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Victoria University College Capping Carnival. Wed. & Thurs., May 12th & 13th, 1920

Act I

Act I.

Opening Chorus Air: "Bonnie Dundee."
Plantagenet spearmen and bowmen are we,
Enjoying our bit of a smoke after tea;
For when we've marched twenty long miles in the day,
At night, you bet, Bacchus and baccy hold sway.
When night's on the forest, when red, camp fires shine
With embers of birch trees and odours of pine,
When limbs stretch out lazily, life's bounding free,
We all make as merry as merry can be.

Our battle formation would gladden your heart:
In the centre the birds with the halberds take part;
On the right our grim maces soon harrow the foe;
And to left every archer is tied in a bow.
Then while the fire's ruddy we tell o'er the fight,
With Memory coaxing us, far in the night;
So pile up the friendly logs, let the blaze free,
And all be as merry as merry can be.

At the first shaft of dawn we our bivouac break,
In the swirl of the river our energies wake;
A march, and an ambush, the armies pass by—
But unmarked, unremembered the fallen must lie.
So logs to the burning—the flames leaping high,
Drive Gloom to the forest, snatch Joy from the sky;

Veitch & Allan, Clothiers and Mercers

page 15

And if song and laughter the flames shall decree,
Why, we'll be as merry as merry can be.

The Joys of a Soldier Air: "Day After Day."
A glorious life is the army;
We've nothing to do all the day
But draw from the quarter our rations,
And spend at the canteen our pay.
And such pretty medals they pin on your chest,
And they blow the reveille when we want to rest.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
They feed us up fatly and send us to fight
For King and for Country and Right against Might;
And Trentham camp is the place
Where they drill us all the day long :
Form fours to the right,
Then move to the left,
Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.

The Colonel inspects us each morning,
His temper of pepper is made,
And so all our faces are shaven
Before he appears on parade.
He travels along from the left to the right,
Our buttons and badges are shiny and bright.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
The same old brasso on buttons we rub,
The same old radium polish and scrub,
The same old bully beef stew,
The same old hard biscuits eat:
A life, you would think,
That'd drive one to drink,
Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year.

The boss of the show is Jim Allen,
And he's not at all a bad chap,
But to the wowsers he's fallen;
For our thirst they don't care a rap,
And now all the pubs they are closing at six
If you shout for a cobber you're well in a fix.

Veitch & Allan sell at Popular Prices

page 16

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
We march and we drill while we're learning to fight.
We're working all day, but we're dreaming all night
Of the days before the war
Or apres la guerre finie,
When pubs close at ten
And to drink we'll be free,
We'll have ale after ale, stout after stout, rum after rum, and beer after beer.

4. Now Holland is chief of the workers
He talks about ruling the land,
With Socialist slackers and shirkers
He's head of a Bolshevik band;
The cost of living still rising apace,
While profits and wages are having a race.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year,
We read all the leaders they put in the "Post."
Of facts and of figures they quote us a host;
But still we hear Harry say
The social system is wrong :
The workers should rule
And the landlords should work,
Day after day, week alter week, month after month, and year after year.

2.—Ale to Back Us Air: "The Brave Old Oaks"
Now seize ye the cup and tip it up,
And drain it good and dry;
Nor seek ye to stop while remains a drop,
For to-morrow we may die;
But while we have breath we'll mock at old death,
And while we have wine will we sing;
So fill, merry men, fill, fill all again,
Let us shout till the welkin ring.

Then let us drink, while drink we may—
Who knows what may fall to-morrow
And let us sing till the dawn is grey,
And say good-bye to sorrow.

Then here's to the ale, be it dark or pale,
That is brewed for deeply quaffing;

Try Veitch → Allan

page 17

And there's naught so fine as a draught of wine
To set you merrily laughing;
For life's a jade, and her heart is made
Of flint, so we '11 forget her;
We'll drink to-night till the sun springs bright,
And we'll soon cease to regret her.


Robin Hood's Story Air: "Honour and Arms"
Robin Hood: All wet canteens we now must close (ter).
Chorus: And why the devil's this, who knows? (bis).
'Tis damnable, most damnable.

