POEM FROM TOBRUK

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 4, Issue 193, 15 December 1941, Page 2

POEM FROM TOBRUK

"MY FRIEND WHO STAYED AT HOME" AUTHOR BELIEVED KILT-ED From Tobrnk has come one of the first soldiers' poems, of this war and the verses printed bo low were first published in New Zealand by the "Morrinsville Star,"' to which they were sent by Lance-Corporal H. M. McArtliu r. According to the enclosure from Lance-Corporal McA'rthur the author of this remarkable piece of verso is believed to be a man now dead. Ho was a member of the A.T.F. (Australian Imperial Forces), believed to have been a truck driver, who was killed in action at Tobruk shortly after he had scrawled the stanzas on the wall of a dugout. They were later copied by another A.T.F. man. Driver J. Nightingale, and sent to Australia. The poetry, which has not been "touched lip," but is published exactly as it was written, is not technically perfect, but it reveals a remarkable sense of feeling and power of expression. I'm pulling down my colours, I'll sling away my web, I'm go'ng down to Cairo to buy myself a lied. I'm tired of being a soldier, so help me bob, J am, Of getting bully and biscuits and of eating bread and jam, Of fighting dirty Dagoes and Jerries on my own, When T think of dear old Aussie and my friends who stayed at home. I'll bet they're walking doAvn the street, their cheeks puffed out with pride, And skiting to their cobbers how I saved their worthless hide. While heres me in the desert, afraio to show my head. For fear some dirty Dago will fill if full of lead. I'm just a nerve-racked soldier —a heap of skin and bone, But still I'll do the fighting for my friends who stayed at home. When T told my dear old dad that I've volunteered to light, He said: "God bless you, son, and bring you back all right." They called us chocolate soldier? and five bob tourists 100. They said "You'll never see the front or even get a view," They said "You'll have a picnic over there across the foam." But they're not too game to join us —my friends who stayed at home. They are not such bad shots cither, ! along the rabbit track. But then they're out of danger, for a rabbit can't hit back. They shine before he barmaid they brag, they're full of ski.te, But on the corners of the street is where they have their fight, A billiard cue for rifle—a bar their fighting zone, But there ain't no bullets there for my friends, who stayed at home. So now I'll pick my rifle up and buckle my web about, Though I'm only a flaming driver I'll see the business out, And if I stop a bullet I'll die without a moan, For they put the kybosh on it—my fri.ends who stayed at home.