Early in June, held the trenches at Hooge.
Back in ‘Supports’ I sought Sergeant Badger.
Sun dazzling, flies swarming, circling, so huge,
Stenches of death, foul decaying matter!
Shortly found Badger de-lousing his shirt,
Sweat on his nose, in an ungainly pose.
Running live matches down seams, all alert,
A’scorching out nits, and livelier foes!
Famous wash house at ‘Pop’, change your linen!
Clean shirts, vests, and pants covering all needs,
Laund’ring fails to exterminate vermin,
Eggs deposited, hardy Belgian breeds!
‘Never find me lousy’, hopeful Harry,
His rueful face, and shirt, proved him so wrong.
I judged ‘twould be better not to tarry,
His discomfiture unduly prolong!
This spell in Hooge trenches being ended,
On returning to the hop fields near ‘Pop’,
A severe dose of ‘flu’ I endured,
M.O. ordered, ‘At once, all duties stop!’
This explains why a week later,
When the battalion, nine hundred strong,
Marched back to the Hooge sector, at Ypres,
Providentially left me from the throng.
Doctor ordered, ‘Medecine and duty’,
Performing daily light tasks in the camp.
Feeling the camp staff offhand and snooty,
Breathed more freely out enjoying a tramp!
All hell is let loose in The Salient!
Men are caught up in fire, carnage, and blitz.
Our lads suffer anguish, cruel torment.
‘Take it easy, T’is no joyride for Fritz!’
On that sad day when our comrades returned,
Those that were left I here humbly mention;
One Officer, ninety others replied,
Answered the Roll Call, shock and sensation!
Nine out of ten of the entire strength lost,
That marched unwittingly into the fray.
Now in this age we are counting the cost,
Of those lives, thrown so heedlessly away.
Sergeant Badger was one of the wounded;
Shrapnel finding it’s mark in the right thigh.
For Harry, the last bugle calls sounded,
No more fighting, wound healed, lucky guy!