The bachelor ’e fights for one As joyful as can be; But the married man don’t call it fun, Because ’e fights for three-- For ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It (An’ Two an’ One makes Three) ’E wants to finish ’is little bit, An’ ’e wants to go ’ome to ’is tea! The bachelor pokes up ’is ’ead To see if you are gone; But the married man lies down instead, An’ waits till the sights come on. For ’Im an’ ’Er an’ a hit (Direct or ricochee) ’E wants to finish ’is little bit, An’ ’e wants to go ’ome to ’is tea. The bachelor will miss you clear To fight another day; But the married man, ’e says ’No fear!’ ’E wants you out of the way Of ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It (An’ ’is road to ’is farm or the sea), ’E wants to finish ’is little bit, An’ ’e wants to go ’ome to ’is tea. The bachelor ’e fights ’is fight An’ stretches out an’ snores; But the married man sits up all night-- For ’e don’t like out o’ doors: ’E’ll strain an’ listen an’ peer An’ give the first alarm-- For the sake o’ the breathin’ ’e’s used to ’ear An’ the ’ead on the thick of ’is arm. The bachelor may risk ’is ’ide To ’elp you when you’re downed; But the married man will wait beside Till the ambulance comes round. ’E’ll take your ’ome address An’ all you’ve time to say, Or if ’e sees there’s ’ope, ’e’ll press Your art’ry ’alf the day-- For ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It (An’ One from Three leaves Two), For ’e knows you wanted to finish your bit, An’ ’e knows ’oo’s wantin’ you. Yes, ’Im an’ ’Er an’ It (Our ’oly One in Three), We’re all of us anxious to finish our bit, An’ we want to get ’ome to our tea! Yes, It an’ ’Er an’ ’Im, Which often makes me think The married man must sink or swim An’--’e can’t afford to sink! Oh ’Im an’ It an’ ’Er Since Adam an’ Eve began, So I’d rather fight with the bachel_er_ An’ be nursed by the married man! LICHTENBERG [Page 95] (N.S.W. CONTINGENT) Smells are surer than sounds or sights To make your heart-strings crack-- They start those awful voices o’ nights That whisper, ‘Old man, come back.’ That must be why the big things pass And the little things remain, Like the smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg, Riding in, in the rain. There was some silly fire on the flank And the small wet drizzling down-- There were the sold-out shops and the bank And the wet, wide-open town; And we were doing escort-duty To somebody’s baggage-train, And I smelt wattle by Lichtenberg-- Riding in, in the rain. It was all Australia to me-- All I had found or missed: Every face I was crazy to see, And every woman I’d kissed: All that I shouldn’t ha’ done, God knows! (As He knows I’ll do it again), That smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg, Riding in, in the rain!