Poem - Tom Skeyhill

The Naked Army

By Tom Skeyhill 

We ain't no picture postcards,

Nor studies in black and white;

We don't doll up in evening clothes

When we go out to fight.

We've forgotten all our manners,

And our talk is full of slang,

For you ain't got time for grammar

When you 'ear the rifles bang.

The 'eat 'ere an' the vermin'

Ad drove us nearly balmy,

So we peeled off all our clobber,

And we're called "The Naked Army."

We never wear our tunics,

Unless it's cold at night;

An' socks and shirts and putties,

We've chucked 'em out of sight.

We only wear a pair of shorts

That don't near reach our knees,

And we're burnt as brown as berries;

Still, we'd sooner sun than fleas.

The Tommies fighting round us

Think we've got a bally rat;

They're all togged up to a button,

An' us, in shorts and 'at.

The air and sun don't 'urt us

In this land of fleas and strife,

So we've chucked away our clobber

An' prefer the Simple Life.

The Rookie, when first landed,

'Angs on to all 'is clothes,

But when the grey-backs bite 'im,

It's to the beach 'e goes.

Then off comes shirt and tunic,

Boots, socks, and putties, too;

'E dives deep in the briny,

An' wears what the others do.

If our girls could only see us,

Just as we're fightin' 'ere,

I wonder if they'd 'ug us,

Smile, kiss, an' call us Dear!

Sure thing, they still would love us,

Although we're burnt and lean;

They'd think of our 'ome-comin',

An' buy a sewin' machine.

Still, clothes don't make the fighter,

Nor speech don't show the man,

But conduct in the trenches

Proves out the fightin' man.

This aint' no bloomin' picnic,

The earth 'ides 'eaps of slain;

And we'll fight on to avenge 'em,

Or we won't come 'ome again.

We were the first at landin',

And we're 'angin' on until

The Turks get all that's comin',

Then we'll be in at the kill.

When we march through old

"Connie,"Some one will yell,

"Lor' blahmy!There lies the Young Turk's Harem.

Double up! The Naked Army!"