Classic Poem

We've had a scrap with Abdul — 'twas friendly, understand;
He came out like a gentleman and met us on the sand,
And we were glad to see him and we took him by the hand.

('Twas not like when we met him on those awful Anzac heights:
It was a day of Eastern days, a night of Eastern nights;
The desert seemed reflecting the golden points of lights.)

We didn't feel embarrassed and we neither felt alarm;
We joined the Cross and Crescent with a bright star for a charm —
And then waltzed round the desert, just like old pals, arm in arm.

We had a game of cricket, and a game of football, too,
And then went to the races just as gentlemen should do,
And swore about it coming home, all just like me and you.

(It was not like the Landing on that awful Anzac height;
It was a day of Eastern days, with a golden-starry night;
The sands, like lakes, reflected those golden points of light.)

His uniform was ragged (or, rather, it was rags);
His marching boots were tennis shoes, and sometimes soogee bags —
The same in which he put his kit, and carried it like swags.

We took him in to Cairo, we took him to Port Said,
And gave him canned Australian pork, which, we said, was sheep's head,
And beer that we called " sherbet " — or something else instead.

We shouted shoes and slippers for his sand-blasted feet;
We stole some gaudy awnings to wrap him from the heat,
And hats like blanky flower-pots to rig him out complete.

We did the Block with Abdul, 'neath Egypt's starry dome;
We did the Block with Abdul, and we also did the slum —
He saw the things and smelt the things he'd seen and smelt at home.

And when we found the " sherbet " was a-going to his head
To a most unbelieving pub his Faithful feet we led,
And we laid him in a hammock and his prayers for him we said.

It's sunrise — or it's sunset. Our heads are far from clear
(It might as well be midday to one that's lying here).
But Abdul prays to Mecca, and we pray for a beer.

And Abdul shouts a gallon — all just as if he knew —
And we drink deep to Abdul, as all good Anzacs do.
For (by the Beard!) old Abdul's a good Australian too.

So we go forth — " the Hatted " — to breakfast and a swim;
And Abdul squats reflecting, with hat without a brim,
So's he can see Mahomet when he comes down for him.