“NUMBER NINE”

Evening Star, Issue 24280, 22 August 1942, Page 3

“NUMBER NINE”

[Written by “ X.Y.,” for the ‘Evening Star.’j “ There’s a rift within the lute, There’s a codlin in the fruit, There’s a nigger in the woodpile, in tlie ointment there’s a liy. Ere to-morrow's sun emerges We shall have a Purge of Purges. Now the' Party’s 'been inspected, Washed, and scrubbed, and disinfected Till its odour in our noses Is like violets and roses. So we’ll'-take it to the clothes line, and we’ll bang it out to dry. “ For my spies in every troop Slink and sleuth, and sniff and snoop. They have giued their ears to keyholes and their eyes to windowpanes. There’s been tampering with loekses Of the members’ letter boxes. Telephonic conversations Underwent investigations. There’s been fossicking in dustbins, there’s been dredging down the drains.” Well, it did the I>uoo good dust to see the multitude— Threescore thousand faithless Fascists, doing penance for their sins. Companies, brigades, divisions, , All awaiting his decisions. Each'defaulter simply oozing With repentance and confusion, Pins and needles down their vertebrae, and gooseflesli on their skins. What did Mussolini do? For we’ve not the slightest clue. Did he scold them till the teardrops ran a-triokling down their cheeks P Did he have them shot as traitors To discourage imitators? Did he fasten them in fetters For irreverence to their bettors? Did he strip their black shirts off, and leave them shivering in their breeks? 'Possibly lie passed them on To the Germans on the Don To replace deceased Rumanians somewhere west of Stalingrad, Where the macaroni’s scanty And they can’t obtain Chianti, Where their bosses will remind them That a Nazi’s boot’s behind them To correct a rash propensity for calling “ Kamerad !” So, Fascist!, please beware. Put your badges on with care. Your Duce’s sold you on. the hoof, but still you mustn't squeal. Then be disciplined and humble (Mustn't swear, or grouse. or grumble). Go to meet your fate together Ail behind the old bell-wether. For sheep are sheep until they die, and what does mutton feel?