By a rule of the school). There were those who said "Fool!" Of young Ginger. Ruddy young Ginger! Who gave him that name? Tommies who had his own nerve! "Into 'im, Ginger!" was heard in a game With a neighbouring Special Reserve. Blushing and grinning and looking fifteen, Ginger, with howitzer punt, Bags his man's wind as succinctly and clean As he hopes to bag Huns at the front. Death on recruits who fall out by the way, Sentries who yawn at their post, Yet he sang such a song at the Y.M.C.A. That the C.O. turned green as a ghost! Less the song than the stance, And the dissolute dance, Drew a glance so askance That... they packed him to France, Little Ginger. Next month, to the haunts of fine Ladies and Lords I ventured, in Grosvenor Square: The stateliest chambers were hospital wards-- And ruddy young Ginger was there. In spite of his hurts he looked never so red, Nor ever less shy or sedate, Though his hair had been cropped (by machine- gun, he said) And bandages turbaned his pate. He was mostly in holes--but his cheek was intact! I could not but notice, with joy, The loveliest Sisters had most to transact With ruddy young Ginger--some boy! Slaying Huns by the tons, With a smile like a nun's-- Oh! of all the brave ones, All the sons of our guns-- Give me Ginger! THE BALLAD OF ENSIGN JOY THIS IS is the story of Ensign Joy And the obsolete rank withal That I love for each gentle English boy Who jumped to his country's call. By their fire and fun, and the deeds they've done, I would gazette them Second to none Who faces a gun in Gaul!) IT is also the story of Ermyntrude A less appropriate name For the dearest prig and the prettiest prude! But under it, all the same, The usual consanguineous squad Had made her an honest child of God--