Τ'

UBIQUE

HERE is a word you often see, pronounce it as

you may

'You bike,' 'you bykwe,' 'ubbikwe'-alludin' to

R. A.

It serves 'Orse, Field, an' Garrison as motto for a crest, An' when you've found out all it means I'll tell you 'alf

the rest.

Ubique means the long-range Krupp be'ind the lowrange 'ill

Ubique means you'll pick it up an' while you do stand still. Ubique means you've caught the flash an' timed it by the sound.

Ubique means five gunners' 'ash before you've loosed a round.

Ubique means Blue Fuse, an' make the 'ole to sink the trail.

Ubique means stand up an' take the Mauser's 'alf-mile'ail. Ubique means the crazy team not God nor man can 'old. Ubique means that 'orse's scream which turns your innards cold!

Ubique means 'Bank, 'Olborn, Bank-a penny all the way'

The soothin', jingle-bump-an'-clank from day to peace

ful day.

Ubique means 'They've caught De Wet, an' now we shan't be long.'

Ubique means 'I much regret, the beggar's goin' strong!'

Ubique means the tearin' drift where, breech-blocks jammed with mud,

The khaki muzzles duck an' lift across the khaki flood. Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers.

Ubique means mirage again an' shellin' all out-doors.

Ubique means 'Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein'! Ubique means 'Off-load your guns'-at midnight in the rain!

Ubique means 'More mounted men.

to store.'

Return all guns

Ubique means the R. A. M. R. Infantillery Corps!

Ubique means that warnin' grunt the perished linesman knows,

When o'er 'is strung an' sufferin' front the shrapnel sprays 'is foes;

An' as their firin' dies away the 'usky whisper runs From lips that 'aven't drunk all day: 'The Guns, Thank Gawd, the Guns!'

Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any'ow,

From Colesberg Kop to Quagga's Poort-from NinetyNine till now

By what I've 'eard the others tell an' I in spots 'ave

seen,

There's nothin' this side 'Eaven or 'Ell Ubique doesn't

mean!

P

THE RETURN

(All Arms)

EACE is declared, an' I return

To 'Ackneystadt, but not the same;

Things 'ave transpired which made me learn
The size and meanin' of the game.

I did no more than others did,

I don't know where the change began;

I started as a average kid,

I finished as a thinkin' man.

If England was what England seems,
An' not the England of our dreams,

But only putty, brass, an' paint,

'Ow quick we'd drop 'er! But she ain't!

Before my gappin' mouth could speak
I 'eard it in my comrade's tone;
I saw it on my neighbour's cheek
Before I felt it flush my own.
An' last it come to me-not pride,
Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole
(If such a term may be applied),
The makin's of a bloomin' soul.

Rivers at night that cluck an' jéer,
Plains which the moonshine turns to sea,
Mountains that never let you near,
An' stars to all eternity;

An' the quick-breathin' dark that fills
The 'ollows of the wilderness,

When the wind worries through the 'ills—
These may 'ave taught me more or less.

Towns without people, ten times took,
An' ten times left an' burned at last;
An' starvin' dogs that come to look
For owners when a column passed;
An' quiet, 'omesick talks between

Men, met by night, you never knew
Until-'is face-by shellfire seen-

Once-an' struck off. They taught me too.

The day's lay-out-the mornin' sun
Beneath your 'at-brim as you sight;
The dinner-'ush from noon till one,
An' the full roar that lasts till night;
An' the pore dead that look so old

An' was so young an hour ago,

An' legs tied down before they're cold

These are the things which make you know.

Also Time runnin' into years

A thousand Places left be'indAn' Men from both two 'emispheres Discussin' things of every kind;

THE RETURN

So much more near than I 'ad known,
So much more great than I 'ad guessed-
An' me, like all the rest, alone—

But reachin' out to all the rest!

So 'ath it come to me-not pride,
Nor yet conceit, but on the 'ole
(If such a term may be applied),

The makin's of a bloomin' soul.
But now, discharged, I fall away
To do with little things again.
Gawd, 'oo knows all I cannot say,
Look after me in Thamesfontein!

If England was what England seems,
An' not the England of our dreams,
But only putty, brass, an' paint,

'Ow quick we'd chuck 'er! But she ain't!