Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/194

192 I’m crawlin’ out in the mangolds to bury wot’s left o’ Joe– Joe, my pal, and a good un (God! ’ow it rains and rains). I’m sick o’ seein’ him lyin’ like a ’eap o’ offal, and so I’m crawlin’ out in the beet-field to bury ’is last remains.

’E might’ a bin makin’ munitions–’e ’adn’t no need to go; An’ I tells ’im strite, but ’e arnsers, “’Tain’t no use chewin’ the fat; I’ve got to be doin’ me dooty wiv the rest o’ the boys”… an’ so Yon’s ’im, yon blob on the beet-field wot I’m tryin’ so ’ard to git at.

There was five of us lads from the brickyard; ’Enry was gassed at Bapome, Sydney was drowned in a crater, ’Erbert was ’alved by a shell; Joe was the pick o’ the posy, might ’a bin sifely at ’ome, Only son of ’is mother, ’er a widder as well.

She used to sell bobbins and buttons–’ad a plice near the Waterloo Road;