Don't yeh hear them callin, to yeh, callin' to yeh, lad?
   Where the skyline's smeared an' grey with cannon smoke,
There's a crowd o' chaps that knew yeh;
Don't yeh hear them callin' to yeh -
   Mates o' yours with 'oom yeh used to drink an' joke?
An' they trust yeh, lad; they trust yeh for the friendship that yeh had.
   Don't yeh bear them callin',
Callin' to yeh, lad?


Can't you see them beck'nin' to yeh, beck'nin' to yeh, boy ?
   There's a pal o' yours that fell at Sari Bair;
An' yeh cheered 'im when yeh parted,
An' yeh felt a bit down-'earted;
   Now 'e's passed the game to you, to do yer share.
Oh, the job is reel dead earnest, an' a gun is not a toy;
   Can't yeh see them beck'nin',
Beck'nin' to yeh, boy?


Don't yeh know they're waitin' for yeh, waltin' for yeh, mate,
   Hopin', prayin' that their countrymen are game;
All that brave an' battlin' crowd of
Men that In yer 'eart yer proud of -
   Mates o' yours that 'elped to make yer country's name?
Do yeh mean to dodge the trouble till the foe is at the gate?
   "Oh, it's weary waltin',
Waitin' for yeh, mate!"


Can't yeh see them lookin' at yeh, lookin' at yeh, lad -
   Women-folk of mates o' yours that fought and fell?
Are yeh grumblin' an' protestin'?
Will yer mateship stand the testin'?
   Have yeh read the message that those wide eyes tell?
Have yeh heard grey mothers weepin'?  Have yeh seen young wives grow sad?....
   Won't yeh have them prayin',
Prayin' for yeh, lad?

"In Hospital. GINGER MICK"
The Bulletin, 30 March 1916, p30