Bookmakers call: 'Seven to Four on the Field! Review of The Bush Poems of A. But here the old Rabbi brought up a suggestion. His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. And I'll bet my cash on Father Riley's horse!" They had taken toll of the country round, And the troopers came behind With a black who tracked like a human hound In the scrub and the ranges blind: He could run the trail where a white man's eye No sign of track could find. Banjo Paterson is one of Australia's best-loved poets and his verse is among Australia's enduring traditions. ')MACPUFF: Kind voters all, and worthy gentlemen,Who rallied to my flag today, and made meMember for Thompson, from my soul I thank you.There needs no trumpet blast, for I can blowLike any trombone. Is Thompson out?VOTER: My lord, his name is mud. As silently as flies a bird, They rode on either hand; At every fence I plainly heard The phantom leader give the word, Make room for Rio Grande! I spurred him on to get the lead, n I chanced full many a fall; But swifter still each phantom steed Kept with me, and at racing speed We reached the big stone wall. It would look rather well the race-card on 'Mongst Cherubs and Seraphs and things, "Angel Harrison's black gelding Pardon, Blue halo, white body and wings." "And oft in the shades of the twilight,When the soft winds are whispering low,And the dark'ning shadows are falling,Sometimes think of the stockman below.". Banjo Paterson was an Australian bush author who is remembered for his ballads about life in Australia. Away in the camp the bill-sticker's tramp Is heard as he wanders with paste, brush, and notices, And paling and wall he plasters them all, "I wonder how's things gettin' on with the goat," he says, The pulls out his bills, "Use Solomon's Pills" "Great Stoning of Christians! Paterson worked as a lawyer but SCENE ISCENE: The saddling paddock at a racecourse.Citizens, Battlers, Toffs, Trainers, Flappers, Satyrs, Bookmakers and Turf Experts.Enter Shortinbras, a Trainer, and two Punters.FIRST PUNTER: Good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of the Fav'rite?SHORTINBRAS (aside): This poltroon would not venture a ducaton David to beat a dead donkey; a dull and muddy-mettled rascal. Plenty of swagmen far and near -- And yet to Ryan it meant a lot. For the strength of man is an insect's strength In the face of that mighty plain and river, And the life of a man is a moment's length To the life of the stream that will run for ever. It follows a mountainous horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prize-winning racehorse living with brumbies. why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse. Paul Kelly - The 23rd Psalm 2. . * * * * * * * But he's old -- and his eyes are grown hollow Like me, with my thatch of the snow; When he dies, then I hope I may follow, And go where the racehorses go. Now this was what Macpherson told While waiting in the stand; A reckless rider, over-bold, The only man with hands to hold The rushing Rio Grande. For all I ever had of theeMy children were unfed, my wife unclothed,And I myself condemned to menial toil.PUNTER: The man who keeps a winner to himselfDeserves but death. "On," was the battle cry,"Conquer this day or die,Sons of Hibernia, fight for Liberty!Show neither fear nor dread,Strike at the foeman's head,Cut down horse, foot, and artillery! Those British pioneers Had best at home abide, For things have changed in fifty years Since Ludwig Leichhardt died. It was not much, you say, that these Should win their way where none withstood; In sooth there was not much of blood -- No war was fought between the seas. Oh, poor Andy went to rest in proper style. For he rode at dusk with his comrade Dunn To the hut at the Stockman's Ford; In the waning light of the sinking sun They peered with a fierce accord. on Mar 14 2005 06:57 PM PST x edit . Listen awhile till I show you round. This tale tells of a rickety old horse that learned how to swim. "Well, no sir, he ain't not exactly dead, But as good as dead," said the eldest son -- "And we couldn't bear such a chance to lose, So we came straight back to tackle the ewes." today Banjo Paterson is still one of Australia's best-loved poets.this complete collection of his verse shows the bush balladeer at his very best with favourites such as 'A Bush . That unkempt mound Shows where they slumber united still; Rough is their grave, but they sleep as sound Out on the range as in holy ground, Under the shadow of Kiley's Hill. Rash men, that know not what they seek, Will find their courage tried. With pomp and solemnity fit for the tomb They lead the old billy-goat off to his doom: On every hand a reverend band, Prophets and preachers and elders stand And the oldest rabbi, with a tear in his eye, Delivers a sermon to all standing by. Lift ye your faces to the sky Ye barrier