Wit And Wisdom
 

 
 
 

The Soldier Didn't Say A Word
 
Three friends were sitting around a bar, each one smoking a big black cigar,
And each one’s eyes were filled with tears,
Each one had decided to go to war, to keep the Japs from his back door,
But, each by some unearthly chance, had joined up in a different branch.

The Marine rose on unsteady feet, his eyes were filled with conceit,
When the war is over we’ll meet again, and I’ll tell you stories of real fighting men,
The Sailor smiled; you will learn, when you hear upon my return,
The Soldier didn’t say a word and acted as he hadn’t heard,
I’ll never brag or boast, my men until I’m sure I’m home again.

They made a farewell parting bet, one that they would never forget.
The one whose story was the best the beers would be paid for by the rest.

The war was over and they came back drinking beer in the same old shack.
The Marine with ribbons on his chest, rose to his feet before the rest,
I saw action in the South Seas and shot Japs right out of the trees,
I downed them like a bunch of fleas, now beat that if you please.

The Sailor rose with a great big smile and laughed at the Marine for a while.
Friends, he said, I really saw the flight,
In Italy, England and the Reich, I killed Germans to my delight
But you would lose your appetite, if I told you of every fight.

The Soldier didn’t say a word, and acted as though he hadn’t heard,
Then he hit the bar with an awful slam, and said,
I WAS IN BURMA AND ASSAM.

The Marine jumped up, the Sailor too,
“Brother, we owe the drinks to you.”
For each one heard and knew too well that
THERE SAT A MAN RETURNED FROM HELL.


Author Unknown  
 




The staff of the China-Burma-India edition of  YANK - The Army Weekly
created a souvenir booklet for soldiers to take or send home.

Take a flight on YANK's Magic Carpet  
 
 

Conversation Piece
 
Is the gateway to India at Bombay
Really as beautiful as they say?

Don't rightly know, Ma'am. Did my part
Breakin point in the jungle's heart;
blasted the boulders, felled the trees
with red muck oozin' around our knees;
Carved the guts from the Patkai's side,
Dozed our trace, made it clean and wide,
Metalled and graded, dug and filled:
We had the Ledo Road to build.

Well, surely you saw a burning ghat,
Fakirs, rope tricks and all of that.

Reckon I didn't. But way up ahead
I tended the wounded, buried the dead.
For I was a Medic, and little we knew,
But the smell of sickness all day through,
Mosquitoes, leeches, and thick dark mud
Where the Chinese spilled their blood
After the enemy guns were stilled:
We had the Ledo Road to build.

Of course, you found the Taj Mahal,
The loveliest building of them all.

Can't really say, lady I was stuck
Far beyond Shing with a QM truck
Monsoon was rugged there, hot and wet,
Nothing to do but work and sweat
And dry was the dust upon my mouth
As steadily big "cats" roared on south,
Over this ground where Japs lay killed:
We had the Ledo Road to build.

You've been gone two years this spring,
Didn't you see a single thing?

Never saw much but the moon shine on
A Burmese temple around Maingkwan,
And silver transports high in the sky,
Thursday River and the swift Tanai,
And Hukawng Valley coming all green,
Those are the only sights I've seen.
Did our job, though, like God willed:
We had the Ledo Road to build.

Sergeant Smith Dawless - Ledo, Assam, India, 1943

View this poem Full Screen or Other Verses by Smith Dawless.

 
The Kohima Epitaph
 
  When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,
  For Their Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today.

 (Appears on a monument erected at the British military cemetery at Kohima, Assam, India,
  in memory of those who died in World War II's largest Asian land battle near there in 1944)

Read about The Kohima Epitaph  
 
 

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