The Kia ora coo-ee : the magazine for the ANZACS in the Middle East, 1918
"Walk That Horse!"
Times are deadly, things are rotten,
All our hardships are forgotten
By the people who determined our advance.
We are resting, it is true,
But there's lots of work to do
Where hungry eyes in search of polish glance.
But the worst of all our woes
Is, as everybody knows, The one directed at our main resource —
If you wish to ride a mile
You must do it fun'ral style,
Lest authority shouts, "Walk that crimson horse!"
You're not bound to heed him straight away, of course;
For, if you're a renegade,
You will scorn to be delayed
Till an officer shouts, "Walk That Horse!"
Little things I once admired
Make me very, very tired,
Now that discipline is raging at its worst;
And my reason waxes stale
As a mug of Gyppo ale
That flattens in the absence of a thirst.
After stables yesterday
I got leave to roam away,
I saddled wp my quad oped, of course,
And I cantered down the lines,
Scorning sentences and fines,
When a Sergeant shouted, "Walk that blanky horse!"
Tis seldom I take orders from that source;
But I halted with a start,
(I'm obedient at heart),
When a Captain added, "Walk That Horse!"
We are in a standing camp,
But the winter days are damp,
And every passing cloud delivers rain.
Such a life begins to pail,
And the tuneless trumpet call
Was re-introduced, it seems, to give us pain.
But I never would lament—
Fact, I think I'd be content
As just a humble unit of this force,
If the blatant N. C. O's.
Would disdain to be my foes,
And cease to bellow, "Walk that crimson horse!"
I don't let on I hear them all, of course;
Rut you've simply cot to halt,
And admit you are at fault,
When the Major rages, "Walk That Horse!"
All day long the horses neigh,
And the hungry asses bray
Discordantly with bleating transport mules.
Colonels rage and Generals frown,
And the heavy hand comes down
With an avalanche of prehistoric rules.
Oh! I never shall forget
Days of passion, blood and sweat,
When we galloped down the lead-swept danger course;
When the hoofs beat on the turf
Like the sound of angry surf,
And nobody shouted,' Walk that blanky horse!"
Alas, my heart is heavy with remorse;
For, as I recalled the past,
Someone cantered gaily past,
And the Colonel thundered, "Walk That Horse!"