The Moods of Ginger Mick | Page 5

About stern jooty an' 'is country's call;
But, in 'is way, 'e 'eard it right
enough
A-callin' like the shout uv "On the Ball!"
Wot time the footer brings
the clicks great joy,
An' Saints or Carlton roughs it up wiv 'Roy.
The call wot came to cave-men in the days
When rocks wus stylish in the scrappin' line;
The call wot knights
'eard in the minstrel's lays,
That sent 'em in tin soots to Palerstine;
The call wot draws all fighters
to the fray
It come to Mick, an' Mick 'e must obey.

The Call uv Stoush! ... It's older than the 'ills.
Lovin' an' fightin' - there's no more to tell
Concernin' men. an' when
that feelin' thrills
The blood uv them 'oo's fathers mixed it well,
They 'ave to 'eed it -
bein' 'ow they're built -
As traders 'ave to 'eed the clink uv gilt.
An' them whose gilt 'as stuffed 'em stiff wiv pride
An' 'aughty scorn uv blokes like Ginger Mick -
I sez to them, put sich
crook thorts aside,
An' don't lay on the patronage too think.
Orl men is brothers when it
comes to lash
An' 'aughty scorn an' Culcher does their lash.
War ain't no giddy garden feete - it's war:
A game that calls up love an' 'atred both.
An' them that shudders at
the sight o' gore,
An' shrinks to 'ear a drunken soljer's oath,
Must 'ide be'ind the man
wot 'eaves the bricks,
An' thank their Gawd for all their Ginger
Micks.
Becos 'e never 'ad the chance to find
The glory o' the world by land an' sea,
Becos the beauty 'idin' in 'is
mind
Wus not writ plain fer blokes like you an' me,
They calls 'im crook;
but in 'im I 'ave found
Wot makes a man a man the world around.
Be'ind that dile uv 'is, as 'ard as sin,
Wus strange, soft thorts that never yet showed out;
An' down in
Spadger's Lane, in dirt an' din,

'E dreamed sich dreams as poits sing about.
'E's 'ad 'is visions uv the
Bonzer Tart;
An' stoushed some coot to ease 'is swellin' 'eart.
Lovin' an' fightin' . . . when the tale is told,
That's all there is to it; an' in their way
Them brave an' noble 'ero
blokes uv old
Wus Ginger Micks - the crook 'uns uv their day.
Jist let the Call uv
Stoush give 'im 'is chance
An' Ginger Mick's the 'ero of Romance.
So Ginger Mick 'e's mizzled to the war;
Joy in 'is 'eart, an' wild dreams in 'is brain;
Gawd 'elp the foe that 'e
goes gunnin' for
If tales is true they tell in Spadger's Lane -
Tales that ud fairly freeze
the gentle 'earts
Uv them 'oo knits 'is socks - the Culchered Tarts.
IV. THE PUSH
Becos a crook done in a prince, an' narked an Emperor,
An' struck a light that set the world aflame;
Becos the bugles East an'
West sooled on the dawgs o' war,
A bloke called Ginger Mick 'as found 'is game -
Found 'is game an'
found 'is brothers, 'oo wus strangers in 'is sight, Till they shed their silly
clobber an' put on the duds fer fight.
Yes, they've shed their silly clobber an' the other stuff they wore
Fer to 'ide the man beneath it in the past;
An' each man is the clean,
straight man 'is Maker meant 'im for, An' each man knows 'is brother
man at last.
Shy strangers, till a bugle blast preached 'oly brother'ood;
But mateship they 'ave found at last; an' they 'ave found it good.

So the lumper, an' the lawyer, an' the chap 'oo shifted sand,
They are cobbers wiv the cove 'oo drove a quill;
They knut 'oo swung
a cane upon the Block, 'e takes the 'and
Uv the coot 'oo swung a pick on Broken 'Ill;
An' Privit Clord
Augustus drills wiv Privit Snarky Jim -
They are both Australian
soljers, w'ich is good enough fer 'im.
It's good enough fer orl uv 'em, as orl uv 'em 'ave seen
Since they got the same glad clobber next their skins;
An' the bloke
'oo 'olds the boodle an' the coot wivout a bean,
Why, they knock around like little Kharki twins.
An' they got a
common lingo, w'ich is growin' mighty thick
Wiv ixpressive
contributions frum the stock uv Ginger Mick.
'E 'as struck it fer a moral. Ginger's found 'is game at last,
An' 'e's took to it like ducklin's take to drink;
An' 'is slouchin' an' 'is
grouchin' an' 'is loafin' uv the past -
'E's done wiv 'em, an' dumped 'em down the sink.
'E's a bright an'
shinin' sample uv a the'ry that I 'old:
That ev'ry 'eart that ever pumped
is good fer chunks o' gold.
Ev'ry feller is a gold mine if yeh take an' work 'im right:
It is shinin' on the surface now an' then;
An' there's some is easy
sinkin', but there's some wants dynermite,
Fer they looks