Item 02: Arthur John Moore diary, 11 November 1916-11 January 1918 - Page 174
Behold in me, alas! a stretcher Bearer,
In Sunny France, O horrid trance
Of all the mud & shells a wretched sharer,
Ah! Ambulance. Curse my mischance
When out on greasy duckboards slipping
In Trenches wet; And dry – [pertet?]
Clammy water from my tunic dripping
No issue Rum – my sole regret.
With a cling, clang, crash Bang
Comes another shell
Makes me think, with Dante, I'm in – well
My head is plastered thick with mud
Good God, here comes another dud,
I wish I was in Blighty,
Where they treat the dinkums well.
Once again behold in me a war worn Failure,
My arm, O Lor: Effects of War
I'm bound, O how I hope for dear Australia
Encore: Encore. Tres biens, messieur.
I've swung the Lead with skill & great precision
My Fate is nigh. But hope is high.
And now, with dread await the Board's decision.
Hi, tiddly, Hi. I'll ne'er say die.
With a crook wing I sing, to the Board
My Tale of woe
It's bound to get round the Doctor's Hearts I know.
And if I once get on the Boat
Bound for Home for which I dote,
I promise you, fair dinkum
That from Home I'll never go.