The Little Sergeant

(Sergeant , The Rifle Brigade.)

He was one of the Bugler lads
Born in the Army and bred also,
And they gave him the stripes that had been his dad's
For knowing what soldiers ought to know.
And then you'd see him swanky and small
Drilling grown men of twice his span,
Dressing them down and telling 'em all
That the British Army teaches a man.

Lef-right-lef — how he'd make them run —
All for their good as he let them see . . .
"It's the way the Army has always done,
Don't argy the point," he'd say, "with me."
Sometimes they groused, but mostly they laughed —
For there wasn't a job but he bore the brunt.
And when the time came, there was never a draft
Smarter than his when he went to the Front.

Somewhere in France on a night of drench . . .
When their guns had pounded the line to hell
The Germans rushed what had been a trench
And the Sergeant's men and the Sergeant fell.
Light in some Boche I'm sure he'd let
Before they could count him as reached full-stop:
And if there was breath in him, then I'll bet
He told 'em why England would come out top.

Swanky and small and full of guts —
I wonder, now that he's out of the fight,
Down what dark alleys his small ghost struts
Giving his men "Lef-right—lef-right".
There where the darkening shadows fall
I think I can hear him chanting slow —
"The British Army's the best of all,
Don't argy the point — I ought to know."