SERVICE SONGS

SOUTH AFRICAN WAR

1900-1902

CHANT-PAGAN

(English Irregular discharged)

ME that 'ave been what I've been,
Me that 'ave gone where I've gone,
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen
'Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An' 'ouses both sides of the street,
And 'edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an' "gentry" between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet

Me that 'ave been what I've been?

Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world 'Eave up all shiny with dew,

Kopje on kop to the sun,

An' as soon as the mist let 'em through

Our 'elios winkin' like fun

Three sides of a ninety-mile square,

Over valleys as big as a shire

ye

Are there? Are ye ye there? Are there? An' then the blind drum of our fire . An' I'm rollin' 'is lawns for the Squire,

Me that 'ave rode through the dark

Me!

Forty mile, often, on end,

Along the Ma'ollisberg Range,

With only the stars for my mark

An' only the night for my friend,
An' things runnin' off as you pass,
An' things jumpin' up in the grass,
An' the silence, the shine an' the size
Of the 'igh, unexpressible skies. . .
I am takin' some letters almost
As much as a mile, to the post,

An' "mind you come back with the change!"

Me that saw Barberton took

Me!

When we dropped through the clouds on their 'ead,
An' they 'ove the guns over and fled
Me that was through Di'mond 'Ill,
An' Pieters an' Springs an' Belfast
From Dundee to Vereeniging all!
Me that stuck out to the last
(An' five bloomin' bars on my chest) –
I am doin' my Sunday-school best,
By the 'elp of the Squire an' 'is wife
(Not to mention the 'ousemaid an' cook),
To come in an' 'ands up an' be still,
An' honestly work for my bread,

In the place where the Lightnin's are made,
"Twixt the Rains and the Sun and the Moon;
Me that lay down an' got up

I will arise an' get 'ence;

I will trek South and make sure

If it's only my fancy or not

That the sunshine of England is pale,

And the breezes of England are stale,

An' there's somethin' gone small with the lot;
For I know of a sun an' a wind,

An' some plains and a mountain be'ind,
An' some graves by a barb-wire fence;

An' a Dutchman I've fought 'oo might give
Me a job were I ever inclined,

To look in an' offsaddle an' live

Where there's neither a road nor a tree

But only my Maker an' me,

And I think it will kill me or cure,

So I think I will go there an' see.

Me!

M. I.

(Mounted Infantry of the Line)

I WISH my mother could see me now, with a fence-post under

my arm,

And a knife and a spoon in my putties that I found on a Boer

farm,

Atop of a sore-backed Argentine, with a thirst that you could n't

buy.

I used to be in the Yorkshires once

(Sussex, Lincolns, and Rifles once),

Hampshires, Glosters, and Scottish once! (ad lib.)

But now I am M. I.

That is what we are known as

that is the name you must

call

If you want officers' servants, pickets an' 'orseguards an' all —