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Yes, everything's a worry
In the life of a T.O.,
There's always so much hurry,
So much rushing to and fro,
There's always something pressing,
Some extra work to do,
And you never get a blessing
Whatever you put through.
From morning until evening,
In rain, and cold, and shine,
It is worry, hurry, scurry
In the Transport line.

The Q.M. wants a limber,
The Colonel wants his horse,
We've got to haul more timber,
And the usual work of course,
Send three men to headquarters,
Two kits to catch the train,
A team for the Trench Mortars,
Report your strength again.
From early morn till evening,
And even while I dine,
It's worry, hurry, scurry
In the Transport line.

The horses all need shoeing,
The grey has kicked his mate,
The harness wants renewing,
And the men get up too late;
The water cart is leaking,
The Sergeant's got the grippe,
The G.S.'s waggons squeaking,
There are twenty mules to clip.
There's always something needed,
And all the trouble's mine,
It's worry, hurry, scurry
In the Transport line.

Though the bullets whistled by me,
And the whiz-bangs made me sweat.
In the trenches wet and slimy,
Yet I wish I was there yet,
For they didn't always chase me,
By runner, wire or 'phone,
Or come in rage to face me,
Or speak in injured tone;
You're everybody's batman,
No work can you decline,
In the hurry, worry, scurry
Of the Transport line.

When this blessed war is over,
And I sit at home at ease,
I shall no more be a rover
With the Transport o'er the seas.
But the weather's most depressing,
And the whisky's getting low,
My cough gets more distressing,
So it's time for me to go;
Here's another message coming,
You can always tell the sign
Of the hurry, worry, scurry
In the Transport line.

by T.A. Girling

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Kate

September 2013

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