I shall kill you Ware, Corporal Jones said,
If you even start to turn your head.
I'll be behind and you'd just better not
I‘ll have a thirty eight and you'll be shot.
Ware and Jonesy were like water and oil
One hyperactive one very slow to boil
It happens sometimes – hate at first sight
Doesn't make it any the more right.
Considering arms training was hell
Ware was coping rather well.
Jonesy would stand and rant and rage and quiver,
The contempt in Ware's eyes making him shiver.
Jones read this as hate, showed his fear
Every time that Ware was near.
He was a small arms instructor, Bisley trained,
(Some where along the line being debrained)
And what should have been a bit of a hoot,
Our very first small arms live range shoot,
Was making the whole squad very jumpy,
Lack of sleep making Ware just a bit grumpy;
As he said, typical army, but what the heck
Put the range in charge of a nervous wreck.
You can imagine the tension came the day
As we boarded the truck to drive away.
We needn't have worried. Old Chalkie White,
Our Lieutenant, made things right
Very simply – where there was Ware
Corporal Jones was never there.
We'd all thought Chalkie was young and thick
But his management skills were pretty slick.
(For a Rupert that is of course
Don't put the cart before the horse)
Within a week Jones was off sick
Having been found near catatonic
In the cinema in the local town
And life for Ware settled down.
I hear his chuckle as if he were here
Daftly grinning atop his of beer.