C. J. Dennis

“ Stoush.—To punch with the fist. s. Violence.
Straight, on the.—In fair and honest fashion.
Strangle-hold.—An ungentle embrace in wrestling.
Strength of it.—The truth of it; the value of it.
Stretch, to do a.—To serve a term of imprisonment.
Strike.—The innocuous remnant of a hardy curse.
Strike.—To discover; to meet. ”

“ There's bin a lot o' tork, ole mate, uv wot we owe to you,
An' wot yeh've braved an' done fer us, an' wot we mean to do.
We've 'ailed you boys as 'eroes, Mick, an' torked uv just reward
When you 'ave done the job yer at an' slung aside the sword.
I guess it makes yeh think a bit, an' weigh this gaudy praise;
Fer even 'eroes 'ave to eat, an'—there is other days:
The days to come when we don't need no bonzer boys to fight:
When the flamin's picnic's over an' the Leeuwin looms in sight. ”

“ Fer me game is playin' soljers, an' me lurk is 'andlin' men.
"Me game is 'andlin' men, orl right, I seen it in the parst
⁠When I used to 'ead the pushes in the Lane.
An' ev'ry bloke among 'em then done everythin' I arst,
⁠Fer I never failed to make me meanin' plain.
Disturbers uv the peace we wus them days, but now I know
We wus aimin' to be soljers, but we never 'ad a show.
"We never 'ad no discipline, that's wot we wanted bad,
⁠It's discipline that gives the push its might. ”

“ An' seen 'is 'ard chiv grinnin' over there.
'E's laughed, an' told me stories uv the war.
⁠Changed some 'e looked, but still the same ole Mick,
Keener an' cleaner than 'e wus before.
⁠'E's took me 'and, an' said 'e's in great nick.
Sich wus the dreamin's uv a fool 'oo tried
To jist crack 'ardy, an' 'old gloom aside.
An' now—well, wot's the odds? I'm only one:
⁠One out uv many 'oo 'as lost a friend.
Manlike, I'll bounce again, an' find me fun;
⁠But fer poor Rose it seems the bitter end.
Fer Rose, an' sich as Rose, when one man dies
It seems the world goes black before their eyes. ”

“ Joint, to jump the.—To assume command; to occupy the "joint," i.e., establishment, situation, place of business.
Jolt, to pass a.—To deliver a short, sharp blow.
Jor.—The jaw.
Jorb (job) .—Avocation; employment. ”

“ The cops they takes a name er two, then gathers in the toff.
An' lobs 'im in a cold, 'ard cell to sleep 'is love-quest off.
But down in Rosie's kipsie, at the end uv Spadger's Lane,
'Er an' Mick is layin' supper out fer two.
"Now, I 'ate the game," sez Ginger, "an' it goes agin the grain;
But wot's a 'elpless, 'ungry bloke to do?"
An' 'e yanks a cold roast chicken frum the bosom uv 'is shirt,
An' Rosie finds a ducklin' underneath 'er Sund'y skirt.
So, when a bloke fergits 'imself, an' soils a lady's name,
Altho' Romance is dead an' in the dirt. ”

“ Fer Rose, an' sich as Rose, thro' orl the world,
⁠War piles the burdens wiv a 'eavy 'and.
Since bugles called an' banners were unfurled,
⁠A sister'ood 'as growed thro' orl the land—
A 'oly sister'ood that puts aside
Sham things, an' 'and takes 'and in grief—an' pride.
Ar, well; if Mick could 'ear me blither now,
⁠I know jist wot 'e'd say an' 'ow 'e'd look:
"Aw, cut it out, mate; chuck that silly row!
⁠There ain't no sense in takin' sich things crook.
I've took me gamble; an' there's none to blame
Becos I drew a blank; it's in the game." ”

“ If it's exhaustin' yeh," sez Ginger Mick.
"We ain't got no objections to the cheers;
⁠We're good an' tough, an' we can stand the noise;
But three 'oorays and five or six long beers
⁠An' loud remarks about 'Our Gallant Boys'
Sounds kind o' weak—if you'll ixcuse the word
Beside the fightin' sounds we've lately 'eard. ”

