Having previously stated that I dislike poetry generally, and war poetry specifically, here's another poem by the great MacGill. The true enemy of the British Tommy was the fly:
"Buzz-fly and gad-fly, dragon-fly and blue,
When you're in the trenches come and visit you,
They revel in your butter-dish and riot on your ham,
Drill upon the army cheese and loot the army jam.
When you're in the trenches come and visit you,
They revel in your butter-dish and riot on your ham,
Drill upon the army cheese and loot the army jam.
They're with you in the dusk and the dawning and the noon,
They come in close formation, in column and platoon.
There's never zest like Tommy's zest when these have got to die :
For Tommy takes his puttees off and strafs the blooming fly."
They come in close formation, in column and platoon.
There's never zest like Tommy's zest when these have got to die :
For Tommy takes his puttees off and strafs the blooming fly."
Rifleman Patrick MacGill
1/18th Battalion London Regiment (London Irish Rifles)
