5 “THE O-PIP”
"You’ll find our jack boots hanging up. They’re supposed to hold water, so you can put our whisky and soda in them. And, for good- ness sake, don't bring any bully beef, ’cause we cut our hands so opening the tins. And don’t bring any biscuits, ’cause they chip our teeth. Bring us some real good eats. You know the kind mother used to make for us. That’s a sport.
“Don’t forget the boys up in the trenches, old man, ’cause they really need things worse than us. And then there’s the boys in the other batteries. They’re all good scouts, and doing just as good work as we are.
“Cheerio, Santy, and keep smiling,
“P.S.—Say, Santy, got any pull with the Kaiser? Well, say the officers, have bought us a pig for Christmas, and we’re feeding it with all our empty bully beef tins and other stuff we can’t eat ourselves and its really getting fat. Now we’re afraid old Bill will shoot over some gas on Christmas Eve and gas our pig. We can’t get a mask to fit it. So use your influence with Bill. Tell him you’ll cut out his sausage supply for 1918 if he gets our pig. That’ll get him.”
It’s mud in your letters, it’s mud in your tears,
It’s mud to your middle, it’s mud in your hair;
It’s mud in the shell-holes, it’s mud in your ears,
It’s mud in your blankets and mud on your mare.
It’s mud in your coffee, it’s mud in your stew,
It’s mud on your harness, it’s mud that you smell;
And it’s six feet of mud if you only knew,
That they’ll cover you with when you’ve gone to—
Overheard at breakfast time in the field:
“Say, fellows, look up at that there aeroplane.”
“ Yes! Look out for your bread.”
“Wish they had dummies to dig these blasted gun-pits,” protested a blistered-hand gunner.
“Ugh! Here’s one here,” lamely commented a mud-besplattered Canuck.
Our idea of a mean man: A chap who smokes Woodbines and then grinds the butts up for smoking tobacco.