“ But Sari Bair, me Sari Bair, the secrets that you 'old
Will shake the 'earts uv Southern men when all the tale is told;
An' when they git the strength uv it, there'll never be the need
To call too loud fer fightin' men among the Southern breed. ”

“ Yeh'll 'ave to face the ole tame life—'ard yakker or 'ard cops,
But, lad, yer land is wantin' yeh, an' wantin' each strong son
To fight the fight that never knows the firin' uv a gun:
The steady fight, when orl you boys will show wot you are worth,
An' punch a cow on Yarra Flats or drive a quill in Perth.
The gilt is on the wattle, Mick, young leaves is on the trees,
An' the bush birds in the gullies swap the ole sweet melerdies,
There's a good, green land awaitin' you when you come 'ome again
To swing a pick at Ballarat or ride Yarrowie Plain. ”

“ Can a soljer 'elp 'is singin' when 'e's born in sich a land?
Wiv the sunshine an' the music pourin' out on ev'ry 'and,
⁠Where the very air is singin', an' each breeze that blows is bringin'
'Armony an' mirth an' music fit to beat the blazin' band.
⁠On the march, an' in the trenches, when a swingin' chorus starts. ”

“ An' 'elp the cop to re-erlize the 'ardness uv 'is beat.
Then 'e quickly dropped 'is aitches, so as not to be mistook
Fer an edjicated person, 'oo 'is cobbers reckoned crook;
But 'e 'ad a trick wiv figgers that ud make a clerk look sick;
So 'e pencilled fer a bookie; an' 'e 'awked a bit, did Mick.
A bloke can't be partic'lar 'oo must battle fer a crust;
An' some, they pinch fer preference, an' some, becos they must.
When times is 'ard, an' some swell coves is richer than they ort ”

“ Get, to do a.—To retreat hastily.
Gilt.—Money; wealth.
Give, to.—In one sense, to care.
Gizzard.—The heart.
Glarssy.—The glassy eye; a glance of cold disdain. The Glassey Alley.—The favourite; the most admired. ”

“ Wus not writ plain fer blokes like you an' me,
They calls 'im crook; but in 'im I 'ave found
Wot makes a man a man the world around.
Be'ind that dile uv 'is, as 'ard as sin,
Wus strange, soft thorts that never yet showed out;
An' down in Spadger's Lane, in dirt an' din,
'E dreamed sich dreams as poits sing about.
'E's 'ad 'is visions uv the Bonzer Tart;
An' stoushed some coot to ease 'is swellin' 'eart.
Lovin' an' fightin' ... when the tale is told,
That's all there is to it; an' in their way
Them brave an' noble 'ero blokes uv old
Wus Ginger Micks—the crook 'uns uv their day. ”

“ There is grafters, an' there's blokes 'oo never done a 'ard day's work
⁠Till they tumbled, wiv the rest, into the game—
An' they're drillin' 'ere together, men uv ev'ry creed an' kind.
It's Australia! Solid! Dinkum! that 'as left the land be'ind.
"An' if yeh want a slushy, or a station overseer.
⁠Or a tinker, or a tailor, or a snob,
Or a 'andy bloke wiv 'orses, or a minin' ingineer.
⁠Why, we've got the very man to do yer job. ”

“ If you'll fergive our blushes, we can stand
⁠The 'earty cheerin' an' the songs o' praise.
The loud 'Osannas uv our native land
⁠Makes us feel good an' glad in many ways.
An' later, when we land back in a mob,
Per'aps we might be arstin' fer a job. ”

“ Ole Ginger's Rose! To see 'er sittin' there,
⁠The moonlight shinin' fair into 'er face,
An' sort o' touchin' gentle on 'er 'air,
⁠It made me fair fergit the time an' place.
I feels I'm peepin' where I never ought,
An' tries 'arf not to 'ear the words I caught.
One soljer's sweet'eart, that wus wot I seen:
⁠One out o' thousands grievin' thro' the land.
A tart frum Spadger's or a weepin' queen—
⁠Wot's there between 'em, when yeh understand?
She 'olds fer Mick, wiv all 'is ugly chiv,
The best a lovin' woman 'as to give.
The best a woman 'as to give—Aw, 'Struth! ”

