Jump to content
Free downloads from TNA ×
The Great War (1914-1918) Forum

Remembered Today:

HMNZ Transport RIMUTAKA


JoMH

Recommended Posts

Joanna

I suspect the passenger list reference to possibly your Grandfather must be typo - i.e it really is him, but the initial and number were muddled in the type-set.

A "3/" number would refer to the NZ Medical Corps. Whilst the NZMC obviously needed chaplains, there is no record of one named Dobson.

He was promoted - From Chaplain 4th class when he attested (5/8/1914) to Chaplain 3rd Class on 5/8/1918. A 4th class Chaplain is a Captain, and a 3rd class holds the rank of Major. And as you have noted, he was the Assistant Principal Chaplain for the Church of England. Awarded Military Cross and mentioned in despatches. An impressive man.

I cannot find any other Chaplains named Dobson in the NZEF.

With regard to Abbreviations:

Any explanations for WIR, CD,RB,OR FA,CR, NZFA,NZANS, MTASC, please?

WIR: Wellington Infantry Regiment

CD: Chaplain's Department

RB: Rifle Brigade

OR: Otago Regiment (in the case cited above, but also can refer to "Other Ranks").

FA: Field Artillery

NZFA: New Zealand Field Artillery

CR: Canterbury Regiment

NZANS: New Zealand Army Nursing Service

MTASC: Mechanical/motor Transport Army Service Corps

Regards

Andrew

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Hello Andrew,

Thank you so much for all of the above.

Are you getting your information on Charles Dobson from his war file held at NZ Archives? This is what I have, and it is incomplete - most of the information concerns his time in France and Belgium (& England), and does not include Egypt or Gallipoli.

I have been wondering if I might add to my information by searching "NZEF Chaplains Department", or now that you've explained the "3/" prefix, "NZEF Medical Corps". I'll give it a go, though it can be a hard task at such a distance (France).

Thank you also for the explanations for the abbreviations. It all makes sense on that score now.

Joanna

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Joanna

I don't have his file - promotion details are from a book on NZEF Records by Studholme - excellent reference for NZEF things. I'll check some other records on Chaplains.

Andrew

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Meanwhile... page 8 continued:

COOKHOUSE FATIGUE.

The sky is bright and blue the livelong day,

The ship is wallowing on its watery way,

The sea's a vision in its gladsome duds,

But I don't care - I'm peeling spuds!

The wheeling albatross swoops down; a happy throng

Of seabirds follow all the warm day long,

The heaving comber lifts and flops and thuds,

San fairy ann, - I'm peeling spuds!

The golden day just drowses in the waves

That carol soft while Bill the Sea-Cook shaves;

With every roll the welling bucket floods,

Oh Damn! I'm sick of peeling spuds!

"STEERAGE."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Page 8 continued:

TO BILLY.

(BY PILL HEATH.)

(Written at the request of a sentimental "Digger" to a lady in the Anzac Lounge, Capetown. The Dutch sentence which concludes the last verse is spelt phonetically - the typewriter blew up when I attempted to type the original Dutch. - It means "Will you kiss me?" - P.H.)

Maiden with the flaxen hair,

Dimpled chin and jaunty air,

Blithesome, care free, debonair,

Billy.

A beauty spot and eyes of blue

The Creator gave to you,

Blade straight and steel true,

Billy.

Flowing head-dress dazzling white,

Underneath chic curls in sight, [?]

Complete a vision of delight.

Billy.

Quick repartee and winning smile

Unspoiled by any studious guile

Acclaim existence as worth while,

Billy

Little hands made to caress,

Whom? Alas! I cannot guess!

What a treasure to possess.

Billy.

Dainty feet and daintier shoon [?]

All to Art's acme attune.

May I whisper "Hoof mein soon."

Billy.

- Capetown, 6th December, 1919.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Dear Joanna

From "Men of Faith and Courage" regarding the end of the war period:

Between the end of the war, before returning to New Zealand, he served as Vicar of Middlesboro, England, working in slum areas. Became Vicar of Richmond (Nelson) in NZ 1920, then Mangatainoka in 1921, returning to Europe in 1922. Apparently ended up in Smyrna, Turkey, and gained admiration for rescuing people from a fire (!) before becoming Anglican chaplain in Lisbon, Portugal, attached to the British Embassy. Died of Typhoid fever 6 May 1930, buried Lisbon. Obviously made a positive impact on the parish in Lisbon as they raised a considerable amount of money to support his family.

