Recently we were given a copy of a leather-bound edition of the poems of Longfellow. The book was inscribed “Jack Hardie, Manly, 9th April 1919”. Inside the volume there was a slip of paper with a drawing of violets and a poem, which runs as follows:
Scottish Australians
What are ye daein’, ma buirdly Scotch callants
Say what are ye daein’ sae far frae the front
Why are ye no getting’ honour an’ glory
Amang the brave lads wha are bearin’ the brunt.
Why should they fecht, while you’re playin’ fitba’
An’ hangin’ on trams like toads to a tree
I ken yer feet’s cauld; yer herts maun be frozen
Ye ca’ yersels Scots, but I doot me ye lee.
Scotland, I ween, ne’er gaed birth tae a coward
Her ladies were aye ‘mang the first in a fray
Het feet or cauld feet be sure never fashed them
Naethin’ but death ever kept them away.
Why are ye shrinkin’ this danger sae deadly?
Why are ye shamin’ the land ye ca’ Hame?
Oh! Could I rouse in yer bosom some manhood
Would that my pen could awake ye tae shame.
Dinna ye prize what yer forefathers focht for?
Are ye no Britons, the sons o’ the free?
Why dae ye dally? Yer country is callin’
“Come tae my help, boys, I’m waitin’ for ye.
Gang up tae the Barracks, nor wait tae be driven
We’ll send you away wi’ a gallant hurrah.
Yer name be inscribed on the roll call o’ honour
Belov’d if ye live, and bewail’d if ye fa’.
It’s likely that the poem was addressed to Jack Hardie. Australian War Memorial records reveal that a Jack William Hardy of 28 Sydney Road, Manly, enlisted on 9 May 1915. He was a carpenter, aged 21, and he entered the 19th Battalion AIF. He was wounded at Gallipoli, and subsequently lost his left leg, but survived the war.
The bad verse is typical of many of the patriotic poems published in the press in the early years of the War. It’s the work of someone for whom Scots was not the natural idiom. “Buirdly Scotch callants” smacks of the worst of the 19th century poetess. It’s lamentable to think that doggerel such as this in any way could have persuaded someone to join up.
Scottish Australians
What are ye daein’, ma buirdly Scotch callants
Say what are ye daein’ sae far frae the front
Why are ye no getting’ honour an’ glory
Amang the brave lads wha are bearin’ the brunt.
Why should they fecht, while you’re playin’ fitba’
An’ hangin’ on trams like toads to a tree
I ken yer feet’s cauld; yer herts maun be frozen
Ye ca’ yersels Scots, but I doot me ye lee.
Scotland, I ween, ne’er gaed birth tae a coward
Her ladies were aye ‘mang the first in a fray
Het feet or cauld feet be sure never fashed them
Naethin’ but death ever kept them away.
Why are ye shrinkin’ this danger sae deadly?
Why are ye shamin’ the land ye ca’ Hame?
Oh! Could I rouse in yer bosom some manhood
Would that my pen could awake ye tae shame.
Dinna ye prize what yer forefathers focht for?
Are ye no Britons, the sons o’ the free?
Why dae ye dally? Yer country is callin’
“Come tae my help, boys, I’m waitin’ for ye.
Gang up tae the Barracks, nor wait tae be driven
We’ll send you away wi’ a gallant hurrah.
Yer name be inscribed on the roll call o’ honour
Belov’d if ye live, and bewail’d if ye fa’.
It’s likely that the poem was addressed to Jack Hardie. Australian War Memorial records reveal that a Jack William Hardy of 28 Sydney Road, Manly, enlisted on 9 May 1915. He was a carpenter, aged 21, and he entered the 19th Battalion AIF. He was wounded at Gallipoli, and subsequently lost his left leg, but survived the war.
The bad verse is typical of many of the patriotic poems published in the press in the early years of the War. It’s the work of someone for whom Scots was not the natural idiom. “Buirdly Scotch callants” smacks of the worst of the 19th century poetess. It’s lamentable to think that doggerel such as this in any way could have persuaded someone to join up.
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