“ An' noiseless Chows a-glidin' 'round wiv plates uv duck an' fowl.
But if yeh wanted juicy bits that 'ung around Foo's perch
Yeh fetched 'em down an' wolfed 'em in yer place.
An' Foo sat sad an' solim, like an 'oly man in church,
Wiv an early-martyr look upon 'is face;
Wot never changed, not even when a toff upon a jag
Tried to pick up Ginger's Rosie, an' collided wiv a snag.
Ginger Mick's bin at the races, an' 'e'd made a little rise,
'Avin' knowed a bloke wot knowed the trainer's cook.
An' easy money's very sweet, as punters reckernise. ”

“ Still, pride o' class kept 'em frum gettin' thick.
It's 'ard to git right next to Ginger Mick.
Then comes Gallipoli an' wot Mick calls
⁠"An orl-in push fight multerplied be ten;"
An' one be one the orfficers they falls,
⁠Until there's no one left to lead the men. ”

“ More golden than the 'eart uv 'im beneath."
An' so—Mafeesh! as Mick 'ad learned to say.
⁠'E's finished; an' there's few 'as marked 'im go.
Only one soljer, outed in the fray,
⁠'Oo took 'is gamble, an' 'oo 'ad 'is show.
There's few to mourn 'im: an' the less they leave,
The less uv sorrer; fewer 'earts to grieve.
An' when I'm feelin' blue, an' mopin' 'ere
⁠About the pal I've lorst; Doreen, my wife,
She come an' takes my 'and, an' tells me, "Dear,
⁠There'd be more cause to mourn a wasted life.
'E proved 'imself a man; an' 'e's at rest."
An' so, I tries to think sich things is best. ”

“ Why did 'e go? 'E 'ad a decent job,
'Is tart an' 'im they could 'a' made it right.
Why does a wild bull fight to guard the mob?
Why does a bloomin' bull-ant look fer fight?
Why does a rooster scrap an' flap an' crow? ”

“ Ev'ry feller is a gold mine if yeh take an' work 'im right:
⁠It is shinin' on the surface now an' then;
An' there's some is easy sinkin', but there's some wants dynermite,
⁠Fer they looks a 'opeless prospect—yet they're men. ”

“ That satisfied Mick's honour fer a bit,
⁠But still 'e picks at Keith fer exercise,
An' all the other blokes near 'as a fit
⁠To see Mick squirm at Keith's perlite replies,
Till one day Keith 'owls back "You flamin' cow!"
Then Mick permotes 'im, an' they 'as a row.
I sez "permotes 'im," fer, yeh'll understand,
⁠Ole Ginger 'as 'is pride o' class orl right;
'E's not the bloke to go an' soil 'is 'and
⁠Be stoushin' any coot that wants to fight. ”

“ Say, I can see ole Ginger, plain as plain,
⁠Purrin' to feel the touch uv 'er cool 'and,
Grinnin' a bit to kid 'is wound don't pain,
⁠An' yappin' tork she don't 'arf understand.
That makes er wonder if, back where she lives.
They're all reel men be'ind them ugly chivs. ”

“ NOW, when a bloke 'e cracks a bloke fer insults to a skirt,
An' wrecks a joint to square a lady's name,
They used to call it chivalry, but now they calls it dirt.
An' the end of it is cops an' quod an' shame. ”

“ When yeh've stripped a cove clean an' got down to the buff
⁠Yeh come to the meat that's the man.
If yeh want to find grit an' sich similar stuff,
⁠Yeh've to strip on a similar plan.
Fer there's nothin' like scrappin' to bare a man's soul,
⁠If it's Billo, or Percy, or Gus.
So 'ere's to the bloke 'oo 'ops round on a pole
⁠An' 'owls songs goin' 'ome on the bus.
Spare me days! When a bloke takes the count in a scrap
⁠That 'e's fightin' fer you an' fer me.
Is it fair that a snob 'as the nerve fer to snout
⁠Any swad 'cos 'is manners is free? ”

