English poem
Anywhere but Here
by Bernard Gilbert (1882–1927)
Anywhere but here, Ned, Any bloomin hole, Golly! if it aint like tearin Body from yer soul! War's a bloomin sight too wearin: Home for William Towl!
Once I uster think our village Took the prize for dead, Now I know it wor a Para- -dise around me head; Don't I wish as I could see it— Just a minute—Ned!
Did I iver cuss my luck Fer comin' fore the Bench; Doin what I did fer poachin, Arter this ole trench Would be like a holiday At seaside wi' a wench.
This is Hell, boy, don't ferget it, Hell wi'out the fun, Let me see a plough agen An you can ev my gun; You'll hear me shout across the sea When this damn war is done.