TRENCH LIFE

[Katie]

TRENCH LIFE

By

Percy Foster Clements

Oh, for our life in the trenches,
Tis the finest, of that there’s no doubt;
It’s O.K. for excitement and pleasure,
And keeps one healthy and stout;
And although from home we are far away,
There are times when we must laugh,
Especially when holding the trenches
At a time when the Hun starts his “Strafe.”

They snipe at you here they snipe at you there,
Each time that you are strolling around;
So for safety you’re forced to keep steady
And bury your head in the ground.
For hours that sniper will watch your lair,
Till, impatient, you rise and then rush.
For the nearest and deepest dug-out,
Where you arrive covered over with slush.

On that sniper you then want your revenge,
For what he has tried to do.
And you swear to have his cap-badge
When his trenches you break through.
Just then your dug-out gives a shake,
As something on it drops.
And while you run out for a quieter place,
That sniper again at you pops.

We sleep, of course, in our dug-outs,
That’s if there’s any to be found.
With sandbags in place of feathers,
Laid out on the muddy ground.
And while we are gently snoring,
The rats then come and will play
At biting pieces out of you,
Or stealing your rations away.

We “stand to” at dawn every morning,
In case of a early surprise.
But the “Boche” keeps remarkably quiet,
To disturb us he knows is not wise.
We then clean our rifles and bayonets,
While our O.C issues the rum.
After which we are then in readiness,
To eat that breakfast to come.

For this we wait most patiently,
With our appetites all so keen.
And quickly devour Lance-Corporal Bacon
(A piece of fat with one streak of lean)
We drink our tea, almost sugarless and cold,
And say “Will this war ever end?”
Then sit down and think when to Blighty we go
\of the times in hotels we will spend

For dinner we have a la bully beef,
Better known as “poor innocent horse;”
This is so grand when served in stew,
It gives us both strength and force.
With our tea we have “Army crackers”,
or sponge cakes congealed, I should say;
They, like our Army’s backbone,
Cannot be broken, try how you may.

The “Boches” now at the present time
Are fairly in “Somme” stew.
Wondering when the next move will be
Of Sir Douglas Haig and his crew.
They know we are out to beat them,
On both land and sea;
And very soon you will see us
“Goose-stepping” through Germany.

At Wytschaete Village a short while ago,
We made them move to time,
It was “Kamarad” here and “Kamarad” there,
“Kamarad” every-everywhere.
His soda-water proved a treat,
And very soon was gone.
As also was their men and gorund,
And the Kaiser shouts “No bon.”

Our Artillery was really the limit,
And surprised everyone who was there;
The shells never stopped for a moment,
To let the Huns come up for fresh air.
Then our mines went up with a terrible roar,
That for miles lifted up all the ground
And hundreds of Germans perished,
Whose bodies will never be found.

Of course we grouse and grumble,
It’s the British Tommy’s way:
We are at it night and morning,
On every blinking day.
With fatigues, patrols and wiring,
It’s enough to break one’s heart,
But damn it all, we’ll stick it;
As we have done from the start.

So here’s to our life in the trenches,
The rats and bully beef stew,
Sir Douglas Haig and all his staff,
And his large and mighty crew;
And may we soon see Blighty,
With all it has to show,
Is my last and only wish just now,
So, till then I’ll say Cheer Oh!


Transcribed by
Kathy Donaldson

© Copyright kfd99 11th December 2012