The Arctic Marine - 30.10.1941, Page 5

THE ARCTIC MARINE
5
THE ARCTIC MARINE
Published every Thursday
in the interests of the
United States Marine Forces
in Iceland.
Captain T. J. Colley,
Manager.
lst. Marine Brigade,
Iceland.
Care Postmaster,
New York.
PASSED BY THE CENSOR.
faction comes upoh the
“Wolf’s” crafty pan as he
realizes that at last there is
someone who sympathizes
witli him and begins cougli-
ing with a dry rasping
cough). __
Sgt. Williams: (In a quavering
voice) Sir, I think I am just
on the verge of taking pneu-
monia.
C.O.: (In a very svmpathetic
voice) Small wonder, man.
I am surprised that you are
still walking around.
Sgt. Williams: It just goes to
show you, Sir, the stuff out
of which us Reserves ai-e
made. Now, you take hack
in ’02 just before — —
C.O.: (Interruting Sgt. rudely)
Yes, yes, man, I’ve lieard all
about ’02 and ’03 and oh
Hell! I’ve had just about all
of this that I can stand. Go
out and tell the Office Stoo-
ge to type you up a requisit-
ion slip for one comforter.
Now, beat it.
Sgt. Williams: Aye, Aye, Sir.
Thank you very much, Sir.
(Takes a step backward, at-
empts to do an about face,
but in the process gets one
size 12 slioe of the before
mentioned specifications,
entangled witli the other and
falls flat on liis face with
sucli force that he dislodg-
es five bars of assorted pogy-
bait from the inner recesses
of his baggy uniform, picks
liimself up and steps on
“Hollywood” Nathan’s liand,
who is busily engaged in try-
ing to pick up the “Wolf’s”
pogy-bait, retrieves pogy-
hait and staggers out of of-
fice, taklng “Hollywood”
with him).
Five minutes later, the out-
e^ door of the office is lieard
closing with a loud bang, and
in the distance, Sgt. “Willie the
Wolf’s” cracked whisky tenor
voice can be heard lifted in
song: “Hooray for Hollywood”,
from the picture of the same
name.
Marioe Lament
An expedition may be fun
But I don’t think it’s so.
The toilsome work has just begun
When you get tlie word to go.
You climb aboard a cast-iron raft
You sleep like canned sardines
You van’t go forward, you can’t go aft,
You live hy ship’s routine.
The “flatfeet” have their customs
For breakfast it is beans,
But we will choose our burnt-up slums
We have to:— We’re Gyrenes.
The bow goes up, the stern goes down,
You think both ends will meet.
And then the thought “Why can’t I drown”
It’s then, the fish you treat.
The ships puts in on foreign shore
We crowd the rail to see.
It’s happened time and again before,
We’re ready for a spree.
The booms swing öut, the work’s begun,
We man the clumsy lighters.
We’re helped by light of the midnight sun
And the “blokes” that call us “blighters”.
They give us a bunch of Nissen huts,
They’re cold and dark and dull.
We think we’re settled for awhile, but “nuts”,
We niove. — Orders of the Gen’rul.
The spot they pick is in a Camp
It’s windy as the devil.
And every wliere that we must tramp
There’s liills. Oh no! Not on the level.
We do our work and beat our gums
Then we sortie into town.
No bar we find sells buttered rums
The stúlkas turn us down.
If you don’t want us in a rut,
(We weren’t six months agö),
Quit passing out the “scuttlebutt”,
And send us back to Diego.
Gillilancl
g ‘ s aeordered A2-Tk.
Christmas is approching
and in order for all hands
to get their letters to
Santa before Christmas,
this column is being run
Iceland, Oct. 24, 1941.
Dear Santa Clause:
I am writing to you early so
that I will be sure to be one
of the first to get my letter
in. You see Santa, I liave just
been promoted to Sergeant and
my papa told me that if I made
Sergeant that you would bring
me a new' car for Christmas.
Here is the kind that I want;
a 1942 model Buiclc sport road-
ster with radio and heater. It
must be cream colored trimm-
ed in red; so that it will have
lots of pick up appeal.
If I am still here in Iceland
please include one passport
ticket back to the states for I
want my mama.
Please include a sack of
candy and oranges for my pal
Corp. Hugh Insco.
I remain your true
believer,
Sgt. Charles J. Allen.
•
Iceland, Oct. 24, 1941.
Dear Santa:
I am awful lonely here in
Iceland. Would you please
send my g'irl Dolores to me.
Pfc. Billie D. Wedin.
P.S. The one in San Diego.
•
Iceland, Oct. 24, 1941.
Dear Santa:
Please bring me the name of
the fellow wlio took my girl
in San Diego away from me.
Pfc. Wayne D. Perryman.
P.S. Please tell me if lie is a
sailor.
Good-iiite ilother
Good-nite Mother; peaceful he your dreams,
Sleep tite Mother till the morning beams.
America has answered every Mother’s prayer,
You won’t liave the lieartaclies they have over there.
Don’t worry Mother; you’Il not be blue for,
Your boy will always belong to you.
He’Il never be so far away
That he can’t call each night and say,
“Good-nite Motlier — Good-nite.”
Note: From the censor. Our Marines remember their
mothers.
Iceland, Oct. 24, 1941.
Dear Santa:
Please bring me 1 Doll, 1
sewing kit (to make doll dress-
es), 1 toy tank and one pop
gun.
Sgt. Vern V. Watt.
•
Iceland, Oct. 24, 1941.
Dear Santa:
Please bring me some books,
I don’t care what kind, just
something that I can read up
on so that I can argue Sgt.
Williams under the tahle.
Pfc. Edward E. Tews.