I want to go home,
Where the Allemands can't get at me,
Oh my! I don't want to die; I want to go home.
"You'd better not show this to that German or else he'll
believe we _mean_ it as well as sing it. We have a rare lot
of ditties. We often sing across--'Has anyone seen a German
Band,' or 'I want my Fritz to play twiddly bits on his old
trombone.' We really have a good bit of fun at times; other
days are--crudely, but truthfully putting it--'Hell.' The
first month I had out here was such. You heard of Hill 60
back last April, and the second battle of Calais. It was
during that time that I lost my friend, with whom I joined.
Since we were thirteen years old we've been inseparable.
Only 40 per cent. of the draft I was on are left, and in my
pocket I have a long list of chums whom I shall never see
again in this world. It seems wonderful to me that I should
be spared whilst so many better men go. Naturally I am
thankful, especially for mother's sake, that I have escaped
so far. Only once during the eight months out here have I
been more than ten miles from the firing line, and ten miles
is nothing to a gun.
"Well, now I must knock off for dinner, the variety of which
never changes. You've heard of 'Stew, stew, glorious stew';
perhaps, however, beer was the subject then.
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