Regards

Andrew

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Hello Andrew,

Thank you for posting those details on Charles Dobson from Bryant Haigh's 'Men of Faith & Courage', and of course I don't mind you putting a face to the man at all! In fact that photo in the book is the only image I have of him.

My very kind (newly discovered) relative in Wellington sent me the book last year when I was comparatively new to the research on my grandfather.

On page 53 he is mentioned. It is in relation to Chaplain William Grant at Gallipoli:

"On 28 August 1915 in company with the young* Chaplain Dobson, he was touring the battered trenches on Hill 60, tending and comforting the wounded until the stretcher-bearers could get to them. As the two men worked their way along the trench from one group of New Zealanders to the next they passed unknowingly beyond the last man in the line, who himself did not realise that he formed the left flank of the New Zealand position. As they toiled on through a maze of shattered trenches they rounded a traverse and came face to face with a party of Turkish soldiers. Only a fraction of a second passed before the Turks fired and Chaplain Grant fell - too short a time for the Red Cross armbands worn by both chaplains to have been noticed and respected. The Turks angrily waved Dobson away as he stood, shocked and staring, at Grant's body.

"Dobson later, in company with Chaplain Blamires, led a party to recover Grant's body. It was buried in a gully on the side of Hill 60, with Blamires conducting the service. After the war the grave could not be identified, and today Grant's name is among those listed with no know grave on the New Zealand Memorial on Hill 60. There is also a plaque to his memory in St Andrew's Presbyterian Church at Gisborne."

* Charles was born in 1886 (at Westport), so he was in fact 29 in 1915.

And about that "fire" in Turkey:

Charles became Chaplain at St John's in Smyrna in 1922, and my mother was born there in late May. In September that year, Turkish troops entered Smyrna after departing Greek troops. A great many refugees were gathering in the city, fleeing from the interior, and desperate to get away in ships. (British, French, Italian... ships were in the harbour, but had instructions to only take members of their own nations.) Fires were deliberately started in the Armenian quarter of the city - most of which (saving the Turkish quarter) was destroyed.

He left with his family as refugees on SS 'Bavarian' to Malta. He worked for a short while in Marseilles and then in Middlesbrough (in 1923, not 1919 at Bryant Haigh suggests - I have a copy of a letter written by my grandmother from Middlesborough in April of that year, again thanks to my kind NZ relative), before becoming Chaplain at St George's in Lisbon in 1924. Having survived the War and then Smyrna, he was only 43/44 when he died of typhoid. He might have been fortunate enough to escape that as well, but was apparently given a transfusion of the wrong blood type.

Joanna

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Charles Dobson wrote two reports on Smyrna:

The first was sent from Rome to the Foreign Office in Nov 1922 - "Report by Rev Charles Dobson on Smyrna" at the National Archives at Kew. Ref. FO 371/7949. I have a copy of this.

The second was published by the Anglo-Hellenic league in 1923 - "The Tragedy of the Christian Near East - The Smyrna Holocaust". This can be read here:

http://www.greek-genocide.org/books.html

It's quite near the bottom of the page.

Needless to say, these both make rather different reading to the 'Rimutaka' journal... but I post their details here to show another aspect of his life for anyone who is curious, or for those interested in Smyrna 1922.

Joanna p.s. Giles Milton's book "Paradise Lost: Smyrna 1922" uses Charles Dobson's report to the Foreign Office as one of his references.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue' Page 9:

1940 IN AUCKLAND.

(BY "JUMBO")

Business had been quiet in the Diggers' Arms and the new barmaid, aged fifty, if a day, and one of the last of an almost extinct species, had felt rather tired of her new situation. Slackness in trade gave her time to think of the past and its lost opportunities. How many a pair of manly eyes had sought hers in admiration over the top of a sparkling glass of Speight's XXXX, and how she had played with the affections of many an ardent swain! Now, as time wore on, her charms had departed, and with them, her chances of matrimony.

She had just accepted this position at New Fricourt, a flourishing fruit-farming centre, situated on the site of an old North Auckland gum-field. The farmers - all veterans of the Great War - had been busy for some time past gathering in the results of a gloriously prosperous year, and the bulk of the work being over, Molly expected trade to be brisker that evening.

Scarcely had she given the brass of the beer pumps a final polish when in walked two elderly gentlemen. One was undoubtedly a fruitgrower, while the other bore the stamp of the city, although his starched collar did not look at all comfortable on him. The first, a Mr Mooney - better known as "Moon" - had been a sergeant-major in the days of the war. It was he who greeted Molly.