Robin Hood: Come gather round while I unfold
Headquarter's iniquities untold:
Wherefore the tin hats have put an end to our diggers' beanos,
List, I now expose.
All wet canteens we now must close (ter).

Chorus: And why the devil's this, who knows (bis),
And why the devil's this been done, we beg you to dis close.

(Basses) 'Tis damnable !

(Tenors) A beastly bore !

(Basses) Most damnable!

(Tenors) But what's it for?

Robin Hood: Because some fool inebriate
(Blind, stunned, or a trifle potty),
As he was returning from his grog,
Did hurl at the tail of the colonel's dog
A tin of plum and apple of an antique date.

Chorus: Let's bag him! And scrag him!

Robin Hood: So we poor mugs without our booze
Must fill up with tea (or what you chose),

Chorus: And wet canteens we now must close.

Our Modern Craze K. W. Low
What's all this uproar? Must I call attention
To regulation 3 enjoining silence?
The seventh volume of the training manuals
Should have prevented further mention.

Veitch & Allan - Clothiers and Mercers

page 18

Our modern craze, viz., Officialdom
Makes regulations for everyone
Countless, cheap and pernickety,
It turns 'em out for everyone.
We've laws and by-laws, the decrees of fashions;
We've statutes, notices and ordinances,
On buying sugar, chaperoning dances;
On wages, coal, the flu, golf, poker, rations.
This sorry craze has a symptom new:
'Tis printing forms off—green, pink, and blue;
And should you fail to fill any
Form 90 (j) — 'tis all up with you!
Now Sunday tennis must be awful naughty,
According to the light of Mr. Forsyth;
Though stout Sir Robert is with vicars more blithe,
I never knew Sir Bob was half so sporty.
Says Thomas Forsyth: "Professors should
"Hush up these frolics—the courts seclude,
"In case such sins should shock us,
"Who are so good—we are so good."
"For two days' cricket, if you hire the Basin,
"Our charge is £2/4/0," so the City Council;
"But for athletics, usual charge for grounds 'll
"Be," what our Mr. Brook would term amazin',
"Hire twenty quidlets—deposit ten—
"Pay advertising—employ our men—
"Marking—two guineas extra—
"The pit ten bob—repairs your job . . . ."

(We regret we cannot condense all this letter to a single chorus. It's scandalous entirety will be found in the City Council's letter-book, and we suppose in their regulations.)

And every evening, as I turn home laden
With latest forms and rules from every quarter,
I think how many who are sane and healthy
Must act like fools to please the ones who made 'em.
If this continues I'll stoush those fools,
Who gazette their whimsies (Queensbury rules),
Then spend an early dotage
Evading State asylum rules.

War Chorus Air: "Dear Old Home of Mine"
Soldiers: I like the boozing
And the sumptions sense of losing

Veitch & Allan - Sell at Popular Prices

page 19

All my woes in a tankard of ale;
I think a dandy
Pony shandy comes in handy
When there's not a drop of brandy to assail;
I like the feeling
I like the frisky
Fizz of soda in my whisky;
I take a stout or rum,
Each time I shout a chum;
When the ceiling is a-reeling,
When my second sight redoubles
All the barmaids and the bubbles;
I shave the doorway,
As I end my merry soiree,
So I cuddle the lamp-post's slim waist;
I hole-out in the gutter,
With my brolly for a putter,
And the lobster is a ball of taste;
It's a dreary road and weary
When I'm going home to deary
Without my optics bleery,
As the rest of me is beery,
And I'm twice as cheery as your China tea.

Ballet: We hold the lands, the goods, the wealth,
And we're as powerful as can be;
But any change might spell disaster.

page 20

So when rebellions chance along
Masters we'd cease to be;
We must support authority;
And if Jim Fallen says you ought to, why
You've got to stick to China tea.

Tangi Air: "Put on your Ta-ta, little Girlie"
And so Sir Simon died a hero,
He died a martyr to the cause;
Slain by the traitor, Jimmie Fallen,
Upholder of Licensing Laws.
We are off to battle for our freedom—
A soldier's rights, don't you forget—
Till every hero is free to drink Waipiro—
Yes, we'll have a Soviet yet.