The Volunteer Poem : The Guards Came Through and Other Poems by Arthur Conan Doyle

The Guards Came Through and Other Poetry

The Volunteer Poem


Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The Volunteer Poem


THE dreams are passed and gone, old man,
That came to you and me,
Of a six days’ stunt on an east-coast front,
And the Hun with his back to the sea.

Lord, how we worked and swotted sore
To be fit when the day should come!
Four years, my lad, and five months more.
Since first we followed the drum.

Though “Follow the drum” is a bit too grand,
For we ran to no such frills;
It was just the whistles of Nature’s band
That heartened us up the hills.

That and the toot of the corporal’s flute.
Until he could blow no more.
And the lilt of “Sussex by the Sea,”
The marching song of the corps.

Those hills! My word, you would soon get fit,
Be you ever so stale and slack.
If you pad it with rifle and marching kit
To Rotherfield Hill and back!

Drills in hall, and drills outdoors,
And drills of every type.
Till we wore our boots with forming fours.
And our coats with “Shoulder hipe!”

No glory ours, no swank, no pay,
One dull eventless grind;
Find yourself, and nothing a day
Were the terms that the old boys signed.

Just drill and march and drill again,
And swot at the old parade.
But they got two hundred thousand men;
Not bad for the old brigade!

A good two hundred thousand came,
On the chance of that east coast fight;
They may have been old and stiff and lame.
But, by George, their hearts were right!

Discipline! My! “Eyes right!” they cried,
As we passed the drill hall door,
And left it at that—so we marched cock-eyed
From three to half-past four.

And solid! Why, after a real wet bout
In a hole in the Flanders mud.
It would puzzle the Boche to fetch us out.
For we couldn’t get out if we would!

Some think we could have stood war’s test,
Some say that we could not,
But a chap can only do his best,
And offer all he’s got.

Fall out, the guard! The old home guard!
Pile arms! Right turn! Dismiss!
No grousing, even if it’s hard
To break our ranks like this.

We can’t show much in the way of fun
For four and a half years gone;
If we’d had our chance—just one! just one!—
Carry on, old Sport, carry on!

The Guards Came Through and Other Poems

Victrix Poem
Those Others Poem
The Guards Came Through Poem
Haig Is Moving Poem
The Guns In Sussex Poem
Ypres Poem
Grousing Poem
The Volunteer Poem
The Night Patrol Poem
The Bugles Of Canada Poem
The Wreck On Loch Mcgarry Poem
The Bigot Poem
The Athabasca Trail Poem
Ragtime! Poem
Christmas In Trouble Poem
To Carlo Poem
To Ronald Ross Poem
Little Billy Poem
Take Heart Poem
Retrospect Poem
Comrades Poem
Lindisfaire Poem
Holy Grail A Parable Poem
Fate Poem

The Guards Came Through and Other Poetry

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