Marshal Neigh, VC

He came from tumbled country past the

  humps of Buffalo

Where the snow sits on the mountain 'n' the

  Summer aches below.

He'd a silly name like Archie. Squattin'

  sullen on the ship,

He knew nex' to holy nothin' through the gor-

  forsaken trip.

No thoughts he had of women, no refreshin'

  talk of beer;

If he'd battled, loved, or suffered vital facts

  did not appear;

But the parsons and the poets couldn't teach

  him to discourse

When it come to pokin' guyver at a pore,

  deluded horse.

If nags got sour 'n' kicked agin the rules of

  things at sea,

Artie argued matters with 'em, 'n' he'd kid

  'em up a tree.

“Here's a pony got hystericks. Pipe the word

  for Privit Rowe,”

The Sargint yapped, 'n' all the ship came

  cluckin' to the show.

He'd chat him confidential, 'n' he'd pet 'n'

  paw the moke;

He'd tickle him, 'n' flatter him, 'n' try him

  with a joke;

'N' presently that neddy sobers up, 'n' sez

  “Ive course,

Since you puts it that way, cobber, I will be

  a better horse.”

There was one pertickler whaler, known

  aboard ez Marshal Neigh,

Whose monkey tricks with Privit Rowe was

  better than a play.

He'd done stunts in someone's circus, 'n' he

  loved a merry bout,

Whirlin' in to bust his boiler, or to kick

  the bottom out.

Rowe he sez: “Well, there's an idjit! Oh,

  yes, let her whiz, you beauty!

Where's yer 'orse sense, little feller? Where's

  yer bloomin' sense iv duty?

Well, you orter serve yer country!” Then

  there'd come a painful hush,

'N' that nag would drop his head-piece, 'n', so

  'elp me cat, he'd blush.

We was heaped ashore be Suez, rifle, horse,

  'n' man, 'n' tent,

Where the land is sand, the water, 'n' the

  gory firmament.

We had intervals iv longin', we had sweaty

  spells of work

In the ash-pit iv Gehenner, dumbly waitin'

  fer the Turk.

We goes driftin' on the desert, nothin' doin',

  nothin' said,

Till we get to think we're nowhere, 'n' arf

  fancy we are dead,

'N' the only 'uman interest on the red hori-

  zon's brim

Is Marshal Neigh's queer faney fer the lad

  that straddles him.

Plain-livin's nearly, bored us stiff. The Major

  calls on Rowe

To devise an entertainment. What his

  charger doesn't know

Isn't in the regulations. Him 'n' Rowe is

  brothers met,

'N' that horse's sense iv humor is the oddest

  fancy yet.

But the Turk arrives one mornin' on the outer

  edge iv space.

From back iv things his guns is floppin' kegs

  about the place,

'N' Privit Artie Rowe along with others iv

  the force

Goes pig-rootin' inter battle, holdin' converse

  with his horse.

Little Abdul's quite a fighter, 'n' he mixes it

  with skill;

But the Anzacs have him snouted,, 'n', oh,

  ma, he's feelin' ill.

They wake the all-fired desert, 'n' the land for

  ever dead

Is alive 'n' fairly creepin', and the skies are

  droppin' lead.

When they've got the Ot'man goin', little

  gaudy hunts begin.

It fer us to chiv His Trousers. 'n' to round

  the stragglers in.

Cuttin' closest to the raw, 'n' swearin' lovin'

  all the way,

Is Artie from Molinga on his neddy, Marshal

  Neigh.

We're pursuin' sundry camels turkey-trottin'

  anyhow

With the carriage iv an emu 'n' the action iv

  a cow,

When a sand dune busts, 'n' belches arf a

  million iv the foe.

They uncork a blanky batt'ry, 'n' it's, Allah,

  let her go!

We're not stayin' dinner, thank you. Lie

  along yer horse 'n' yell,

While the bullets pip yer britches 'n' you

  sniff the flue of Hell.

Here it is that Artie takes it good 'n' solid in

  the crust,

He dives from out the saddle, 'n' is swallered

  in the dust.

I got through 'n' saw them pointin' where the

  Marshal faced the band.

He was goin' where we came from, sniffin'

  bodies in the sand.

Till he found Rowe snugglin' under, took him

  where his pants was slack,

'N' be all the Asiatic gods, he brought his

  soldier back!

With a bullet in his buttock, 'n' a drill hole

  in his ear,

He dumped Artie down among us. Square

  'n' all, how did we cheer!

There's no medals struck fer neddies, but we

  rule there orter be,

'N' the pride iv all the Light Horse is old

  Marshal Neigh, V.C.