WHAT is meant by active service 'Ere where sin is leakin' loose, 'N' the oldest 'and's as nervis As a dog-bedevilled goose, Has bin writ be every poet What can rhyme it worth a dam, But the 'orror as we know it Is jist jam, jam, JAM! Oh, the 'ymn of 'ate we owe it-- Stodgy, splodgy, seepy, soaky, sanguinary jam! There's the "fearful roar iv battle," What gets underneath yer 'at, Mooin' like a million cattle Each as big as Ararat; There's the red field green 'n' slippy (And I'm cleaner where I am), But the thing that's got me nippy It is jam, jam, JAM! Druv us sour it has, 'n' dippy, Sticky, sicky, slimy, sloppy, stummick-strafin' jam! Of the mud that's in the trenches Writers make a solemn fuss; For the vermin 'n' the stenches Little ladies pity us; But the yearn that's honest dinkum, 'N' the prayer what ain't a sham Is that Fritz may bust 'n' sink 'em Ships of jam, jam, JAM! For we bolt 'em, chew 'em, drink 'em, Million billion bar'ls of beastly, cloyin' clammy jam! We are sorry-sick of peaches, 'N' we're full right up of plum, 'N' innards fairly screeches When the tins of apple come. Back of Blighty piled in cases, Jist as close as they can cram, Fillin' all the open spaces, Is the 'jam, jam, JAM! Oh, the woe the soldiers face is, Monday, Sunday, ruddy, muddy, boundless bogs of jam. WEEPIN' WILLIE. WHEY our trooper hit wide water every heart was yearin' back To the little 'ouse at Coogee or a hut at Bar- renjack. She was 'ookin' up to spike the stars, or rootin' in the wave, An' me liver turned a hand spring with each buck the beggar gave. Then we pulls a sick 'n' silly smile 'n' tips a saucy lid, Crackin' hardy. Willie didn't. Willie snivelled like a kid. At Gallip' the steamer dumped us, 'n' we got right down to work, Whoopin' up the hill splendacious, playin' tiggie with the Turk. When the stinkin' Abdul hit us we curled down upon a stone, 'N' we yelled for greater glory, crackin' 'ardy on our own. Not so Willie. He was cursin', cold ez death 'n' grey ez steel, 'N' the smallest thing that busted made the little blighter squeal. In the bitter day's that follered, spillin' life be- side the sea, We would fake a spry expression for the things that had to be, Always dressin' up the winder, crackin' 'ardy though we felt Fearful creepy in the whiskers, very cold be- neath the belt. But his jills would sniff 'n' shiver in the mother of a fright, 'N' go blubberin' 'n' quakin' out to waller in the fight.