| |
(Deserters)
THERE is a world outside the one you know, | |
| To which for curiousness ’Ell can’t compare— | |
| It is the place where “wilful-missings” go, | |
| As we can testify, for we are there. | |
| |
| You may ’ave read a bullet laid us low, | 5 |
| That we was gathered in “with reverent care” | |
| And buried proper. But it was not so, | |
| As we can testify,—for we are there! | |
| |
| They can’t be certain—faces alter so | |
| After the old aasvogel 1 ’s ’ad ’is share. | 10 |
| The uniform ’s the mark by which they go— | |
| And—ain’t it odd?—the one we best can spare. | |
| |
| We might ’ave seen our chance to cut the show— | |
| Name, number, record, an’ begin elsewhere— | |
| Leavin’ some not too late-lamented foe | 15 |
| One funeral—private—British—for ’is share. | |
| |
| We may ’ave took it yonder in the Low | |
| Bush-veldt that sends men stragglin’ unaware | |
| Among the Kaffirs, till their columns go, | |
| An’ they are left past call or count or care. | 20 |
| |
| We might ’ave been your lovers long ago, | |
| ’Usbands or children—comfort or despair. | |
| Our death (an’ burial) settles all we owe, | |
| An’ why we done it is our own affair. | |
| |
| Marry again, and we will not say no, | 25 |
| Nor come to barstardise the kids you bear. | |
| Wait on in ’ope—you’ve all your life below | |
| Before you’ll ever ’ear us on the stair. | |
| |
| There is no need to give our reasons, though | |
| Gawd knows we all ’ad reasons which were fair; | 30 |
| But other people might not judge ’em so— | |
| And now it doesn’t matter what they were. | |
| |
| What man can weigh or size another’s woe? | |
| There are some things too bitter ’ard to bear. | |
| Suffice it we ’ave finished—Domino! | 35 |
| As we can testify, for we are there, | |
| In the side-world where “wilful-missings” go. | |
