Chapter C: Hilton Brown

June 23, 1915.

Summer and Sorrow

Brier rose and woodbine flaunting by the wayside,
Field afoam with ox-eyes, crowfoot's flaming gold,
Poppies in the corn-rig, broom on every braeside,
Once again 'tis summer as in years of old--
Only in my bosom lags the winter's cold.

All among the woodland hyacinths are gleaming;
O the blue of heaven glinting through the trees!
Lapped in noonday languor Nature lies a-dreaming,
Lulled to rest by droning clover-haunting bees.
(Deeper dreams my dear love, slain beyond the seas.)

Lost against the sunlight happy larks are singing,
Lowly list their loved ones nestled in the plain;
Bright about my pathway butterflies are winging,
Fair and fleet as moments mourned for now in vain--
In my eyes the shadow, at my heart the pain.

A. B. GILLESPIE.
July 28, 1915.

Defaulters

For an extra drink
Defaulters we,
We cuts the lawn in front of the Mess;
We're shoved in clink,
Ten days C.B.,
And rolls the lawn in front of the Mess.

We picks up weeds
And 'umps the coal;
We trims the lawn in front of the Mess;
We're plantin' seeds,
The roads we roll,
Likewise the lawn in front of the Mess.

The Officers they
Are sloshin' balls
On the lawn we've marked in front of the Mess;
And every day
Our names they call
To rake the lawn in front of the Mess.

And once a while
They 'as a "do"
On the lawn in front of the Officers' Mess.
Ain't 'arf some style,
Band playin' too,
On our bloomin' lawn in front of the Mess.

They dances about
And digs their 'eels
In our lawn in front of the Officers' Mess;
There ain't no doubt
As 'ow we feels
For the lawn in front of the Officers' Mess.

The turf's gone west,
And so you see
There ain't much lawn in front of the Mess.
We does our best,
Gets more C.B.,
And mends the lawn in front of the Mess.

The C.O., who
Sez 'e can see
We loves the lawn in front of the Mess
'E knows this too--
Without C.B.
There'd be no lawn in front of the Mess.