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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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The Young Guard
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BUT there's never a word
about Old Man Wren
In the screeds he scribbles
to-day —
Though he praises his N.C.O.'s
and men
In rather a pointed way.
And he rubs it in (with a knitted
brow)
That the war's as good as a pic-
nic now,
And better than any play!
HIS booby-hutch is "as safe
as the Throne,"
And he fares "like the C. – in-
Chief,"
But has purchased "a top-hole
gramophone
By way of comic relief."
(And he sighs as he hears the
men applaud,
While the Woodbine spices are
wafted abroad
With the odour of bully-beef.)
HE may touch on the latest
type of bomb,
But Ermyntrude needn't
blench,
For he never says where you hurl
it from,
And it might be from your
trench.
He never might lead a stealthy
band,
Or toe the horrors of No Man's
Land,
Or swim at the sickly stench..
HER letters came up by
ration-cart
As the men stood-to before
dawn:
He followed the chart of her
soaring heart
With face transfigured yet
drawn:
It filled him with pride, touched
with chivalrous shame.
But – it spoilt the war, as a first-
class game,
For this particular pawn.
THE Sergeant sees it, and
damns the cause
In a truly terrible flow;
But turns and trounces, without
a pause,
A junior N. C. O.
For the crime of agreeing that
Ensign Joy
Isn't altogether the officer boy
That he was four months ago!
AT length he's dumfounded
(the month being May)
By a sample of Ermyntrude's
fun!
"You will kindly get leave over
Christmas Day,
Or make haste and finish the
But Christmas means presents,
she bids him beware:
"So what do you say to a son and
heir?
I'm thinking of giving you
Hun!"
WHAT, indeed, does the
Ensign say?
What does he sit and write?
What do his heart-strings drone all day?
What do they throb all night?
What does he add to his piteous
prayers? —
"Not for my own sake, Lord, but
– theirs,
See me safe through …"
THEY talk – and he writhes
– "of our spirit out here,
Our valour and all the rest!
There's my poor, lonely, delicate
dear,
As brave as the very best!
We stand or fall in a cheery
crowd,
And yet how often we grouse
aloud!
about Old Man Wren
In the screeds he scribbles
to-day —
Though he praises his N.C.O.'s
and men
In rather a pointed way.
And he rubs it in (with a knitted
brow)
That the war's as good as a pic-
nic now,
And better than any play!
HIS booby-hutch is "as safe
as the Throne,"
And he fares "like the C. – in-
Chief,"
But has purchased "a top-hole
gramophone
By way of comic relief."
(And he sighs as he hears the
men applaud,
While the Woodbine spices are
wafted abroad
With the odour of bully-beef.)
HE may touch on the latest
type of bomb,
But Ermyntrude needn't
blench,
For he never says where you hurl
it from,
And it might be from your
trench.
He never might lead a stealthy
band,
Or toe the horrors of No Man's
Land,
Or swim at the sickly stench..
HER letters came up by
ration-cart
As the men stood-to before
dawn:
He followed the chart of her
soaring heart
With face transfigured yet
drawn:
It filled him with pride, touched
with chivalrous shame.
But – it spoilt the war, as a first-
class game,
For this particular pawn.
THE Sergeant sees it, and
damns the cause
In a truly terrible flow;
But turns and trounces, without
a pause,
A junior N. C. O.
For the crime of agreeing that
Ensign Joy
Isn't altogether the officer boy
That he was four months ago!
AT length he's dumfounded
(the month being May)
By a sample of Ermyntrude's
fun!
"You will kindly get leave over
Christmas Day,
Or make haste and finish the
But Christmas means presents,
she bids him beware:
"So what do you say to a son and
heir?
I'm thinking of giving you
Hun!"
WHAT, indeed, does the
Ensign say?
What does he sit and write?
What do his heart-strings drone all day?
What do they throb all night?
What does he add to his piteous
prayers? —
"Not for my own sake, Lord, but
– theirs,
See me safe through …"
THEY talk – and he writhes
– "of our spirit out here,
Our valour and all the rest!
There's my poor, lonely, delicate
dear,
As brave as the very best!
We stand or fall in a cheery
crowd,
And yet how often we grouse
aloud!
Другие электронные книги автора Ernest Hornung
Последний отзыв
Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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