The Booby-Trap

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‘ ad n't no need to go;

An’ I tells‘ im strite, but‘ e arnsers, “‘ Tai n'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;

A little, old, bent-over lydy, wiv glasses an’ silvery‘ air;

Must tell‘ er I planted‘ im nicely, cheer‘ er up like.... ( Well, I'm blowed,

That bullet near catched me a biffer ) — I'll see the old gel if I'm spared.

She'll tike it to‘ eart, pore ol’ lydy, fer‘ e was‘ er‘ ope and‘ er joy;

‘ Is dad used to drink like a knot -‘ ole, she kept the‘ ome goin’, she did:

She pinched and she scriped fer‘ is scoolin’,‘ e was sich a fine‘ andsome boy

(‘ Alf Flanders seems packed on me panties ) —

‘ e's‘ andsome no longer, pore kid!

This bit o’ a board that I'm packin’ and draggin’ around in the mire,

I was tickled to death when I found it. Says I, “‘ Ere's a nice little glow.”

I was chilled and wet through to the marrer, so I started to make me a fire;

And then I says: “No;‘ ere, Goblimy, it'll do for a cross for Joe.”

Well,‘ ere‘ e is. Gawd!‘ Ow one chinges a-lyin’ six weeks in the rain.

Joe, me old pal,‘ ow I'm sorry; so‘ elp me, I wish I could pray.

An’ now I‘ ad best get a-diggin’‘ is grave ( it seems more like a drain ) —

And I‘ opes that the Boches wo n't git me till I gits‘ im safe planted away.

( As he touches the body there is a tremendous explosion.

He falls back shattered. )

A booby-trap! Ought to‘ a known it! If that's not a bastardly trick!

Well, one thing, I wo n't be long goin’. Gawd! I'm a‘ ell of a sight.

Wish I'd died fightin’ and killin’; that's wot it is makes me sick....

Ah, Joe! we'll be pushin’ up dysies... together, old Chummie... good-night!