THE ARMY MULE

I never would have done it if I’d known what it would be,
I thought it meant promotion and some extra pay for me;
I thought I’d miss a drill or two with packs and trenching tolls,
So I said I’d handled horses and they set me handling mules.

Now horses they are horses, but a mule he is a mule,
(Bit of a devil, bit of a monkey, bit of a bloomin’ boundin’ fool).
Oh, I’m using all the adjectives I didn’t learn at school
On the prancin’, glancin’, ragtime dancin’ blithering Army mule.

If I’d been Father Noah when the cargo walked aboard,
I’d have let the bears and tigers in and never said a word,
But I’d have shoved a placard out to say the house was full,
And shut the Ark up suddent [sic] when I saw the Army mule.

They buck you off when ridden, they crush your leg when led,
They’re mostly sitting on their tail or standing on their head,
They reach their yellow grinders out and gently chew your ear,
And their necks are indiarubber for attacking in the rear.

They’re as musing when they’re happy as a ladies’ riding school,
But when the fancy takes ’em they’re like nothing but a mule—
With the off wheels in the gutter, and the near wheels in the air,
And a leg across the traces, and the driver Lord knows where.

They’re horrid in the stable; they’re worse upon the road,
They’ll bolt with any rider, they’ll jib with any load,
But soon we’re bound across the sea, and when we cross the foam,
I don’t care where we go if we leave the mules at home.

For horses they are horses, but a mule he is a mule,
(Bit of a devil, bit of a monkey, bit of a bloomin’ boundin’ fool).
Oh, I’m using all the adjectives I didn’t learn at school,
On the rampin’ rawboned, cast steel jaw boned Army Transport Mule.

A poem by E.H.B. for The Glamorgan Gazette, 1916