The Loyalist

"Them who 'ave battled, they find
When people is 'appy, they're kind."

So said he, there by the door;
And the clothes and the boots that he wore
Told of many a weary tramp,
Many a night in the cold and the damp
Of the bush.
"A feller must push
Onward an' onward," said he,
"When 'e's fair up agen it, like me.
Ain't no more work on the track."
Then, sudden, his face seemed to crack
Into an impudent smile.
Then he considered a while,
Shrugged and concluded, "Aw, well, 
'Tain't no noo story I tell."

A week's beard covered his chin;
But nothing could smother that grin
Or the look, half merry, half sly,
IN his bright blue dancing eye.
Then he sobered and said
He could do with a morsel of bread
And maybe some meat and an egg.
"'Tain't my right 'abit to beg,"
He explained. "Like to toil for me scran.
But at present I'm walkin' to plan,
Accordin' to shedjool; see?
Methodical bloke, that's me.

"Thanks for the tucker," he said,
Tucking the meat and the bread
Into his grimy shirt
Where it would take no hurt,
He cheerfully said, if it rained.
And then he explained:

"Me, I gotter git down
For the Coronation, to town.
Never been known to miss
On a loyal occasion like this.
I was there on Mafeking Night --
That's a while ago all right --
For the Armistice, too;
Remember it well, I do.
Then, when the Dook came out
I was kickin' about.
Lordy, kings couldn't git crowned
Lest I was knockin' around.
Live? Oh, I'll live. You'll see.
Fat o' the land; that's me.
Them who 'ave battled they find
When people is happy they're kind ..."
Then he turned and went,
Full of queer content,
With a confident swing of the hip,
On his Coronation trip.