For their very ghosts were guarding Ypres still.

Active, Guards, Reserve – men of every corps and name
That the bugles of the War-Lord muster in,
Each in turn you tried them, but the story was the same;
Play it how you would, my Lord, you never won the game,
No, never in a twelvemonth did you win.

A year, my Lord of Würtemberg – a year, or nearly so,
Since first you faced the British vis-à-vis!
Your learned Commandanten are the men who ought to know,
But to ordinary mortals it would seem a trifle slow,
If you really mean to travel to the sea.

If you cannot straf the British, since they strafen you so well,
You can safely smash the town that lies so near,
So it's down with arch and buttress, down with belfry and with bell,
And it's hoch the seven-seven that can drop the petrol shell
On the shrines that pious hands have loved to rear!

Fair Ypres was a relic of the soul of other days,
A poet's dream, a wanderer's delight,
We will keep it as a symbol of your brute Teutonic ways
That millions yet unborn may come and curse you as they gaze
At this token of your impotence and spite.

For shame, my Lord of Würtemberg! Across the Flemish Fen
See where the little army calls you.
It's just the old familiar line of fifty thousand men,
They've beat you once or twice, my Lord, but venture it again,
Come, try your luck, whatever fate befalls you.

GROUSING

“The army swore terribly in Flanders.”

Uncle Toby.

What do the soldiers say?
“Dam! Dam! Dam!
I don't mind cold, I don't mind heat,
Over the top for a Sunday treat,
With Fritz I'll always take my spell,
But I want my grub, and where in hell
Is the jam?”

What does the officer say?
“Dam! Dam! Dam!
Mud and misery, flies and stench,
Piggin' it here in a beastly trench,
But what I mean, by Jove, you see,
I like my men and they don't mind me,
So, on the whole, I'd rather be
Where I am.”

What does the enemy say?
“Kolossal Verdam!
They told me, when the war began,
The British Tommy always ran,
And so he does, just as they said,
But, Donnerwetter! it's straight ahead,
Like a ram.”

What does the public say?
“Dam! Dam! Dam!
They tax me here, they tax me there,
Bread is dear and the cupboard bare,
I'm bound to grouse, but if it's the way
To win the war, why then I'll pay
Like a lamb.”

THE VOLUNTEER

(1914–1919)

The dreams are passed and gone, old man,
That came to you and me,
Of a six days' stunt on an east coast front,
And the Hun with his back to the sea.

Lord, how we worked and swotted sore
To be fit when the day should come!
Four years, my lad, and five months more,
Since first we followed the drum.

Though “Follow the drum” is a bit too grand,
For we ran to no such frills;
It was just the whistles of Nature's band
That heartened us up the hills.

That and the toot of the corporal's flute,
Until he could blow no more,
And the lilt of “Sussex by the Sea,”
The marching song of the corps.

Those hills! My word, you would soon get fit,
Be you ever so stale and slack,
If you pad it with rifle and marching kit
To Rotherfield Hill and back!

Drills in hall, and drills outdoors,
And drills of every type,
Till we wore our boots with forming fours,
And our coats with “Shoulder hipe!”

No glory ours, no swank, no pay,
One dull eventless grind;
Find yourself, and nothing a day
Were the terms that the old boys signed.

Just drill and march and drill again,
And swot at the old parade,
But they got two hundred thousand men.
Not bad for the old brigade!

A good two hundred thousand came,
On the chance of that east coast fight;
They may have been old and stiff and lame,
But, by George, their hearts were right!

Discipline! My! “Eyes right!” they cried,
As we passed the drill hall door,
And left it at that – so we marched cock-eyed
From three to half-past four.

And solid! Why, after a real wet bout
In a hole in the Flanders mud,
It would puzzle the Boche to fetch us out,
For we couldn't get out if we would!

Some think we could have stood war's test,
Some say that we could not,
But a chap can only do his best,
And offer all he's got.

Fall out, the guard! The old home guard!
Pile arms! Right turn! Dismiss!
No grousing, even if it's hard
To break our ranks like this.

We can't show much in the way of fun
For four and a half years gone;
If we'd had our chance – just one! just one! —
Carry on, old Sport, carry on!