Working Hard: As far as politicians go, I'm afraid it was ever thus. Hamish Henderson (1919-2002), who fought through N. Africa and Italy with the 8th Army and drafted the Italian surrender order for Marshal Graziani on 9 Apr 1945, wrote the following on hearing that Lady Astor had refererred to the 8th Army as D-Day Dodgers. Sung to the tune of Lili Marlene, it rapidly became an anthem of the Italian campaign and remains a popular song in Scotland to this day.
Ballad of the D-Day Dodgers
We're the D-Day Dodgers, out in Italy –
Always on the vino, always on the spree.
8th Army scroungers and their tanks
We live in Rome - among the Yanks.
We are the D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.
We landed at Salerno, a holiday with pay;
The Jerries brought the bands out to greet us on the way...
Showed us the sights and gave us tea.
We all sang songs - the beer was free,
To welcome D-Day Dodgers to sunny Italy.
Naples and Cassino were taken in our stride,
We didn't go to fight there - we went there for the ride.
Anzio and Sangro were just names,
We only went to look for dames –
The artful D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.
On the way to Florence we had a lovely time.
We ran a bus to Rimini right through the Gothic Line.
Soon to Bologna we will go
And after that we'll cross the Po.
We'll still be D-Day dodging, way out in Italy.
Once we heard a rumour that we were going home,
Back to dear old Blighty - never more to roam.
Then someone said: "In France you'll fight!"
We said: "No fear - we'll just sit tight!"
(The windy D-Day Dodgers to stay in Italy).
Dear Lady Astor, you think you know a lot,
Standing on a platform and talking tommy-rot.
You, England's sweetheart and its pride,
We think your mouth's too bleeding wide
That's from your D-Day Dodgers - in far off Italy.
Look around the mountains, in the mud and rain –
You’ll find the scattered crosses - (there's some which have no name).
Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone,
The boys beneath them slumber on.
Those are the D-Day Dodgers who'll stay in Italy.
As well as the poignant and cutting wit shown above, Hamish produced one of the outstanding poetic works of the 2nd World War in his Elegies for the Dead in Cyrenaica (1948), including the immortal line : "No Gods and precious few heroes."
Kiting for Boys: You're right, the poet was in the Camerons. He was Donald Macdonald Dòmhnall Ruadh Chorùna (1887-1967). If Gaelic is fair game, and as HM is in Germany at the moment, Sorley MacLean wrote the following for Hamish as the introduction to part 2 of the elegies:
'Na shuidhe marbh an 'Glaic a' Bhàis'
fo Dhruim Ruidhìseit,
gille òg 's a logan sìos m' a ghruaidh
's a thuar grisionn.
Smaoinich mi air a' chòir 's an àgh.
A fhuair e bho Fhurair,
bhith tuiteam ann an raon an àir
gun éirigh tuilleadh...
Ge b'e a dheòin-san no a chàs,
a neo-chiontas no mhìorun,
cha do nochd e toileachadh 'na bhàs
fo Dhruim Ruidhìseit.
Somhairle Mac Gill-Eathain
Sitting dead in 'Death Valley'
below Ruweisat Ridge,
a boy with his forelock down about his cheek
and his face slate-grey.
I thought of the right and joy,
he had from his Fuehrer,
of falling in the field of slaughter
to rise no more ...
Whatever his desire or mishap,
his innocence or malignance,
he showed no pleasure in his death
below the Ruweisat Ridge.