WAR AND WHISKERS.

Gisborne Times, Volume XLV, Issue 3980, 13 July 1915, Page 7

WAR AND WHISKERS.

“A Frenchman attached to a Scottish regiment describing British pluck and coolness, says ‘No danger deters them from their allegiance to the razor.’ ” —Rand “Daily Mail.”

My name is Sandy Cordon, An’ I come from P: terheid ; I've got my wee bit sword on, An’ I’m seekin’ for the “Weed.”

An’ tho’ I’rab no complainin’ Wi’ my duty, d’ye see, Nor the aeshool campainin’—■ It’s my whiskers fashes me.

“If there’s ae tiling I delicht in—Forby bairns, and gouf, and whin— It’s a body wha gangs fetchin’ Wi a decent shavit chin.

The whisky, I can waive it, But I’m naethin’, sac tae speak If I canna weel get shavit More’n twa-tbroe times a week,

An’ whiles, when shells are fieein’ Round aboot my lugs, I’m feared At the awfu’ thocht o’ deeing’ Wi’ three days’ growth o’ heard. As for shells, they’ll hae tae whistle, An’, if there’s ane for me— Well—l canna hide that bristle; I’ll hae my shave—and dee. Sae, when I’ve crossed the Jordan, An’ the Lord comes tae inspect. They’ll report juist, “Private Gordon Present—shavit—kit correct.” —Con. Murray in the Johannesburg “Sunday Times.”