AN ANZAC ALPHABET
By J. W. S. HENDERSON, R.G.A.
A is the Aeroplane buzzing above,
Sending us tokens of friendship and love.
B’s Beachy Bill, such a marvel of cunning,
A message from whom sends the best of us running.
C is the Chilliness felt in the feet
When bullets commence to invade our retreat.
D is the Dug-out we’ve spent so much time at,
Working in hopes of defeating the climate.
E is for Eye-wash, a wonderful lotion,
Employed by the man who is keen on promotion.
F is the Fool who got caught in a trap,
By pulling the tail of a mule in a sap.
G is the General devising a strafe,
And cursing his highly incompetent staff.
H is the wretched unfortunate Hill,
Bombarded and mined but impregnable still.
I’s the Intelligence officer who
Is said to exist at G.H.Q.
Forgive a digression and spare me the time
To think of a word that will make a good rhyme,
And if the delay is a little provoking,
Remember it’s J and the word may be Joking.
K is the Kaiser at home in Berlin,
Chanting his quaint maledictory hymn.
L is the Liar who loves to relate
Achi Baba has fallen, and gives you the date.
M is the Major observing from latitudes
Tending to strained and discomforting attitudes.
N is the Navy bombarding a lair,
Ignoring the fact that there’s nobody there.
O is the Optimist struck by a splinter,
Happy to think he’ll be home by the winter.
P is the spotlessly uniformed Paragon,
Living in splendour on H.M.S. “Aragon.”
Q is the Questions we ask with a wail,
Do skippers like whisky, and where is our mail?
R’s the report of the latest success,
Strictly compiled for the use of the Press.
S is the Sniper; it’s also his Sickness
On finding his cover is lacking in thickness.
T’s the Telephonist cutting off stations
In the midst of important conversations.
U is the Uniform made for the wenches,
Slightly deranged by a day in the trenches.
V is the Victory talked of by editors,
Who wish to get rid of importunate creditors.
Note.—This illustration has had
to be postponed pending a
final statement by Mr. Hilaire
Belloc as to the date of the
certain exhaustion of German
resources.
W stands for the various Wiles
The Germans employ to keep Turkey in smiles.
But X is the Xmas that some day will come
When turkey and sauce will be served with our rum.
Y is the Youth who was scornful of danger,
Till caught in the rear by a violent stranger.
Z is the Zenith of power and glory,
A fitting conclusion to this little story.
The Kaiser
to his
Secretary
(Dictated) XMAS, 1915