"Whato, Molly, me gal! Allow me to introduce another old Digger - Old Tock me and him was shipmates on the old Rimutaka, twenty years ago. He's just up from Auckland where he's a real live M.P., to ask all the old Diggers to attend the veterans' reunion on the 25th anniversary of Anzac Day. What's yours, Tock? Sparkling Moselle? Mine's a pint of the best, Molly. Yes, my Pippins and Jonathans turned out kapai this year, and I expects to pack away an odd quid or so from the proceeds."

Just at this moment the door opened again, and in sauntered three others who were duly presented to Tock by Moon.

"Three more of the old mob, Tock; here's Dick Innes, Angus McCarthy, and Bill Nolan, all well set in the fruit-growing line. And now I come to think of it, they all did the home trip on the Rimutaka, too."

At this juncture the barmaid brought in some sandwiches and pies. Angus, making a sudden rush, grabbed one of the latter in each hand, and commenced to eat ravenously.

"Just like Angus," said Bill, "don't you remember how, in the old days, we used to call him 'The Human Ostrich?' Just like old time times! Ha! Ha! What are you fellers drinking? Fill 'em up again, Miss Publichouse."

The drinks were being consumed to the accompaniment of much talk and laughter, when a meek-looking Salvation Army lass walked in and asked for donations. Moon dropped a coin into the tambourine and said: -

"Come on, lads, help them on their way. Old General Green, their boss, is no other than good old 'Buckshee.' "

The lassie made her departure smiling thanks. There was another round of drinks and the old times were discussed.

"Don't you remember, Tock," said Dick, "how you and the adjutant spoke at a debate in favour of the booze and - well, we can still get a drink, can't we? Here's luck! By the way, though, did you know, that the adjutant died in the dingbats? Doc. Singer did his best to pull him round, but he was napoo. I recollect the funeral; the service was conducted by the Rev. Dobson."

The clock above the mantelpiece struck ten, and the barmaid gave a gentle reminder that it was closing-time; but in spite of her warning they continued their conversation. At this point, however, the portly figure of the publican appeared, and with his stentorian voice he shouted: -

"Time, gentlemen, please!"

"Jumping Jehosephat!" yelled Tock in surprise. "Von Kluck! He always did put a stop to all my pleasures."

Columns are broken with drawing entitled: 'Rolling Home' by TREV 1919

Link to comment
Share on other sites

That supposed-future really hits you, doesn't it, when you know that come 1940 they were actually in the midst of another war. Also, they either had no idea that 6 o'clock closing had come in in December 1917, or thought things would return to normal now the war was over!

Allie

Link to comment
Share on other sites

That supposed-future really hits you, doesn't it, when you know that come 1940 they were actually in the midst of another war. Also, they either had no idea that 6 o'clock closing had come in in December 1917, or thought things would return to normal now the war was over!

Allie

Yes, the date 1940 really did hit me when I first read it. After all they'd been through, and survived, there was still room for optimism (in the Journal, anyway).

I like the way that people in this story can be traced on the passenger list.

Did prohibition become a reality in NZ?

Did/does "Speight's XXXX" exist?

Joanna

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue' Page 9 continued:

AN AFRIC NIGHT

An Afric night - I dreaming lay

Where splendour nestled on the Bay

And frolicked with the vagrant mood

Of wavelets that so coyly wooed

The spread of captivating white,

And sipped the magic of the night.

Nearby, the mountain reared her pride

Of barren grandeur to the wide

Embracing vault of faultless blue,

And toned to somewhat sombre hue

The scene around: while stars above

Shouted of peace and perfect love.

Ten thousand lights look to the sea

And laugh and smile indulgently

While others of a chaster glow

Into the valley winding go

To court the shadows that entwine

Fantastic crag and creeping vine.

Out from the wilderness that lies

Fealty alone to torrid skies,

What thoughts invade the mind's repose

And feast upon the evening's close: -

Ages of Ignorance that blight

The worshippers of Fetish rite.

But purer fancies come to seek

The subtle charm the heavens speak:

And mirrored in the gleaming bay

Are hands that plead from far away,

Faces tear-stained, and eyes that shine

With trust and hope in ways Divine.

Beauty of sky and sea and land -

Of marvels wrought at man's command,

Howe'er they stir the raptured soul,

Must homage pay to thoughts that roll

The world across - contented roam

Around the bliss and joy of Home.

