My Little Wet Home In the Trench

Original Text: 
Soldier Songs From Anzac (Melbourne: The Specialty Press Pty. Ltd., 1915): 31-32.
1I've a little wet home in the trench,
2Which the rain-storms continually drench;
3        Blue sky overhead,
4        Mud and clay for a bed,
5And a stone that we use for a bench.
7It seems years since we tasted a stew;
8        Shells crackle and scare,
9        But no place can compare
10With my little wet home in the trench.
11Our friends in the trench o'er the way
12Seem to know that we've come here to stay;
13        They rush and they shout,
14        But they can't get us out,
15Though there's no dirty work they don't play.
16They rushed us a few nights ago,
17But we don't like intruders, and so
18        Some departed quite sore,
19        Others sleep evermore,
20Near my little wet home in the trench.
21So hurrah for the mud and the clay,
22It's the road to ."Der Tag."-that's ."The Day.."
23        When we enter Berlin,
24        That big city of sin,
25Where we'll make the fat Berliner pay,
26We'll remember the cold, and the frost,
28        There'll be shed then, I fear
29        Redder stuff than a tear
30For my little wet home in the trench.


6] Bully beef: tinned beef (OED ."bully." n. 5). Back to Line
27] Bhost: probably ."le Bosch." (French term for German soldiers). Back to Line
RPO poem Editors: 
Ian Lancashire