A. P. Herbert Poems

(With respectful reference to the admirable exploit of Petty
Officer Alan Baker, of L .B .V. 37)
The Bluebell was a lighter, a dumb barge, a box,
For to lighten the ships in the stream and the docks;
But she weren't very big, and she weren't very new,
And she lay on the barge-roads with nothing to do.
...

Stop, noise, immediately, that I,
And not some other chap may die!
...

From sky to earth for Liberty I fell.
I fought. I won my wings again. Farewell.
...

Fire away, Fritz,
But look over your shoulder;
Fire away, Fritz,
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I wandered up to Beaucourt; I took the river track
And saw the lines we lived in before the Boche went back;
But Peace was now in Pottage, the front was far ahead,
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Thank you, Sir John; though it's a little strange
To thank the torturer who makes no change.
Thank you. Sir John, you've been extremely nice:
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When Rome, and Rommel, disappoint the foe
The Nice Kind German is again on show.
On go the sheep-skins, and the wolves protest
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Field Marshal, few, and foolish, are the lands
That do not hail the baton in your hands.
They labelled you a 'showman'. But we know
Good showmen must have something good to show:
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I see it coming — the Fund to feed the Huns:
We shall go short of bread to give them buns.
No, thank you, boys. We cannot do too much
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'V 8' is Goering, purring through the skies,
Astride a doodle-bug of double girth,
Bound for Old England with a load of lies,
...