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W.M. Everitt
 
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AUXILIARY SAM ON HIS ANNUAL.
by
W. Montague Everitt

You've heard about Sam's rare adventures
Since first that he joined Brigade;
Well, now I will tell of his Annual—
Twelve days with full salary paid.
At six-forty-five one May morning
Sam woke at a Station near here
And said to himself, " It's me Annual!"
Then let forth a rip-snorting cheer.
He done up his blankets in bundle,
Hung his tin-hat in the hll,
Left his address in the Watchroom—
And wrote a rude word on the wall.
He sent off his suit to the cleaners
And, once that his wages he'd drawn,
He made his way round to his Uncle's
And got his pyjamas from pawn.
Then off to the Railway he hurried
And, gee, it was grand to be free
And, with Missus the Kid and the Baggage,
He set out ' en route ' for the Sea.
While Sam led the way to the platform,
Mrs. Sam took up her stand
With Dear Little Sammy beside her
With Bucket-and-Spade in his hand.
Eventually train started moving
And Sam and his Wife exchanged smiles
At Dear Little Sam munching Bullseyes—
Ten Bullseyes to every two miles.
But Little Sam, sat there amunching,
Went suddenly green in the face
And, leaning his head out of window,
He brought up the facts of the case.
A Porter who'd seen what had happened,
With face that was stoically bland.
Proceeded to cover confusion
With Bucket-and-Spade—and some Sand.
The journey at last was concluded
And maybe it's needless to say
That Little Lad's glad to leave carriage
For Nature will have her own way.
They had a cab up from the station
And Mrs. Sam nearly dropt dead
When Sam rode stood up 'long of driver—
He always did that so he said.
They pulled up in due course at ' Seaview '
(A mile-and-a-half from the shore)
In window stood large Aspidistra
And Landlady stood at the door.
The taximan got down the baggage
In manner both burley and brisk
And, not having tuppence to tip him,
Sam gave him Identity Disc.
Then Sam trundled in with the baggage ;
Behind trundled Mrs. Sam and
Little Sam trundled in rearguard
With Bucket-and-Spade in his hand.
The Landlady asked for her money
And said, though you can't go by looks,
She wished they'd left Sammy behind 'em
But hoped that they'd brought Ration Books.
Then, feeling somewhat ' hors-de-combat'
(The journey had made them all tired)
They scoffed up the fish-and-chips offered,
Climbed up the stairs and retired.
But, lying in bed without trousers,
Sam found he could not get to sleep
Till, lastly, in sheer desperation,
He started to count Jumping Sheep.
But each Little Sheep as it jumpeth
A Sandbag became on the spot
Till hundreds of thousands of Sandbags
Were driving poor Sam off his dot.
When Mrs. Sam woke in the morning
She stretched out her arms in a yawn,
And found there was nothing beside her—
Her Husband, her Sam, he were gone.
She searched high and low for her husband
(She even looked under the bed)
And started to shriek in contralto—
Them shrieked in soprano instead.
Then, seizing young Sam by the handle,
She shrieked her way out into road
And ran shrieking right up the High Street—
While little Sam purled and he blowed :
So seeking to cool her hot urchin,
She bought him an ice at a cafe ;
And suddenly truth dawned upon her—
Her husband had bunked with a W.A.F.
Deserted, dejected, desperate,
Her World tumbled down in a heap,
For how could she earn honest penny
With Dear Little Sammy to keep?
Then wonderful thought dawned upon her
How best she could make tidy hoard—
Searching for Mines on the foreshore
And claiming old Neville's reward.
She made her way.down to the ocean
With dear little Sam at her side—
And spotted a solitary figure
Like something washed up by the tide,
Dressed in his best next-to-nothings,
A far-away look in his eyes,
Sunk in a strange sort of stupor,
Surrounded with little mud-pies.
He sat there in dazed contemplation,
Surveying the oodles of sand,
Exhausted by turning out doings
With Bucket-and-Spade in his hand.
The tears trickled down from his tear-ducts
And faster and faster they flowed
As, plucked from his heart-strings, came lament,
"I'll never get through this 'ere load!"
Bewildered, bemused and B—(careful! )—
Sam followed his spouse from the strand
While dear little Sam dug for victory
With bucket-and-spade in his hand.
The rest of his Annual was peaceful
You'll all be most happy to learn,
For Sam left the Mental Asylum
The day he was due to return,
And now that his Annual is ended
And all but a memory is gone,
His suit has come back from the cleaners,
Pyjamas are once more in pawn,
Our Sam is again at his labours,
Supplying the constant demand,
Faithfully filling up Sandbags—
With Bucket-and-Spade in his hand.
 
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