Back in Billets
WE'RE in billets again, and to-night, if you please,
I shall strap myself up in a Wolsely valise.
What's that, boy? Your boots give you infinite pain?
You can chuck them away: we're in billets again.
We're in billets again now and, barring alarms,
There'll be no occasion for standing to arms,
And you'll find if you'd many night-watches to keep
That the hour before daylight's the best hour for sleep.
We're feasting on chocolate, cake, currant buns,
To a faint German-band obbligato of guns,
For I've noticed, wherever the regiment may go,
That we always end up pretty close to the foe.
But we're safe out of reach of trench mortars and snipers
Five inches south-west of the "Esses" in Ypres;
—Old Bob, who knows better, pronounces it Yper
But don't argue the point now—you'll waken the sleeper.
Our host brings us beer up, our thirst for to quench,
So we'll drink him good fortune in English and French: