Poems by Jessie Pope

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War Girls

'There's the girl who clips your ticket for the train,

And the girl who speeds the lift from floor to floor,

There's the girl who does a milk-round in the rain,

And the girl who calls for orders at your door.

Strong, sensible, and fit,

They're out to show their grit,

And tackle jobs with energy and knack.

No longer caged and penned up,

130

by Jessie Pope

The Call

Who's for the trench—

Are you, my laddie?

Who'll follow French—

Will you, my laddie?

Who's fretting to begin,

Who's going out to win?

And who wants to save his skin—

Do you, my laddie?

132

by Jessie Pope

Who's for the Game?

Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played,

The red crashing game of a fight?

Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid?

And who thinks he’d rather sit tight?

Who’ll toe the line for the signal to ‘Go!’?

Who’ll give his country a hand?

Who wants a turn to himself in the show?

And who wants a seat in the stand?

174

by Jessie Pope

Socks

Shining pins that dart and click

In the fireside’s sheltered peace

Check the thoughts the cluster thick -

20 plain and then decrease.

He was brave – well, so was I –

Keen and merry, but his lip

Quivered when he said good-bye –

Purl the seam-stitch, purl and slip.

155

by Jessie Pope

The Knitting Song

Sailor lad, on the sodden ground,

Sailor lad on the seas,

Can't you hear a little clicketty sound

Stealing across on the breeze?

It's the knitting-needles singing their song

As they twine the khaki or blue,

Thousands and thousands and thousands strong,

Tommy and Jack, for you.

136

by Jessie Pope

The Nut’s Birthday

When Gilbert’s birthday came last spring,

Oh! How our brains were racked

To try to find a single thing

Our languid dear one lacked;

For, since he nestled at his ease

Upon the lap of Plenty,

Stock birthday presents failed to please

The Nut of two and twenty.

150

by Jessie Pope

The Lads of the Maple Leaf

RIPE for any adventure, sturdy, loyal and game,

Quick to the call of the Mother, the young Canadians came.

Eager to show their mettle, ready to shed their blood,

They bowed their neck to the collar and trained in the Wiltshire mud;

Shipped, in the fulness of time, across to the other shore,

Heard a deep hum in the distance, the basso profundo of war,

Fretted to get to the business, chafed for the firing line;

Forward, with throbbing pulses, like pilgrims who near their shrine;

263

by Jessie Pope

Little and Good

Young Thompson was a bit too short,

But hard as nails and level-headed,

And in his soul the proper sort

Of dogged pluck was deeply bedded ;

To join the ranks he almost ran,

But saw the weedy supersede him ;

Though he was every inch a man,

His country didn't need him.

128

by Jessie Pope

Marching To Germany

SWING along together, lads ; we'll have a little song,

Kits won't be so heavy and the way won't be so long.

We're goin' to cook " the Sossiges," to cook 'em hot and strong

While we go marching to Germany.

Chorus

Hurrah, hurrah, for Berlin on the Spree !

Hurrah, hurrah, there's "Sossiges" for tea!

We're out to catch the Kaiser and bring him to his knee

115

by Jessie Pope

No!

By bridge and battery, town and trench,

They're fighting with bull-dog pluck;

Not one, from Tommy to General French,

Is down upon his luck.

There are some who stand and some who fall,

But how does the chorus go

That echoing chant in the hearts of all?

"Are we downhearted? NO!"

103

by Jessie Pope

Lights Out

Darkness expectant, discreet

Only a lamp here and there,

Gloom in the clattering street,

Stygian black in the square;

Dazzling fascias and fronts,

Scintillant sky-scrapers banished,

Snuffed and shut down are the spangles of Town.

London has vanished.

144

by Jessie Pope

Three Jolly Huntsmen

Three jolly, old huntsmen, Joe, Jerry, Jim,

Took lunch at "The Three Cornered Hat";

Now Jerry was lanky, but Joe wasn't slim,

And Jim was delightfully fat.

They sat at the table and worked with a will

At all the good things spread about them ;

They munched and they crunched and they gobbled, until

The hunt started gaily without them.

136

by Jessie Pope