- E.W.P.N.

14/12/19

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Hi, Joanna

Prohibition was narrowly defeated, but we kept 6 o'clock closing til October 1967 when the pubs were once again able to remain open til 10pm. Six o'clock closing led to a revolting cultural thing in both Oz and NZ called the '6 o'clock swill', where men drank as much as they could betwen finishing work at five and the pub closing at six.

Speights XXXX was indeed an ale, but no idea when they stopped producing it. I've seen labels for the bottles from the 1930s, and having a quick google, it is advertised in newspapers back in 1912. The Castlemaine XXXX brand first came out in Australia in 1924.

Allie

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Allie,

That's harsh. Might as well have had prohibition.

I remember queues of people outside pubs in Glasgow at about 5.30 - years ago - and this was when closing time was at 10 pm! Britain still likes to drink in a hurry - even with relaxed opening hours now.

Joanna

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Hi,

As Allie says, prohibition was narrowly defeated, the reason it was so narrow was it was all going ahead, but the votes from the serviceman overseas in the war overturned it. As the overseas votes were late coming in it was the soldiers votes who ensured it did not happen. For this reason, after the war, certain aspects of our society did not appreciate our returned men, but labelled them instead. As I say it was a small majority of the rather "well to do" .

Cheers ( pun intended) Aaron.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue' Page 10:

TOUTE SUTTE *

(BY PILL HEATH.)

My name is not Wallingford, nor do I anticipate becoming rich quickly, but in matters matrimonial I am the lightening mover of the N.Z.E.F.

On 25th July, in the year of peace, I was a bachelor on the unattached list. Four days later I was hailing taxis, checking luggage, swotting time-tables, tipping porters, avoiding boat stewards and experiencing all the other joys of a honeymoon.

One month earlier, on a certain Monday morning, I met Yvonne near Marble Arch, and introduced myself by enquiring the way to Rotten Row. While she was directing me I lost my desire to watch aristocratic equestrians snub each other, so we strolled along to the academy of music at which my charming companion was pursuing her studies of chord and discord - principally discord, if the sounds wafted from a second floor window were any criterion.

Of course we lunched together that day and every day thereafter until my leave expired, by which time we had exchanged the stories of our lives.

Born in France, Yvonne had been betrothed in her teens to one, Alphonse Didot. The very name Alphonse annoyed me. I saw the guy once at a matinee. He may have been as beautiful as a Glaxo baby when the marriage was arranged. Out of charity I refrain from further comment. How I cursed the fond parents responsible for such shocking waste of good girl!

On the day following my return to Sling I applied, through the company circumlocution office, for fourteen days' special leave. Forty-eight hours later I fought my way past the ticket collector at Waterloo to the spot where Yvonne awaited me, woebegone, wistful, yet exquisitely sweet. Poor little girl! It's no joke having a marriage arranged for one by other people.

During dinner I was explaining how I had travelled from Sling on a dud warrant when she broke in with:

"Darleen Billie, I cannot marry Alphonse of Wednesday."

"Of course you can't, little girl," I agreed. "You leave it to me. You must marry someone, but you certainly will not marry him. The alternative is to marry me. Any good?"

"Billie, I - " she exclaimed.

"And we can tell papa and mama afterwards," I continued.

The ensuing conversation resulted in Yvonne accepting my heart, hand, and fortune. The latter consisted of a debit balance in my paybook. Together we planned our wedding. Having arranged all the delicious details to our mutual satisfaction, we parted. Some parting, believe me!

"Good night, sweetheart, " I said finally, "I'll get permission from headquarters, and with a special license we'll do the trick toute suite."

"And the touter the sweeter," whispered Yvonne.

Two days later the registrar of marriages at Richmond officiated. A touch of jazz was added to the ceremony through my omission to purchase the ring. However, I met the difficulty by covering the hundred yards separating the registry from the nearest jeweller's establishment in something under ten. The policeman on duty at the time is still debating whether he passed something or something passed him.

Papa and mama forgave us in due course. In Yvonne I found my soul-mate - at least I tell her so, and she believes me. So why worry?

Poor old Alphonse. It was rather hard luck for him, but all's fair in love and peace, and as Yvonne wrote in a valedictory letter to him, "Amor vincit omnia."

Column ends with a drawing entitled "Black & White" by Pax.

* "Toute Sutte" as it appears in journal is I presume a printer's error - unless it's another play on words/names... ?

Any ideas on Wallingford?

