Ballads of Battle/Carrying-Party

by Joseph Lee

CARRYING-PARTY

Time 10.30 p.m. Place, Communication Trenches.

Wire over'ead!
Mud underfoot:
Gawd, I'm into a hole,
Pullin' the sole
Right 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.)