THAT far-off day when Peace is signed (and all the papers say—

"A most important by-election starts at Kew to-day;

We urge our readers one and all to loyally support

The Independent Candidate—Count Katzenjammerdordt")

Will change a lot of little things—perhaps we'll get some leave,

And hear a yarn of extra pay, which no one will believe;

The salvage ships will hurry out, two thousand wrecks to find,

The monuments to Kultur that the Huns have left behind.

We'll watch the sweepers put to sea ten million mines to seek,

And—Patrol Flotilla Exercise will start within a week;

Someone Big will say to Someone: "Time for work and time for play,

(Rub his hands together briskly) We'll commence the work to-day;

They have had their fun and fighting, and they must be getting slack,

Stop all leave and start manoeuvres—for the good old times are back."

Then destroyers and torpedo-boats and submarines and oilers

Will receive a little notice headed "Maintenance of Boilers,"

"To economise in fuel while the ships are out at sea

Each pound of steam will count as two, and every knot as three."

We'll have the old manoeuvre Rules to show us what to do.

"I rose within two thousand yards and have torpedoed you,"

My counter-claim is obvious—to port you must retire,"

"I sank you with a Maxim gun just as you rose to fire."

Ships will carry navigation lights—"Precautionary Measure,"

"An infringement of this solemn rule incurs My Lords' Displeasure."

Yes, the after-war manoeuvres will be fearful to behold,

Not been held since nineteen—("half a minute, surely you've been told"),

Hush, you'll get me into trouble ("it was eighteen months ago—

And the whole Grand Fleet was in it—I was there, I ought to know:

But should a German flag be seen (unless of junior rank),

Perhaps the wording isn't right, perhaps it isn't true,

But we've got to have manoeuvres when there's nothing else to do.")

And when the Censor fades away and leaves the presses clear

For all the "Truths about the War," by "One who has no fear,"

And all the "Contract Scandals," by "A Clerk behind the Door,"

The book I want to see in print is "Humours of the War,"

Though I fear the other Censor (Morals, Cinemas, and Vice)

Would expurgate the best of them as being hardly nice;

Still, even with the cream suppressed a volume could be filled

With the epigrams of killing and the jokes of being killed,

With a preface by the officer we rescued from the wave,

When a cloud of steam and lyddite smoke lay o'er the "Bluecher's" grave,

Who, as the bowmen fished him out and passed him aft to dry,

Read the name upon their ribbons with a twinkle in his eye,

And said: "A Westo ship, I think—I guess my luck is in,

I'm sick of German substitutes—now for some Plymouth gin."

And a picture of the sailor in a certain submarine,

Which was diving through the waters where the sweepers hadn't been,

And who heard a muffled bumping noise that passed along the side—

A noise that many men have heard an instant ere they died;

And broke the silence following the last appalling thud

With "Good old ruddy Kaiser! there's another bloomin' dud!"

There's a story too of Jutland, or perhaps another show,

When the cruisers and destroyers had a meeting with the foe;

And as the range was closing, and they waited for the word,

From a sailor at an after-gun the following was heard:

"It isn't that that turns me up—'e's not the only one"—

But then the roar of ranging guns—the action had begun—

And for twenty awful minutes there was undiluted hell,

With flame and steam and cordite smoke and high-explosive shell.

Then as the bugle-call rang out, the savage fire to check,

The loading numbers wiped their brows and looked around the deck:

"As I was saying," came the voice, "before this row began,

I think 'e should 've married 'er—if 'e'd bin 'alf a man."