Wot a crowd of people! Wot a sea of faces! ‘ Ow the ladies’ parasols are glist'nin’ in the sun! Troops in‘ open order,’
Captains in their places. Wish the day was over, and I wish the job was done! Comes of bein’ famous — Mentioned in despatches!
Comes of me a-carrying the Major to the rear! Empty stomach fighting — Getting sleep by snatches!— ‘ Ow the troops must cuss me for a-keeping them out‘ ere!
‘ Ow the people eye me, Like a choice chrysanth'um! ‘ Ow this collar's chokin’ me!— Lord! I'm feelin’ sick! Troops are at the‘ shoulder’ —
‘ Pre-sent’ — there's the anthem! ‘ Ow I‘ ope‘ er Majesty will get it over quick! Wonder if I'm dusty? ‘ Elmet feels lopsided!
Chuck a chest for‘ Eaven's sake! Lord, I'm feelin’ queer! Twenty times they've brushed me, Twice‘ ave I been tidied, Yet I'm feelin’ mucky still. Private Jawkins?‘ ERE!
Face the lan-dow panels, Dumbly; likewise blindly, Seein’ in a sorter mist a lady dressed in black: ‘ Ear‘ er sof'ly talkin’.
Thanks, mum, thank you kindly! Saw the Major fallin’, and I‘ ad to take‘ im back! Thank you, mum — your‘ Ighness — Majesty, I mean, mum!
‘ M sure I'm much obliged to you for this‘ ere pretty Cross! Bless you, you're a lady! Mean you are the Queen, mum! On'y picked the Major up an’ shoved‘ im on an‘ orse!
‘ Saw our Sub go under, ‘ Alf‘ is men around‘ im Cut to bits — an’‘ im so young,— yes mum, very sad. Yes mum,‘ e was buried
In the place we found‘ im. Thank you, mum,— your Majesty ( God, I'm feelin’ bad! )
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