ANZAC DIALOGUES
It was a fine day, and they were standing by waiting for instructions from the warrant officer to commence unloading and loading; and in the general murmur of voices one noted the broad tones of the British Tommy and the harsher ones of Tommy Kangaroo, the latter less careful of his grammar than the other; also the loud-voiced directions of the Indian Tommy, or rather Johnny, who condescended now and then to break into pidgin-English (with a smile).
Presently from amongst a group sitting in the shelter of a stack of bully beef came the request: “Give us a light, mate,” in the blunt style which belongs to Tommy Kangaroo.
“Aw, yes,” replies Tommy Atkins, or “Kitch,” as he is beginning to be called. “Aw, yes.” And while the other is pulling at his fag: “Have you got any baadges, choom?”
“No, I gave mine to a little nipper who used to sing on the stage at the El Dorado in Cairo.”
“Did you now! She must have a fine stack of baadges now, that ’un. You’re about the fifteenth lad that I know has given his baadges to ’er. Aw, thanks”—taking back his cigarette. “I see you’re from Austra-alia. What State did you live in?”
“Vic,” is the reply.
“I wonder if you knew my brother? He went to Victoria a couple of years ago. Got a job on the ra-ailways, he did, and wanted me to come out too. I’ll go when this is over; but ’ee’s married now, ’e is, and got a couple of pet lambs that ’e said was given to ’im by a chap named Drover; ’is name is Dobbs.”
“Never met him, matey, but he is all right, you bet. A Pommy[5]can’t go wrong out there if he isn’t too lazy to work.”
“Ah, yes, he tells me they called ’im Pommy, but that they was good lads. I could not understand them slinging off at ’im and ’im thinking they were treatin’ ’im like as ’e was one of themselves.”
“Oh, well, yer see, mate, we don’t call the like of ’im ‘Pommies’ because we dislike ’em, but just as a matter of description. Of course, sometimes one of ’em gets ’is back up and calls us sons of convicts in return for us chuckin’ off at ’im, and then he’s told lots of things—sometimes true and very often untrue; but Australia’s all right, mate. You need not be ashamed to be called a ‘Pommy’ out there.”
“Blime, there’s old ‘Beachy’[6]at it again,” breaks in another. “’Ee’s a fair cow, ’e is. Made me spill two buckets er water this mornin’, and our flamin’ cook told me I was too lazy to go down for it. I’ll give ’im ‘Beachy’after this job is over if ’e don’t look out. Hallo, Johnny, Beachy catch-em mule, eh?”
“Beachy no good—mule good,” replies the tall spare Indian, with a smile, as he tries to bring his pair of mules under the shelter of the stack. “Mule very good,” he says, as he squats in front of his pair.
“’Ow long yer been ’ere, choom?” asks Kitch of Kangaroo.
“Nearly six munce now. Blime, I could do with a spell now, too. I’m beginnin’ to get a ’ump like a camel from carryin’ these flamin’ boxes.”
“Aw, yes, but it’s better than bein’ in the trenches, ain’t it?” asks Kitch.
“Blime, no,” is the reply. “A man’s got a chance to hit back there, but down ’ere it’s up to putty. It’s bad enough to be eatin’ bully beef, but carryin’ it as well is rotten. I couldn’t look a decent bullock in the face now for what I’ve said about ’im when ’e’s tinned.”
“Did yer ’ear wot was doin’ up at Narks Post larst night, Bill?”
“Yes; some d——d gobblers thought they would catch our mob nappin’ but missed the bus, and some of ’em are still runnin’ yellin’ to Aller to stick to ’em. Blast ’em! I’ll give ’em Aller when I get a chance. Keepin’ a man stuck on ’ere when ’e might be havin’ a good time somewhere else. I’ll bet——”
“Come on, Bill, ’ere comes the W.O.,”[7]says his mate.
“D—— ’im—see yer later, matey; and I’ll try to get a badge for yer.”
“Don’t forget, choom. Ah want it to send to my married sister’s little lass. She thinks youm lads be prime boys.”
“Prime boys,” mutters Bill, as he grabs his case of bully. “Yes, prime boys jugglin’ Best Prime Bully Beef.”
“D—— it—shut up, Bill,” says his mate. “You’re always growlin’—you’ll want flowers on your grave next.”
N. Ash.
FOOTNOTES:[5]Pommy—short for pomegranate, and used as a nickname for immigrants.[6]“Beachy”—a battery of Turkish guns, well known on Anzac Beach.[7]W.O.—Warrant Officer.
[5]Pommy—short for pomegranate, and used as a nickname for immigrants.
[5]Pommy—short for pomegranate, and used as a nickname for immigrants.
[6]“Beachy”—a battery of Turkish guns, well known on Anzac Beach.
[6]“Beachy”—a battery of Turkish guns, well known on Anzac Beach.
[7]W.O.—Warrant Officer.
[7]W.O.—Warrant Officer.