DIY History | Transcribe | World War I Diaries and Letters | Conger Reynolds newspaper clippings, 1916-1919 | Clipping: ""Ballad Of A Red Cross Man"" Page 1

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Conger Reynolds newspaper clippings, 1916-1919

Clipping: ""Ballad Of A Red Cross Man"" Page 1

BALLAD OF A RED CROSS MAN
He didn't seem like a soldier guy;
He didn't specially want to die.
(But then no more do you and I),
This New York lad.
And yet he thought he might, perchance,
Bring indirect relief to France
By driving a Ford ambulance.
It seems to bad.
And so he bought a jitney bus
And came a year ahead of us,
And All the French girls made a fuss
That was absurd,
And giggled at him when they met
Him driving with his cigarette.
They said he was the French for "Pet,"
That precious word.
And then the U.S.A. declared
Itself for war -- it wasn't scared,
Though altogether unprepared --
And Congress met, 
And everybody made a speech,
And each gave free advice to each --
It wasn't quite the time to preach,
But they should fret.
Our Red Cross hero didn't know
(No more than we a year ago)
How best to serve his country, so
He said: "Oh, Hell!
Democracy will be restored
Without my help, so why be bored?
I'll just stay on and drive the Ford.
I'm doing well."
It worked all right till last July.
The French girls watched him driving by
With undiminished sidelong eye,
And this kept up
Until the first of Pershing's troops,
With Sam Browne belt in nifty groups,
Demoralized the chicken coops.
Oh, bitter cup!
That day, our hero, with a grunt,
Got in his car and went to hunt
A hospital up near the front,
(But not too near),
To find some little dame from home
With blue eyes and a gilded dome
Who'd see his worth because he'd come
To war last year.
He found the hospital all right,
And didn't look around that night,
But in the morning, clear and bright,
Went out to walk.
He saw approaching him, a mile
Away, a vision with a style
That whispered a Manhattan Isle,
Murmured New York.
His heart increased its normal beat,
As similarly did his feet,
To think he was so soon to meet
His little prey;
When suddenly he saw that she
Was with a figure in khaki,
(Protective color, hard to see
So far away).
So Archie blamed it on his fate--
'Twas evident he'd come too late--
And then. I'm sorry to narrate
That Archie cursed.
The soldier lad was slightly lame--
The victim of a baseball game,
But wounded Hero just the same--
And must be nursed.
It seemed too late to turn back now,
So Archie walked on anyhow,
Though somewhat like a small bow-wow
Dragging a can.
He walked by looking straight ahead;
He thought she'd speak. But no. Instead
She looked him over, sniffed, and said:
"Who is this man?"
Depressed, he turned off down a lane,
Went back to the Red Cross again
To try to find some other Jane--
Sore as a pup.
And there he found six maidens fair
All sitting round and taking care
Of patients in the open air--
All dated up.
He stuck around that hallowed spot
A month, and got it pretty hot,
For if, perchance, you think his lot
Was something soft,
You should have heard those maidens say,
Whene'er he passed along their way:
"There goes our little embusque."
And then they coughed.
Just recently one day I met
Our Archie, with his cigarette,
Behind a front line parapet,
His placid brow
Unruffled with the battle's din,
He wore a calm, seraphic grin
And sang the chorus of "YOU'RE IN
THE ARMY NOW."
JOHN PENDLETON KING, 1st Lieut., U.S.R.

Saving...

BALLAD OF A RED CROSS MAN He didn't seem like a soldier guy; He didn't specially want to die. (But then no more do you and I), This New York lad. And yet he thought he might, perchance, Bring indirect relief to France By driving a Ford ambulance. It seems to bad. And so he bought a jitney bus And came a year ahead of us, And All the French girls made a fuss That was absurd, And giggled at him when they met Him driving with his cigarette. They said he was the French for "Pet," That precious word. And then the U.S.A. declared Itself for war -- it wasn't scared, Though altogether unprepared -- And Congress met, And everybody made a speech, And each gave free advice to each -- It wasn't quite the time to preach, But they should fret. Our Red Cross hero didn't know (No more than we a year ago) How best to serve his country, so He said: "Oh, Hell! Democracy will be restored Without my help, so why be bored? I'll just stay on and drive the Ford. I'm doing well." It worked all right till last July. The French girls watched him driving by With undiminished sidelong eye, And this kept up Until the first of Pershing's troops, With Sam Browne belt in nifty groups, Demoralized the chicken coops. Oh, bitter cup! That day, our hero, with a grunt, Got in his car and went to hunt A hospital up near the front, (But not too near), To find some little dame from home With blue eyes and a gilded dome Who'd see his worth because he'd come To war last year. He found the hospital all right, And didn't look around that night, But in the morning, clear and bright, Went out to walk. He saw approaching him, a mile Away, a vision with a style That whispered a Manhattan Isle, Murmured New York. His heart increased its normal beat, As similarly did his feet, To think he was so soon to meet His little prey; When suddenly he saw that she Was with a figure in khaki, (Protective color, hard to see So far away). So Archie blamed it on his fate-- 'Twas evident he'd come too late-- And then. I'm sorry to narrate That Archie cursed. The soldier lad was slightly lame-- The victim of a baseball game, But wounded Hero just the same-- And must be nursed. It seemed too late to turn back now, So Archie walked on anyhow, Though somewhat like a small bow-wow Dragging a can. He walked by looking straight ahead; He thought she'd speak. But no. Instead She looked him over, sniffed, and said: "Who is this man?" Depressed, he turned off down a lane, Went back to the Red Cross again To try to find some other Jane-- Sore as a pup. And there he found six maidens fair All sitting round and taking care Of patients in the open air-- All dated up. He stuck around that hallowed spot A month, and got it pretty hot, For if, perchance, you think his lot Was something soft, You should have heard those maidens say, Whene'er he passed along their way: "There goes our little embusque." And then they coughed. Just recently one day I met Our Archie, with his cigarette, Behind a front line parapet, His placid brow Unruffled with the battle's din, He wore a calm, seraphic grin And sang the chorus of "YOU'RE IN THE ARMY NOW." JOHN PENDLETON KING, 1st Lieut., U.S.R.