AN ANZAC ALPHABET

By J. W. S. HENDERSON, R.G.A.

A is the Aeroplane buzzing above, Sending us tokens of friendship and love.

B’s Beachy Bill, such a marvel of cunning, A message from whom sends the best of us running.

C is the Chilliness felt in the feet When bullets commence to invade our retreat.

D is the Dug-out we’ve spent so much time at, Working in hopes of defeating the climate.

E is for Eye-wash, a wonderful lotion, Employed by the man who is keen on promotion.

F is the Fool who got caught in a trap, By pulling the tail of a mule in a sap.

G is the General devising a strafe, And cursing his highly incompetent staff.

H is the wretched unfortunate Hill, Bombarded and mined but impregnable still.

I’s the Intelligence officer who Is said to exist at G.H.Q.

Forgive a digression and spare me the time To think of a word that will make a good rhyme, And if the delay is a little provoking, Remember it’s J and the word may be Joking.

K is the Kaiser at home in Berlin, Chanting his quaint maledictory hymn.

L is the Liar who loves to relate Achi Baba has fallen, and gives you the date.

M is the Major observing from latitudes Tending to strained and discomforting attitudes.

N is the Navy bombarding a lair, Ignoring the fact that there’s nobody there.

O is the Optimist struck by a splinter, Happy to think he’ll be home by the winter.

P is the spotlessly uniformed Paragon, Living in splendour on H.M.S. “Aragon.”

Q is the Questions we ask with a wail, Do skippers like whisky, and where is our mail?

R’s the report of the latest success, Strictly compiled for the use of the Press.

S is the Sniper; it’s also his Sickness On finding his cover is lacking in thickness.

T’s the Telephonist cutting off stations In the midst of important conversations.

U is the Uniform made for the wenches, Slightly deranged by a day in the trenches.

V is the Victory talked of by editors, Who wish to get rid of importunate creditors.

Note.—This illustration has had to be postponed pending a final statement by Mr. Hilaire Belloc as to the date of the certain exhaustion of German resources.

W stands for the various Wiles The Germans employ to keep Turkey in smiles.

But X is the Xmas that some day will come When turkey and sauce will be served with our rum.

Y is the Youth who was scornful of danger, Till caught in the rear by a violent stranger.

Z is the Zenith of power and glory, A fitting conclusion to this little story.

The Kaiser to his Secretary

(Dictated) XMAS, 1915