Aug 13
At a place calłed Fallingbostel - 13/18th (QMO).
We “Volunteered” for duties: officers' mess.
The work would not be onerous, they told us.'Oh, no, no.’
But doing it we were to wear our service dress.
The E.M.E. when he spoke to us, his briefing, made us see
That this was not a punishment (he said that with a grin),
But esprit de corp and we would be
Part of the Regiment. We, the L.A.D., and mucking in.
Well, we knew at Balaclava they had posted right of flank,
And had crashed through Russian guns, pushed back the horse.
And although those self-same subalterns might now command a tank,
We didn't think they'd have the skills to stop our cunning course.
A marquee had been erected with good hussar elan,
And tables laid with linen, posted large.
And we, now stewards, R.E.M.E. lads, had us a ****** good plan
For Balaclava, celebrating famous light horse charge.
And so, we gathered, three of us, in the mess that afternoon,
The kitchen where the food was set and tasted.
They thought us nice and early, but we knew we weren't too soon,
For we were on reconnaissance and that’s time never wasted.
Yes, three of us to serve the guests of Baden-Powell's men.
We being driver, reccy-mec, and a fitter-gun (which was me).
So smart we looked, efficient, remembering back to then.
But we three soldiers of the Queen were bent on larceny.
Picture marquee in the night.
Glittering sky so very bright.
Muted music, candlelight,
Bottles purloined to the night.
Muted clink of glass on glass
Our bottles nestling in the grass.
So, as we wend our way into the night, our duty done.
Giggling, laughing, what a lark we're thinking.
Having cached those bottles, having had our fun,
Now is the time to settle down to do some serious drinking.
But horror, in the dark there's just one bottle in the nest,
Left there as thanks (I think more likely as fair-go).
*******! the common thought, what happened to the rest?
Then distant Polish singing - those blasted MSO.
Our stolen loot's been stolen. Unbelievable. A sin.
And its no use crying over milk that's spilt, or *****, whisky, wine
Let's go and find out if those drunks of Poles will let us in
Let's go get drunk and give them best. The rotten, ***** swine.
We “Volunteered” for duties: officers' mess.
The work would not be onerous, they told us.'Oh, no, no.’
But doing it we were to wear our service dress.
The E.M.E. when he spoke to us, his briefing, made us see
That this was not a punishment (he said that with a grin),
But esprit de corp and we would be
Part of the Regiment. We, the L.A.D., and mucking in.
Well, we knew at Balaclava they had posted right of flank,
And had crashed through Russian guns, pushed back the horse.
And although those self-same subalterns might now command a tank,
We didn't think they'd have the skills to stop our cunning course.
A marquee had been erected with good hussar elan,
And tables laid with linen, posted large.
And we, now stewards, R.E.M.E. lads, had us a ****** good plan
For Balaclava, celebrating famous light horse charge.
And so, we gathered, three of us, in the mess that afternoon,
The kitchen where the food was set and tasted.
They thought us nice and early, but we knew we weren't too soon,
For we were on reconnaissance and that’s time never wasted.
Yes, three of us to serve the guests of Baden-Powell's men.
We being driver, reccy-mec, and a fitter-gun (which was me).
So smart we looked, efficient, remembering back to then.
But we three soldiers of the Queen were bent on larceny.
Picture marquee in the night.
Glittering sky so very bright.
Muted music, candlelight,
Bottles purloined to the night.
Muted clink of glass on glass
Our bottles nestling in the grass.
So, as we wend our way into the night, our duty done.
Giggling, laughing, what a lark we're thinking.
Having cached those bottles, having had our fun,
Now is the time to settle down to do some serious drinking.
But horror, in the dark there's just one bottle in the nest,
Left there as thanks (I think more likely as fair-go).
*******! the common thought, what happened to the rest?
Then distant Polish singing - those blasted MSO.
Our stolen loot's been stolen. Unbelievable. A sin.
And its no use crying over milk that's spilt, or *****, whisky, wine
Let's go and find out if those drunks of Poles will let us in
Let's go get drunk and give them best. The rotten, ***** swine.
The Mixed Service Organisation was a civilian arm of the British Army of the Rhine which employed displaced persons as drivers, clerks, mechanics, and guards. Originally formed as Watchman and labour units in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War the MSO employed citizens of Eastern European nations occupied by the Soviets. These former prisoners of war, concentration camp inmates and forced labourers were left in western sectors of occupied Germany at the end of the war and chose not to return to their countries of origin
