(Mobile Columns Of The Later War)

Out o’ the wilderness, dusty an’ dry (Time, an’ ’igh time to be trekkin’ again!) ’Oo is it ’eads to the Detail Supply? (A section, a pompom, an’ six ’undred men.)

’Ere comes the clerk with ’is lantern an’ keys (Time, an’ ’igh time to be trekkin’ again!) ‘Surplus of everything--draw what you please ‘For the section, the pompom, an’ six ’undred men.’

‘What are our orders an’ where do we lay?’ (Time, an’ ’igh time to be trekkin’ again!) ‘You came after dark--you will leave before day, ‘You section, you pompom, an’ six ’undred men!’

Down the tin street, ’alf awake an’ unfed, ’Ark to ’em blessin’ the Gen’ral in bed! Now by the church an’ the outspan they wind-- Over the ridge an’ it’s all lef’ be’ind For the section, etc.

Soon they will camp as the dawn’s growin’ grey, Roll up for coffee an’ sleep while they may-- The section, etc.

Read their ’ome letters, their papers an’ such, For they’ll move after dark to astonish the Dutch With a section, etc.

’Untin’ for shade as the long hours pass, Blankets on rifles or burrows in grass, Lies the section, etc.

Dossin’ or beatin’ a shirt in the sun, Watching chameleons or cleanin’ a gun, Waits the section, etc.

With nothin’ but stillness as far as you please, An’ the silly mirage stringin’ islands an’ seas Round the section, etc.

So they strips off their hide an’ they grills in their bones, Till the shadows crawl out from beneath the pore stones Towards the section, etc.

An’ the Mauser-bird stops an’ the jackals begin, An’ the ’orse-guard comes up and the Gunners ’ook in As a ’int to the pompom an’ six ’undred men....

Off through the dark with the stars to rely on-- (Alpha Centauri an’ somethin’ Orion) Moves the section, etc.

Same bloomin’ ’ole which the ant-bear ’as broke, Same bloomin’ stumble an’ same bloomin’ joke Down the section, etc.

Same ‘which is right?’ where the cart-tracks divide, Same ‘give it up’ from the same clever guide To the section, etc.

Same tumble-down on the same ’idden farm, Same white-eyed Kaffir ’oo gives the alarm Of the section, etc.

Same shootin’ wild at the end o’ the night, Same flyin’ tackle an’ same messy fight By the section, etc.

Same ugly ’iccup an’ same ’orrid squeal, When it’s too dark to see an’ it’s too late to feel In the section, etc.

(Same batch of prisoners, ’airy an’ still, Watchin’ their comrades bolt over the ’ill From the section, etc.)

Same chilly glare in the eye of the sun As ’e gets up displeasured to see what was done By the section, etc.

Same splash o’ pink on the stoep or the kraal, An’ the same quiet face which ’as finished with all In the section, the pompom, an’ six ’undred men.

Out o’ the wilderness, dusty an’ dry (Time, an’ ’igh time to be trekkin’ again!) ’Oo is it ’eads to the Detail Supply? (A section, a pompom, an’ six ’undred men.)

THE PARTING OF THE COLUMNS

‘... On the --th instant a mixed detachment of colonials left ---- for Cape Town, there to rejoin their respective homeward-bound contingents, after fifteen months’ service in the field. They were escorted to the station by the regular troops in garrison and the bulk of Colonel ----’s column, which has just come in to refit, preparatory to further operations. The leave-taking was of the most cordial character, the men cheering each other continuously.’--Any Newspaper.

We’ve rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations come to hand. Together for a year and more around this stinkin’ land: Now you are goin’ home again, but we must see it through. We needn’t tell we liked you well. Good-bye--good luck to you!

You ’ad no special call to come, and so you doubled out, And learned us how to camp and cook an’ steal a horse and scout: Whatever game we fancied most, you joyful played it too, And rather better on the whole. Good-bye--good luck to you!

There isn’t much we ’aven’t shared, since Kruger cut and run, The same old work, the same old skoff, the same old dust and sun; The same old chance that laid us out, or winked an’ let us through; The same old Life, the same old Death. Good-bye--good luck to you!

Our blood ’as truly mixed with yours--all down the Red Cross train, We’ve bit the same thermometer in Bloemingtyphoidtein. We’ve ’ad the same old temp’rature--the same relapses too, The same old saw-backed fever-chart. Good-bye--good luck to you!

But ’twasn’t merely this an’ that (which all the world may know), ’Twas how you talked an’ looked at things which made us like you so. All independent, queer an’ odd, but most amazin’ new, My word! you shook us up to rights. Good-bye--good luck to you!

Think o’ the stories round the fire, the tales along the trek-- O’ Calgary an’ Wellin’ton, an’ Sydney and Quebec; Of mine an’ farm, an’ ranch an’ run, an’ moose an’ cariboo, An’ parrots peckin’ lambs to death! Good-bye--good luck to you!

We’ve seen you ’ome by word o’ mouth, we’ve watched your rivers shine, We’ve ’eard your bloomin’ forests blow of eucalip’ and pine; Your young, gay countries north an’ south, we feel we own ’em too, For they was made by rank an’ file. Good-bye--good luck to you!

We’ll never read the papers now without inquirin’ first For word from all those friendly dorps where you was born an’ nursed. Why, Dawson, Galle, an’ Montreal--Port Darwin--Timaru, They’re only just across the road! Good-bye--good luck to you!

Good-bye!--So-long! Don’t lose yourselves--nor us, nor all kind friends, But tell the girls your side the drift we’re comin’--when it ends! Good-bye, you bloomin’ Atlases! You’ve taught us somethin’ new: The world’s no bigger than a kraal. Good-bye--good luck to you!

TWO KOPJES