Scanning his sunburnt knees;
I asked him why he was searching,
And what he was looking for,
But his only reply was a long-drawn sigh
As he quietly killed one more.
Am. Park.
ANZAC DIALOGUES
It was a fine day, and they were standing by waiting for instructions from the warrant officer to commence unloading and loading; and in the general murmur of voices one noted the broad tones of the British Tommy and the harsher ones of Tommy Kangaroo, the latter less careful of his grammar than the other; also the loud-voiced directions of the Indian Tommy, or rather Johnny, who condescended now and then to break into pidgin-English (with a smile).
Presently from amongst a group sitting in the shelter of a stack of bully beef came the request: “Give us a light, mate,” in the blunt style which belongs to Tommy Kangaroo.
“Aw, yes,” replies Tommy Atkins, or “Kitch,” as he is beginning to be called. “Aw, yes.” And while the other is pulling at his fag: “Have you got any baadges, choom?”