War Rhymes by Wayfarer Part 13

Now that Heinie is licked to a frazzle, And Fritzie is clipped in the comb, We're holding a big razzle-dazzle To welcome our soldier boys home.

They bore themselves brave in the battle They kept themselves clean on parade, They herded the Bosches like cattle In many a nerve-racking raid.

In order to do the boys justice, We need all the help we can get, Without it the contract will bust us And swamp the committee with debt.

So we want all old timers of Wingham, (Although the good town has gone dry) Fast as railroad or auto can bring 'em, To come on the first of July.

Perhaps you've grown rich on the prairies, Your farm in town lots you have sold, Or, with products of wheat fields and dairies, Have lined all your pockets with gold, Or it may be your harp strings are rusted, Your measures all halting and lame, Perhaps you're discouraged and busted, And tired of playing the game.

If so, come to Wingham this summer, Forget the world's trouble and strife, Our program will sure be a hummer, We'll give you the time of your life.

We'll make no untimely suggestions, Concerning the length of your stay, Nor ask you impertinent questions About what you've done while away.

=The Opinions Of Fritz=

FRITZ FINDS FAULT

("Canadians are using lacrosse sticks to throw hand grenades into German trenches."--News Item.)

"Dere is some tings not right in dis schrap, For dose English and French don't fight fair Ven dey pring in de Turco and j.a.p Und de Hindu and beeg Russian bear; But already us goot Sherman mans Ve vas ending dot var britty quick, Till dey shtart oop some more dirty blans, Ven dose poys vill trow bombs mit a shtick.

Ve don't mind some old rifles und guns, Nor dose airs.h.i.+ps und Dreadnoughts und tings, Ve don't care if dey call us de Huns, [1] Und ve laugh at de song dat dey sings: But dose teufels from Canada come, Dey vould blay us von mean shabby trick, For ve can't get avay from de bomb Dat dey trow from de end of a shtick.

Ven ve tink ve are safe for de day, Mit goot sausage and saurkraut filled, Dose Canadians shtart oop to blay Mit a game dat ve nefer haf drilled.

Ven ve see dose tings fly troo de air Den already ve feel britty sick; If dey hit us dey don't seem to care, Ven dey trow dose old bombs mit a shtick.

Ven ve shoots all our cartridge avay, Und de vagons don't pring any more; Ven our sh.e.l.ls get more scarce efry day, Mit our s.h.i.+rts und our breechaloons tore, Und de shmokes und de limburger done (Dot is spreading it on britty tick), Den I tells you it isn't no fun Ven dose poys vill trow bombs mit a shtick."

[Footnote 1: Tipperary]

FRITZ HAS ANOTHER GROUCH

(The Germans say that if it hadn't been for the Canadian Rats they would have got through to Calais.--News Item.)

Dere's a ting dat I'll nefer furshtay.

Ven ve shtart oop dat goot poison gas, Vy dose Rats don't get oudt of de vay, So us Shermans to Ypres can pa.s.s.

Ven ve shoots all our cartridge avay, Dat's already deir time to retreat; Vot's de use so ve make de beeg fight, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get beat?

Mit de gas dey gets britty soon killed, Den ve send dem de shrapnel some more, Und de bombsh.e.l.l mit limburger filled, Dat vill shmell vorse dan Duffeldorf's shtore; But dose beggars come back mit a rush, Und I twice mit deir bay'nets get p.r.i.c.ked; Vot's de use so ve make de beeg push, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get licked?

I soon made some goot running, you pet!

Ven dey come like vild teufels behind; All my life I vill dream of dem yet, For I tought sure mine bapers vos signed.

Dey came on mit a yump und a yell Till right into our trenches dey dashed; Vot's de use so ve trow de beeg sh.e.l.l, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get smashed?

Ve haf tried efry blan dat ve knows, But to scare dem no vay haf ve found, (How ve vish dey had shtayed vere de snows Blow dose maples und pines all around).

Day und night dey vill put oop de shc.r.a.p, Und already ve lose vot ve got; Vot's de use for us setting de trap, If dose Rats don't know ven dey get caught.

THE KAISER CONSULTS FRITZ

October, 1915

Ven der Kaiser vould shtart some beeg shtunt, All dose shwells den soon come to de front, Und de prince, und de king Seem to be de whole ting, Mit old Fritz at de heel of de hunt.

But somedimes ven de Kaiser's in doubt, Und already can't find his vay oudt; Ven dose hard shpots he hits, Den he say--"Mine dear Fritz, Vot you tinks of dis peesness, old Scoudt?"

So it vas mit dose junkers so shlick, Dey vould soon end dis var britty quick; But, shoost after de Marne De crawl unter de barn, For already dey feel mighty sick.

Den der kaiser say--"Fritzie, old chap, Let me know vot you tink of dis schrap; Vill ve lick dose beeg shmoke, Or go britty soon proke, Mit de faderland viped off de map?"

Den I say--"Dat's von very hard case; Can tree jacks beat four kings und some ace?

Ven ve hafn't de card Ve must bluff britty hard, Or shoost trow down our hand in disgrace.

If like checkers ve blay, don't forget Dey got more men dan ve haf, you bet!

If ve makes some beeg sch.o.r.e, Und not man off no more, Ve may shtop mit a draw, maype yet."

Den der Kaiser say--"Tanks, Mr. Strauss, On your back dere don't grow any moss; I'll shoost blay some more pranks On dose silly old Yanks"

Den he gif me von nice iron cross.

FRITZ IN THE HOSPITAL

Ven der Kaiser his var bugles blow, Und say: "Fritz, to de front you must go,"

Den it vasn't so strange, I vas glad for de change; But I hope mine Katrina don't know.

Britty soon ve're de whole of de show, Und like vater dose goot liquors flow; Ven, mit vine und champaigne Ve got drunk in Louvain, Dere vas tings mine Katrina don't know.

Soon already, ve fight mit de foe, For von year, und it seems britty slow; If I'm killed in de trench By dose English und French Den perhaps mine Katrina von't know.

So dis time, ven dose hand grenades trow, Den I tinks soon it's time for to go; If mine back's full mit lead, Not mine breast, nor mine head, Dat's von ting mine Katrina don't know.

Ven dey takes me some blace down pelow, Mit tree hundred vite peds in von row; For dose nice English nurse [2] I forget dat beeg curse, But I'm glad mine Katrina don't know.