Robert W. Service
‘Ave you seen Bill’s mug in the Noos to-day?
‘E’s gyned the Victoriar Cross, they say;
Little Bill wot would grizzle and run away,
If you ‘it ‘im a swipe on the jawr.
‘E’s slaughtered the Kaiser’s men in tons;
‘E’s captured one of their quick-fire guns,
And ‘e ‘adn’t no practice in killin’ ‘Uns
Afore ‘e went off to the war.
Little Bill wot I nussed in ‘is by-by clothes;
Little Bill wot told me ‘is childish woes;
‘Ow often I’ve tidied ‘is pore little nose
Wiv the ’em of me pinnyfore.
And now all the papers ‘is praises ring,
And ‘e’s been and ‘e’s shaken the ‘and of the King
And I sawr ‘im to-day in the ward, pore thing,
Where they’re patchin’ ‘im up once more.
And ‘e says: “Wot d’ye think of it, Lizer Ann?”
And I says: “Well, I can’t make it out, old man;
You’d ‘ook it as soon as a scrap began,
When you was a bit of a kid.”
And ‘e whispers: “‘Ere, on the quiet, Liz,
They’re makin’ too much of the ‘ole damn biz,
And the papers is printin’ me ugly phiz,
But . . . I’m ‘anged if I know wot I did.
“Oh, the Captain comes and ‘e says: ‘Look ‘ere!
They’re far too quiet out there: it’s queer.
They’re up to somethin’—’oo’ll volunteer
To crawl in the dark and see?’
Then I felt me ‘eart like a ‘ammer go,
And up jumps a chap and ‘e says: ‘Right O!’
But I chips in straight, and I says ‘Oh no!
‘E’s a missis and kids—take me.’
“And the next I knew I was sneakin’ out,
And the oozy corpses was all about,
And I felt so scared I wanted to shout,
And me skin fair prickled wiv fear;
And I sez: ‘You coward! You ‘ad no right
To take on the job of a man this night,’
Yet still I kept creepin’ till (‘orrid sight!)
The trench of the ‘Uns was near.
“It was all so dark, it was all so still;
Yet somethin’ pushed me against me will;
‘Ow I wanted to turn! Yet I crawled until
I was seein’ a dim light shine.
Then thinks I: ‘I’ll just go a little bit,
And see wot the doose I can make of it,’
And it seemed to come from the mouth of a pit:
‘Christmas!’ sez I, ‘a MINE.’
“Then ‘ere’s the part wot I can’t explain:
I wanted to make for ‘ome again,
But somethin’ was blazin’ inside me brain,
So I crawled to the trench instead;
Then I saw the bullet ‘ead of a ‘Un,
And ‘e stood by a rapid-firer gun,
And I lifted a rock and I ‘it ‘im one,
And ‘e dropped like a chunk o’ lead.
“Then all the ‘Uns that was underground,
Comes up with a rush and on with a bound,
And I swings that giddy old Maxim round
And belts ’em solid and square.
You see I was off me chump wiv fear:
‘If I’m sellin’ me life,’ sez I, ‘it’s dear.’
And the trench was narrow and they was near,
So I peppered the brutes for fair.
“So I ‘eld ’em back and I yelled wiv fright,
And the boys attacked and we ‘ad a fight,
And we ‘captured a section o’ trench’ that night
Which we didn’t expect to get;
And they found me there with me Maxim gun,
And I’d laid out a score if I’d laid out one,
And I fainted away when the thing was done,
And I ‘aven’t got over it yet.”
So that’s the ‘istory Bill told me.
Of course it’s all on the strict Q. T.;
It wouldn’t do to get out, you see,
As ‘e hacted against ‘is will.
But ‘e’s convalescin’ wiv all ‘is might,
And ‘e ‘opes to be fit for another fight—
Say! Ain’t ‘e a bit of the real all right?
Wot’s the matter with Bill!
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem paints a vivid, almost cheeky picture of an ordinary man thrown into the chaos of war, and it does so in a way that feels raw, human, and unpolished, like a conversation with someone you know. It’s about Bill, a guy who was never cut out to be a hero—too timid, too normal. Yet, there he is, in the thick of it, doing something incredible, though he himself doesn’t quite understand how.
What stands out immediately is the voice. The Cockney dialect is a character in itself, grounding the story in a working-class world that feels authentic and alive. You can almost hear Lizer Ann, Bill’s narrator, talking to you, shaking her head with a mix of pride and disbelief. The casual tone makes everything about the poem feel closer, like you’re being let in on a secret.
Then there’s Bill’s account, which is both hilarious and tragic. He didn’t step up out of bravery; he did it because someone else had kids to think about. He bumbles his way into a mine, petrified but unable to turn back, and somehow ends up saving the day. Bill’s self-awareness is what makes this all so compelling. He admits to being scared, admits he didn’t know what he was doing, and still he managed to hold off the enemy with sheer desperation. It’s not the polished, chest-puffing kind of heroism you usually hear about—it’s the messy, reluctant kind.
The way the poem mixes humor with the horrors of war is also something special. Lines like “me skin fair prickled wiv fear” or the absurdity of swinging a Maxim gun in a narrow trench give you a chuckle, but it’s not long before you’re reminded of the grim reality with images of “oozy corpses” and the mine pit that could have been the end of him. It’s this back-and-forth between the light and the heavy that makes the poem stick with you. It doesn’t let you get comfortable, but it doesn’t drown you in despair either.
Lizer Ann’s pride in Bill is another thread running through the poem, though she doesn’t get overly sentimental about it. She talks about tidying his nose when he was a kid, watching him shake the King’s hand, and seeing him patched up in the hospital. It’s this mix of motherly tenderness and matter-of-factness that keeps the focus on the human side of war. Bill’s just a bloke, after all, someone who ended up in the wrong place at the right time.
What’s striking is how the poem avoids big speeches or lofty ideas about war. Bill’s heroism feels accidental, almost absurd, but it’s real. And the war itself isn’t glorified; it’s just something that happens, something that turns a man like Bill into someone worth writing about. By the end, you’re left with a sense of awe, not because Bill is a larger-than-life figure, but because he’s so ordinary, so relatable. The poem’s charm lies in its honesty, its humor, and its refusal to dress up the chaos of war.