DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Take-Off, v. 1, issue 1, circa 1944

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Take-Off, v. 1, issue 1, circa 1944

Page 10

Page 10 TAKE-OFF!

And I have loved thee, Wehrmacht! and my job
Of youthful sports was on the guns to be,
Rolled, like thy caissons, onward; from a boy
I marched behind the soldiers; they to me
Were a delight; and if their profanity
Made them a terror--t'was caused by ersatz beer:
For I was, as it were, mascot to thee,
And trusted to thy truppen far and near,
And laid my hand on Sergeant Schmaltz's head--as I do here.
---------------
The following extract consists of approximately two-thirds of the total. This poem was composed and dictated to the editor on the night of May 25, 1944. The remained deals with vivid flashes of combat and a beautiful soliloquy on Mars through the bars of a prison. I may present the work in its entirety to you at some point in the future.

THE WAR

I was born and reared in Rotterdam, I grew up as a kid;
I played around the jook, and to school I never went.
My poor old workin' Mama, she was as good as they come;
She tried to raise me right, but then she lost her sight.
I had to get a job, to take care of Ma and me,
And one day I got a letter: I must sail the mighty sea.
So I kissed my poor old Ma, as the tears ran down her cheeks,
And I said, "Don't cry, dear Mama, keep out of the big old leaks."
So I packed my poor old clothes, and I gave my Ma some hose,
And I pat my cows goodby, as the farm began to cry.
And I said goodby to home, and watched the sun go down,
For I knew that war was commin', and I knew that things were hummin', all around.
--------------
The took me to a camp, and they worked me like a tramp,
And I sweated blood all day, and I went to bed on hay.
Then the next mornin' early, when my Ma was still in bed, "Get up, ya lazy-bones!" the Sergeant said.
So we all got in line, and they treated us like swine;
First was bayonet drill, then we marched up a hill.
We crawled under barbed wire, and we went through fire;
The Army's pretty tough a-goin', my Ma woulda said--
And just about now, she's a'sneakin' out of bed.
The sun is settin' pretty low: I hear the bugle blow:
Well, I says to myself, this is just another life,
I got to make out the very best I can;
For life is fulla strife; weeks and weeks go by, but not a single cry.
--Mary Helen Washington

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Page 10 TAKE-OFF! And I have loved thee, Wehrmacht! and my job Of youthful sports was on the guns to be, Rolled, like thy caissons, onward; from a boy I marched behind the soldiers; they to me Were a delight; and if their profanity Made them a terror--t'was caused by ersatz beer: For I was, as it were, mascot to thee, And trusted to thy truppen far and near, And laid my hand on Sergeant Schmaltz's head--as I do here. --------------- The following extract consists of approximately two-thirds of the total. This poem was composed and dictated to the editor on the night of May 25, 1944. The remained deals with vivid flashes of combat and a beautiful soliloquy on Mars through the bars of a prison. I may present the work in its entirety to you at some point in the future. THE WAR I was born and reared in Rotterdam, I grew up as a kid; I played around the jook, and to school I never went. My poor old workin' Mama, she was as good as they come; She tried to raise me right, but then she lost her sight. I had to get a job, to take care of Ma and me, And one day I got a letter: I must sail the mighty sea. So I kissed my poor old Ma, as the tears ran down her cheeks, And I said, "Don't cry, dear Mama, keep out of the big old leaks." So I packed my poor old clothes, and I gave my Ma some hose, And I pat my cows goodby, as the farm began to cry. And I said goodby to home, and watched the sun go down, For I knew that war was commin', and I knew that things were hummin', all around. -------------- The took me to a camp, and they worked me like a tramp, And I sweated blood all day, and I went to bed on hay. Then the next mornin' early, when my Ma was still in bed, "Get up, ya lazy-bones!" the Sergeant said. So we all got in line, and they treated us like swine; First was bayonet drill, then we marched up a hill. We crawled under barbed wire, and we went through fire; The Army's pretty tough a-goin', my Ma woulda said-- And just about now, she's a'sneakin' out of bed. The sun is settin' pretty low: I hear the bugle blow: Well, I says to myself, this is just another life, I got to make out the very best I can; For life is fulla strife; weeks and weeks go by, but not a single cry. --Mary Helen Washington