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Hi,

As Allie says, prohibition was narrowly defeated, the reason it was so narrow was it was all going ahead, but the votes from the serviceman overseas in the war overturned it. As the overseas votes were late coming in it was the soldiers votes who ensured it did not happen. For this reason, after the war, certain aspects of our society did not appreciate our returned men, but labelled them instead. As I say it was a small majority of the rather "well to do" .

Cheers ( pun intended) Aaron.

Hello Aaron,

With, or without prohibition, not a good welcome home. The controlling of its availability must have spoken volumes in a negative way.

I'm particularly interested in the "Debates" on post # 40 of this thread - and how certain people spoke, my grandfather Charles Dobson, included. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall!

Salut! (as they say here)

Joanna

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue' page 10 continued:

ADVERTISEMENTS

PERSONAL.

Missing Friend. - Ship's Q.M.S. missing since leaving Liverpool. Last seen in bosun's quarters. Communicate "Diggers."

To Whom it May Concern. - On and after 1st December, 1919, I shall not be responsible for bar debts contracted in my name. - D. Guinness.

Personal. - H. Meet me aft port entrance saloon to-night. Usual time. Buckshee away for week-end. - Nursie.

P.A. - Why so cold? Can bear it no longer. - Cupie.

LOST AND FOUND.

Found. - Somebody else's babies. Apply Capt. Chapple.

Lost. - Prestige, and that air of authority. Return to Ship's S.M.

Found. - At Prohibition debate. All novel sense of popularity. - Adjutant.

Lost. - At Torquay. A promised bride. - Apply, Anybody.

Lost. - At Prohibition debate. All desire to speak in public. Reward on returning to S. M. Taylor.

Lost. - Much business. Probably owing to parsimony of Pay Office. Apply Canteen.

Lost. - Large sum of money. Apply, "Slippery Sam," Limbless Dept.

Lost. - Owing to inconsiderateness of M.O., anticipated presidency of Soviet. Finder kindly return to Scotty, "The Eyrie."

Found. - At Anzac Lounge, Capetown. Friends and unlimited hospitality. Owner can have same in next war.

Found. - How to enjoy the trip. Also several cosy corners. Apply in first instance to Capts. Chrisitian or Emery.

Found. - At Capetown and Hobart. That glad feeling. Owner can have same on paying expenses. Apply Adj.

Lost. - The art of giving credit full measure. Finder please return to Canteen.

Lost. - At Capetown. Reputation. Also way home. Return to Provost Corps. No reward.

Found. - A sympathetic companion. What offers for return? Apply, Lt. Perry.

Lost. - A fatigue party. Finder will be rewarded on returning same to Dogman, c/o/ Saloon Bar.

Found. - The Human Ostrich. This amazing monstrosity will be on exhibition in B.Coy's quarters for a short season only. If not claimed by 5th prox. will be sold to defray expenses. Apply, Bill Nolan.

Lost. - 20 minutes a day. Finder kindly return to Wristlet Watch.

Found. - Beneath veneer of official dignity, a quiet sense of humour. Anyone may see same on applying to the O.C. Troops.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue" Page 11:

THAT LOW COMMERCIAL INSTINCT.

(By "Pill Heath.")

On the morning of our arrival at Teneriffe I was up with the lark or - more correctly - with the Orpington rooster. Owing to the heat I had slept on deck above the third saloon and somewhere in the vicinity of 5 a.m. I was awakened by a series of dulcet notes emanating from an adjacent hen-coop. Turning over I found the White Orpongton rooster conversing with one of the ladies of the neighbouring harem. His baseness aroused the ire of the Lord of the Black Seraglio and challenges flew back and forth - rapidly increasing in volume as the sultans warmed to their work.

Further sleep being out of the question I sat up and had my first view of Teneriffe. At that moment the awfulness of the situation dawned upon me. Here we were at a port with a reputation for fresh fruit and cigars, very big business. When I introduced [something missing here JH] and I was in a state of financial leprosy. Something had to be done. I went down to breakfast and then returned to my post at the rail. My gloom deepened as the morning wore on and trade became more general.

Baptiste was responsible for my saving inspiration. He wore a particularly vilainous expression and a tunic that had once graced a member of the Australian Imperial Forces. But the point that really took my eye was the manifest antiquity of his shirt.

Once when I had some money I bought a white shirt with mauve stripes. It was quite a good shirt until, using a formula of my own, I washed it. The result of my scientific cleansing process was an uneven blending of mauve and white which can best be described as a cross between a Futurist impression of Armistice Night in London and the ravings of a camouflage artist after celebrating peace.

