TOMMY’S SONG OF HATE.

Gisborne Times, Volume XLV, Issue 3983, 16 July 1915, Page 3

TOMMY’S SONG OF HATE.

The following verses, written by a member of the Expeditionary Force at the front, have been forwarded to this office; Greasy ’Arry, the cook of “B,” made a custard pudden for mo From an egg we pinched, at a farm

nearby and a tin of Nestles I bought at Y ; Me bein’ sick and 'im a pal, Not wishing to see md take my chance, Or took in a motor ambulance To some base gen’ral, hospital. He lit a fire and we took oar turn blowing to make the d thing burn; Ho mixed the' stulF, and ho poured it clean into the lid of an old canteen. And when it boiled, like a bloomin’ fool, He stuck it up on a parapet, To give the custard a chance to set (For the edge of a trench is pretty cool). And in tho night, when I lay asleep dreaming of custards, who should creep Under the wiro entanglement but a. Prussian sniper, with foul intent. Our bat-eyed sentry never saw The sneaking swine in his stockin’cd feet Pinching the grub I meant to cat. Against all International Law. One bate I have an’ ono hate alone. One frightful hate in flesh and bone, One hate that’s bigger than ha to of wrong. A hate that I’ve turned to a morning son g: ' I hate all Germans that lie and boast. And pass our so-called listening post, To sneak the comforts that food the sick, 'A horrible, dirty, low-down trick. I hate as one and I hate as four, I hate tho hate of an army corps; One hate I have and one hate I hiss. An’ I call the perishin’ blighter this: I> UDDEN-PINCHER.