Ballads of Battle/Carrying-Party
CARRYING-PARTY
Time 10.30 p.m. Place, Communication Trenches.
Wire over'ead!Mud underfoot:Gawd, I'm into a hole,Pullin' the soleRight off'en me boot—I wish I was dead!
Wire over'ead—(My load weighs like lead)The night's black as 'ell;I'm into a ditch—Ye son of a bitch!'Twas here Nelson fell—Bang! There goes a shell—I wish I was dead!
Wire over'ead!—Look out for the bridge!Hear ole Sergeant grunt,"Halt! you there in front!They've lost touch at the ridge"—I wish I was dead!
Wire over'ead!Wire underfoot!—There's Tim come to grief—Christ!—he's dumping the beef.Pull 'im out by the root:I wish I was dead—(To home blokes are in bed)—Wish Gawd I was dead!(Stumbles and grumbles on.)