Separating Baptiste from the other Teneriffe-raff I intimated in choice Anglo-Spanish that I wanted to do the [?] my shirt as the medium of exchange [?] the eyes of the brigand expressed keen interest, but the inherent guile of the Spaniard prevented him closing the bargain at once, so the following conversation ensued: -

"Now, look here, Baptiste, you haven't washed this morning, but I'll give you this shirt for those cigars. Get me? Shirt! Cigar?"

"Nor, nor - Anuzzer - Blankette - more - blankette!"

"Nothing doing, Satan! This shirt cost 24/- in London (as a matter of fact it hadn't cost five), and is as worn by all the ruling potentates of Europe, including Spain, Portugal and the Canary Islands. Why, boy, think of the sensation you will make when you take the senorita to the bull fight on Sunday."

Here I struck the right cord, but as he still made reference to a "blankette and anuzzer" I suggested to him the desirability of his taking up reidence in Tierra de Fuego, or whatever the Santa Crustaceans called it. Just as I was moving away he pushed a large box of cigars into my hand and shortly afterwards left for Santa Cruz, there to dazzle susceptible senoritas with the most weirdly coloured shirt I've ever seen.

That night as I leaned over the rail and watched the orange peel slip by, I wondered what success my Teneriffian had achieved in his onslaughts on the affections of the ladies of Santa Cruz. Of one thing I am assured. He will never stoop to wash his intimate garments, and so will never know the joy of possessing a chameleon shirt.

Columns broken with drawing entitled "THOSE STARES!' by Trev.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"Epilogue' Page 11 continued:

CADGE

This troopship's full of cadgers,

They never are at rest

They're on the bite from morn till night

Each byway they infest.

For booze or match, or cigarette

Or e'en official badge

They work the ship ad. lib.

And cadge, cadge, cadge.

There are orderlies to be tipped

And cooks who gets your grub

The man who does your washing

Or prepares you for the tub.

There's beer for Bob the Nipper,

A souvenir for his Madge -

We live in an eternal round

Of cadge, cadge, cadge.

And when life's toil is ended

And in marble halls we dwell,

No doubt some old-time comrade

Will be there around to tell

Of how he needs a harpstring

Or some such trifling gadge:

There'll still be the same old calling

Of cadge, cadge, cadge.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue' Page 12:

JAZZ

O'er the clouded tropic ocean we are

rolling day by day,

And memories old come thronging

with a thrill of youthful love,

For a gramaphone is grinding out

a tinkling roundelay,

And the ladies they are jazzing,

jazzing on the deck above.

Lifts the ship to curling comber, racing

scud, and flying spume;

Gleams the moon from shining cloud-

band, silvering all the shimmering sea;

Oh, there's romance in the cadence of

the little lilting tune,

And the ladies they are jazzing, but

there's none to jazz with me.

Gay Maxina, flitting fox-trot, Hesita-

tion waltz and two-step;

Memories come of dances olden,

visions sweet of dances new,

For the swinging of the vessel helps

the rhythm with a new pep,

And the ladies they are jazzing, but

the ladies - they are few.

Soon I'll leave this tiresome troopship;

soon I'll be a civ. made over;

Soon I'll blossom forth ashore like a

knut all gaily dressed,

Then I'll join the jazzing ladies with

the rapture of a lover,

And I'll jazz with all the fairest in

the ball-rooms of the Blest.

"STEERAGE"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

'Epilogue' Page 12 continued:

The Sea and the Rimutaka

[Written, not without acrimony, after a forced landing in the scuppers.]

I've read a lot of bally rot

About the rolling main,

But this old boat has got my goat!

Whoa! There she goes again.

Each day we race at reckless pace

(About that of a worm)

Still, Cheerio, you never know,

Perhaps the luck will turn.

This voyage of ours - by all the powers!

Is endless as a tunnel;

But hold on tight - there's hope in sight

Until she dips the funnel.

She rolls at naught. First to the port,

Then to the right careers.

You'd think she had gone to the bad

And sunk her woes in beers.

Before the war I hungered for

A life upon the blue.

But now I'm cured! For I've endured

The sea - and cursed it too!

When I get home I'll never roam

Again upon the sea.

If they start a war that's not next door

Then for mine - Napoo! - Finie!

"PILL HEATH"

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
×
×
  • Create New...