the chance to fill some blighter full o'

lead.

An' the big guns they are boomin', an' the shells is screamin' past,

But I'm corperil—lance-corperil, an' found me game at last!"

I ixpects a not frum Ginger, fer the time was gettin' ripe,

An' I gits one thick wiv merry 'owls uv glee,

Fer they've gone an' made 'im corperil—they've given 'im a stripe,

An' yeh'd think, to see 'is note, it wus V.C.

Fer 'e chortles like a nipper wiv a bran' noo Noer's Ark

Since Forchin she 'as smiled on 'im, an' life's no more a nark.

"Ho! the sky along the 'ill-tops, it is smudged wiv cannon smoke,

An' the shells along the front is comin' fast.

But the 'cads 'ave 'ad the savvy fer to reckernise a bloke,

An' permotion's gettin' common-sense at last.

An' they picked me fer me manners, w'ich wus shouted over 'ome,

But I've learned to be a soljer since I crossed the ragin' foam.

109

110       THE MOODS OF GINGER  MICK

"They 'ave picked me 'cos they trust me; an' it's got me where

I live,

An' it's put me on me metal, square an' all.

I wusn't in the runnin' once when blokes 'ad trust to give,

But over 'ere I answers to the call.

So some shrewd 'ead 'e marked me well, an' when the time wus

ripe,

'E took a chance on Ginger Mick, an' I 'ave snared me stripe.

"I know wot I wus forn fer now, an' soljerin's me game,

That's no furphy; but I never guessed it once;

Fer when I 'it things up at 'ome they said I wus to blame,

An' foolish beaks they sent me up fer munce.

But 'ere—well things is different to wot sich things wus then,

Fer me game is playin' soljers, an' me lurk is 'andlin' men.

"Me game is 'andlin' men, orl right, I seen it in the parst

When I used to 'ead the pushes in the Lane.

An' ev'ry bloke among 'em thendone everythin' I arst,

Fer I never failed to make me meanin' plain.

Disturbers uv the peace we wus them days, but now I know

We wus aimin' to be soljers, but we never 'ad a show.

"We never 'ad no discipline, that's wot we wanted bad,

It's discipline that gives the push its might.

But wot a time we could 'ave give the coppers if we 'ad,

Lord! We'd 'ave capchered Melbourne in a night.

THE GAME     111

When I think uv things that might 'ave been I sometimes sit an'

grin,

Fer I might be King uv Footscray if we'd 'ad more discipline.

"I've got a push to 'andle now wot makes a soljer proud.

Yeh ort to see the boys uv my ole squad.

The willin'est, the cheeries, don'-care-a-damest crowd

An' the toughest ever seen outside o' quod.

I reckon that they gimme 'em becos they wus so meek,

But they know me, an' they understan' the lingo that I speak.

"So I'm a little corperil, wiv pretties on me arm,

But yeh'd never guess it fer to see me now,

Fer me valet 'e's been careless an' me trooso's come to 'arm,

An' me pants want creasin' badly I'll allow.

But to see me squad in action is a cure fer sandy blight,

They are shy on table manners, but they've notions 'ow ter fight.

"There's a little picnic promised that 'as long been overdoo,

An' we're waitin' fer the order to advance;

An' me bones is fairly achin' fer to see my boys bung thro',

Fer I know they're dancin' mad to git the chance.

An' there's some'll sure be missin' when we git into the game;

But if they lorst their corperil 'twould be cryin' shame.