Wouldn’t it bloody root ya, the way they wanna shoot yer!?
They called me in when things got a bit rough after Singapore fell. I didn't mind helpin' 'em out. Poor buggers, the Yanks and the brass were a bit bamboozled by evrythin' goin' on at once.
Spent some time in Darwin, too, durin' the war. Not too bloody much time, mind you. The Japs was getting a bit close for comfort. Bloody awful place, Darwin. When the Japs bombed it I jumped on the first pushbike I saw and pedalled south like buggery. I got three hundred miles away before I realised that the bike didn't have a chain on it.
Then there was the Yanks. Millions of the bastards. Everywhere you went. Chewin' gum, buyin' up everythin' in sight, includin' the shielas. Wisecrackin' smartarses some of 'em were, too.
I was drinkin' with one of these Yanks one day in Sydney. He asked how long it took to build the Harbour Bridge. 'A few years', I said. 'Huh', scorned the Yank, 'back home we'd knock something like that up in a coupla weeks'.
So we went down the road to the next pub and had the one or two more. When we came out he pointed at Circular Quay and said 'that's a purty little buildin'. How long did that take to build?'
I just laughed and told him that it wasn't even there when we went inside the pub.
Bloody smartarse! We all know what they did to Les Darcy and Phar Lap. No wonder we call em 'Septic Tanks'.
An' it wasn't just sightseein' an' bignotin' they were up to durin' the war, either. We useter sing this to the tune of 'Count Yer Blessin's':
Count your children, count them one by one
Count your children, count them one by one
Count your children, count them one by one
You will be surprised at what the Yanks have done.
A few were surprised too, I can tell you.
I did some fightin' in New Guinea.They offered us a bob a Jap and said there's over two thousand quids-worth comin' over the Owen Stanleys. We soon sorted out that Kokoda business.
An’ ‘e was there again as well. The greatest whinger in the whole bloody world. He was sittin' in the bottom of a shell-hole in a raggy old uniform cleanin' his nails with the tip of his bayonet.
"How'd you be, dig?', I asts.
'Ow'd I be? ‘Ow'd I be? ‘Ow do yer you bloody-well think I'd be? See this hat - it's big enough to take a bath in. There's enough leather in these boots to make a full set of harness and have enough left over for a wallet and a belt. I been shot at by every Jap in the place; me name's at the top of Tojo's hit-list and every mouthful of food's covered in flies. Bombs droppin' on me all bloody day and mossies strafin' me ev’ry night. How'd you bloody-well think I'd be?'
This was the same the same bloke who went sick one morning with two other diggers. 'What's the problem?', the MO asked the first digger.
'It's me guts, Doc. They're crook'.
'Alright, stand over there'.
And what's you're problem?', he asks the second bloke.
'I'm sick in me head'.
Alright, wait there'.
And why are you here?', the MO asks me mate, the whinger.
'To tell yer the truth, Doc, I'm sick of the whole flamin' business'.
I got out of the army, too. Medical discharge. After winnin' the first one and then settin' 'em up to win the second one, I reckoned I'd done more than me bit. So I decides to get out. But I needed to be a bit cunnin’.
So I start goin' round the camp, pickin' up bits of paper. I look at 'em all very carefully, then shake me head and chuck 'em away. I keep on doin' this for a couple of weeks until they decide I must be goin' troppo. Then they take me to the MO for an examination. Soon as I'm in there I pick up the bits of paper on 'is desk and look at them very carefully, like. Then I throws them away.
'You seem to be suffering from some sort of acute combat psychosis', 'e says and recommends me for a medical discharge.
When I get to the final procedure for discharge, the smartarse officer hands me the discharge and says 'You'd better hang on to that piece of paper, digger.
I put it in me pocket, laughin'. Too right, mate, that's the piece of paper I've been lookin' for all along'.
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