“ Be somethin' more than Rosie's little rift.
"If they'd done that," 'e sez, "out 'ere—Ar, rats!
Why don't ole England belt 'em in the slats?"
Then Mick gits up an' starts another fag.
"Ar, well," 'e sez, "it's no affair uv mine,
If I don't work they'd pinch me on the vag;
But I'm not keen to fight so toffs kin dine
On pickled olives . . . Blarst the flamin' war!
I ain't got nothin' worth the fightin' for.
"So long," 'e sez. "I got ter trade me stock ”

“ They wus singin' on the troopship, they wus singin' in the train;
When they left their land be'ind 'em they wus shoutin' a refrain.
⁠An' I'll bet they 'ave a chorus, gay an' glad in greetin' for us.
When their bit uv scrappin's over, an' they lob back 'ome again...
⁠An' the blokes that ain't returnin'—blokes that's paid the biggest price.
⁠They go singin', singin', singin' to the Gates uv Paradise. ”

“ They'll chuck this style uv rootin' underground.
"We're up agin it, mate; we know that well.
⁠There ain't a man among us wouldn't lob
Over the parapit an' charge like 'ell
⁠⁠To end the job.
But this is war; an' discipline—well, lad,
We sez we 'ates it; but we ain't too bad.
"Glory an' gallant scraps is wot I dreamed,
⁠Ragin' around an' smashin' foemen flat;
But war, like other things, ain't wot it seems.
⁠⁠So 'stid uv that,
I'm sittin' in me dug-out scrawlin' this.
An' thankin' Gawd when shells go by—an' miss. ”

“ Pot, the old.—The male parent (from "Rhyming Slang," the "old pot and pan"—the "old man.")
Prad.—A horse.
Pug.—A pugilist.
Pull, to take a.—To desist; to discontinue.
Punch a cow.—To conduct a team of oxen.
Punter.—The natural prey of a "bookie." q.v.
Push.—A company of rowdy fellows gathered together for ungentle purposes.
Queer the pitch.—To frustrate; to fool. ”

“ So 'ere's to the bloke wiv the swaggerin' gait
⁠An' a bullet mark spoilin' 'is looks.
So, the bloke wiv the scoff, an' the bloke wiv the sneer,
⁠An' the coot wiv the sensitive soul,
'E 'as got to sit back, an' jist change 'is idear
⁠Uv the stuffin' that makes a man whole.
Fer the polish an' gilt that's a win wiv the skirts
⁠It wears thin wiv the friction uv war.
So 'ere's to the cove 'oo is nursin' 'is 'urts
⁠Wiv an oath in the set uv 'is jor. ”

“ The night we planted 'em beneath the sands uv Sari Bair.
"On the day we took the transport there wus cheerin' on the pier,
An' we wus little chiner gawds; an' now we're sittin' 'ere,
Wiv the taste uv blood an' battle on the lips uv ev'ry man
An' ev'ry man jist 'opin' fer to end as we began.
"Fer Green is gone, an' Craig is gone, an' Gawd! 'ow many more!
Who sleep the sleep at Sari Bair beside that sunny shore!
An' little Smith uv Collin'wood, a bandage 'round 'is 'ead,
He 'ums a savage song an' vows quick vengeance fer the dead. ”

“ When blokes is full o' sentiment—or beers.
Lars' night, when I sneaks down to taste again
⁠The sights an' sounds I used to know so well,
The moon wus shinin' over Spadger's Lane,
⁠Sof'nin' the sorrer where 'er kind light fell;
Sof'nin' an' soothin', like it wus 'er plan
To make ixcuses fer the sins uv man. ”

“ Tumble to, or to take a tumble.—To comprehend suddenly.
Turkey, head over.—Heels over head.
Turn down.—To reject; to dismiss.
Turn, out of one's.—Impertinently; uninvited.
Twig.—To observe; to espy.
Two-up School.—A gambling den.
Umpty.—An indefinite numeral.
Upper-cut.—In pugilism, an upward blow.
Uppish.—Proud.
Up to us.—Our turn; our duty.
Vag, on the.—Under the provisions of the Vagrancy Act.
Wallop.—To beat; chastise.
Waster.—A reprobate; an utterly useless and unworthy person. ”