mountains in the west Who lie so peacefully at rest Enshrouded in a haze of blue; 'Tis hard to feel that years went by Before the pioneers broke through Your rocky heights and walls of stone, And made your secrets all their own. " is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Australasian Pastoralists' Review on 15 December 1898. The waving of grasses, The song of the river That sings as it passes For ever and ever, The hobble-chains' rattle, The calling of birds, The lowing of cattle Must blend with the words. `"For you must give the field the slip, So never draw the rein, But keep him moving with the whip, And if he falter - set your lip And rouse him up again. They started, and the big black steed Came flashing past the stand; All single-handed in the lead He strode along at racing speed, The mighty Rio Grande. Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson, CBE (17 February 1864- 5 February 1941) was an Australian bush poet, journalist and author. Our willing workmen, strong and skilled, Within our cities idle stand, And cry aloud for leave to toil. The Jews were so glad when old Pharaoh was "had" That they sounded their timbrels and capered like mad. Three slabs fell out of the stable wall -- 'Twas done 'fore ever the trooper knew -- And Ryan, as soon as he saw them fall, Mounted The Swagman and rushed him through. And if they have racing hereafter, (And who is to say they will not?) B. Paterson, 2008 . Of Scottish descent on his father's side,. "But it's getting on to daylight and it's time to say goodbye, For the stars above the east are growing pale. Roll up to the Hall!! We were objects of mirth and derision To folks in the lawn and the stand, Anf the yells of the clever division Of "Any price Pardon!" Its based on a letter Paterson received from Thomas Gerald Clancy which he replied to, only to receive the reply: Clancys gone to Queensland droving and we dont know where he are. You see we were green; and we never Had even a thought of foul play, Though we well might have known that the clever Division would "put us away". This poem tells of a man who reacts badly to a practical joke sprung on him by a Sydney barber. Moral The moral is patent to all the beholders -- Don't shift your own sins on to other folks' shoulders; Be kind to dumb creatures and never abuse them, Nor curse them nor kick them, nor spitefully use them: Take their lives if needs must -- when it comes to the worst, But don't let them perish of hunger or thirst. (We haven't his name -- whether Cohen or Harris, he No doubt was the "poisonest" kind of Pharisee.) (Banjo) Paterson. But he found the rails on that summer night For a better place -- or worse, As we watched by turns in the flickering light With an old black gin for nurse. . And away in another court I lurk While a junior barrister does your work; And I ask my fee with a courtly grace, Although I never came near the case. As soon said as done, they started to run -- The priests and the deacons, strong runners and weak 'uns All reckoned ere long to come up with the brute, And so the whole boiling set off in pursuit. Kanzo Makame, the diver -- knowing full well what it meant -- Fatalist, gambler, and stoic, smiled a broad smile of content, Flattened in mainsail and foresail, and off to the Islands they went. So the Dutch let him go; but they watched him, as off from the Islands he ran, Doubting him much -- but what would you? We've come all this distance salvation to win agog, If he takes home our sins, it'll burst up the Synagogue!" Jan 2011. Oh, the weary, weary journey on the trek, day after day, With sun above and silent veldt below; And our hearts keep turning homeward to the youngsters far away, And the homestead where the climbing roses grow. But on his ribs the whalebone stung, A madness it did seem! Paterson and his old friend, Lawson, imparted to the literature of their country a note which marked the beginning of a new period. there's the wail of a dingo,Watchful and weirdI must go,For it tolls the death-knell of the stockmanFrom the gloom of the scrub down below. There are quite a few . To the front -- and then stay there - was ever The root of the Mameluke creed. It don't seem to trouble the swell. Ure Smith. The wild thrush lifts a note of mirth; The bronzewing pigeons call and coo Beside their nests the long day through; The magpie warbles clear and strong A joyous, glad, thanksgiving song, For all God's mercies upon earth. But troubles came thicker upon us, For while we were rubbing him dry The stewards came over to warn us: "We hear you are running a bye! We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave At the foot of the Eaglehawk; We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave For fear that his ghost might walk; We carved his name on a bloodwood tree With the date of his sad decease And in place of "Died from effects of spree" We wrote "May he rest in peace". The poem is typical of Paterson, offering a romantic view of rural life, and is one of his best-known works. Well, well, 'tis sudden!These are the uses of the politician,A few brief sittings and another contest;He hardly gets to know th' billiard tablesBefore he's out . The Reverend Mullineux 155. Here his eyes opened wide, for close by his side Was the scapegoat: And eating his latest advertisement! He rolled and he weltered and wallowed -- You'd kick your hat faster, I'll bet; They finished all bunched, and he followed All lathered and dripping with sweat. (Kills him)Enter defeated Owner and Jockey.OWNER: Thou whoreson Knave: thou went into a tranceSoon as the barrier lifted and knew naughtOf what occurred until they neared the post. . When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, 'Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. And the scientific person hurried off with utmost speed, Tested Johnsons drug and found it was a deadly poison-weed; Half a tumbler killed an emu, half a spoonful killed a goat, All the snakes on earth were harmless to that awful antidote. Published in 1889 in the Australian news magazine, The Bulletin, Clancy of The Overflow is a story about a city-dweller who meets a drover and proceeds to romanticise his outback life. Both wrote in other strains, of course, and of other than swagmen and cockies, stock-men and bullock drivers, but bush was always at their heartstrings, and it was of the bush, as they saw it from roadside and saddle that they wrote best. Better it is that they ne'er came back -- Changes and chances are quickly rung; Now the old homestead is gone to rack, Green is the grass on the well-worn track Down by the gate where the roses clung. Inicio; Servicios. Popular funeral poem based on a short verse by David Harkins. * * Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat, Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat -- They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown! Banjo Paterson. [Editor: This poem by "Banjo" Paterson was published in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses, 1895; previously published in The Bulletin, 17 December 1892.It is a story about a barber who plays a practical joke upon an unsuspecting man from the bush. A Bush Lawyer. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. He was in his 77th year. This was the way of it, don't you know -- Ryan was "wanted" for stealing sheep, And never a trooper, high or low, Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep! His ballads of the bush had enormous popularity. Jan 2011. ('Twas strange that in racing he showed so much cunning), "It's a hard race," said he, "and I think it would be A good thing for someone to take up the running." Enter a Messenger. Thy story quickly!MESSENGER: Gracious, my Lord,I should report that which I know I saw,But know not how to do it.MACBREATH: Well! I would fain go back to the old grey river, To the old bush days when our hearts were light; But, alas! He falls. The waving of grasses, The song of the river That sings as it passes For ever and ever, The hobble-chains rattle, The calling of birds, The lowing of cattle Must blend with the words. Banjo was a well-known poet and storyteller, but he was also a solicitor, war correspondent, newspaper editor, soldier, journalist, sports commentator, jockey, farmer and adventurer. ere theyd watched a half-hours spell Stumpy was as dead as mutton, tother dog was live and well. A word let fall Gave him the hint as the girl passed by; Nothing but "Swagman -- stable wall; Go to the stable and mind your eye." He hasn't much fear of a fall. "Run, Abraham, run! The native grasses, tall as grain, Bowed, waved and rippled in the breeze; From boughs of blossom-laden trees The parrots answered back again. Our money all gone and our credit, Our horse couldn't gallop a yard; And then people thought that we did it It really was terribly hard. These volumes met with great success. Without these, indeed you Would find it ere long, As though I should read you The words of a song That lamely would linger When lacking the rune, The voice of a singer, The lilt of the tune. Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown; Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down. And more than 100 years after the words were penned we find they still ring out across the nation. The Pledge!MACBREATH: I say I never signed the gory pledge. (To Punter): Aye marry Sir, I think well of the Favourite.PUNTER: And yet I have a billiard marker's wordThat in this race to-day they back Golumpus,And when they bet, they tell me, they will knockThe Favourite for a string of German Sausage.SHORTINBRAS: Aye, marry, they would tell thee, I've no doubt,It is the way of owners that they tellTo billiard markers and the men on tramsJust when they mean to bet. The remains will be cremated to-day at the Northern Suburbs Crematorium. Shall we see the flats grow golden with the ripening of the grain? And Kate Carew, when her father died, She kept the horse and she kept him well; The pride of the district far and wide, He lived in style at the bush hotel. When he was six, the family moved to Illalong, a days ride from Lambing Flat diggings, where Young now stands. Well, well, don't get angry, my sonny, But, really, a young un should know. Spoken too low for the trooper's ear, Why should she care if he heard or not? Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all. Make room for Rio Grande! Hes down! You never heard tell of the story? So fierce his attack and so very severe, it Quite floored the Rabbi, who, ere he could fly, Was rammed on the -- no, not the back -- but just near it. And took to drink, and by some good chance Was killed -- thrown out of a stolen trap. But it chanced next day, when the stunted pines Were swayed and stirred by the dawn-wind's breath, That a message came for the two Devines That their father lay at the point of death. Kanzo was king of his lugger, master and diver in one, Diving wherever it pleased him, taking instructions from none; Hither and thither he wandered, steering by stars and by sun. . When night doth her glories Of starshine unfold, Tis then that the stories Of bush-land are told. Ah! During an inland flash flood, he saves his masters son. I'll bet half-a-crown on you." I take your brief and I look to see That the same is marked with a thumping fee; But just as your case is drawing near I bob serenely and disappear. It was first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 26 April 1890, and was published by Angus & Robertson in October 1895, with other poems by Paterson, in The Man from Snowy River and Other Verses.The poem tells the story of a horseback pursuit to recapture the colt of a prizewinning racehorse . When a young man submitted a set of verses to the BULLEtIN in 1889 under the pseudonym 'the Banjo', it was the beginning of an enduring tradition. Then, shedding his coat, he approaches the goat And, while a red fillet he carefully pins on him, Confesses the whole of the Israelites' sins on him. This never will do. He "tranced" them all, and without a joke 'Twas much as follows the subjects spoke: First Man "I am a doctor, London-made, Listen to me and you'll hear displayed A few of the tricks of the doctor's trade. Were working to restore it. Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins! Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", finding the profits grow small, Said, "Let us go to the Islands, try for a number one haul! * * * * We have our tales of other days, Good tales the northern wanderers tell When bushmen meet and camp-fires blaze, And round the ring of dancing light The great, dark bush with arms of night Folds every hearer in its spell. So I go my way with a stately tread While my patients sleep with the dreamless dead." Lord! Ride! . But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark -- A restless sleeper aye. Behind the great impersonal 'We' I hold the power of the Mystic Three. He had hunted them out of the One Tree Hill And over the Old Man Plain, But they wheeled their tracks with a wild beast's skill, And they made for the range again; Then away to the hut where their grandsire dwelt They rode with a loosened rein. And how he did come! "Now, it's listen, Father Riley, to the words I've got to say, For it's close upon my death I am tonight. Grey are the plains where the emus pass Silent and slow, with their dead demeanour; Over the dead man's graves the grass Maybe is waving a trifle greener. And it may be that we who live In this new land apart, beyond The hard old world grown fierce and fond And bound by precedent and bond, May read the riddle right, and give New hope to those who dimly see That all things yet shall be for good, And teach the world at length to be One vast united brotherhood. You want to know If Ryan came back to his Kate Carew; Of course he should have, as stories go, But the worst of it is this story's true: And in real life it's a certain rule, Whatever poets and authors say Of high-toned robbers and all their school, These horsethief fellows aren't built that way. The breeze came in with the scent of pine, The river sounded clear, When a change came on, and we saw the sign That told us the end was near. In fact I should think he was one of their weediest: 'Tis a rule that obtains, no matter who reigns, When making a sacrifice, offer the seediest; Which accounts for a theory known to my hearers Who live in the wild by the wattle beguiled, That a "stag" makes quite good enough mutton for shearers. Beyond all denials The stars in their glories The breeze in the myalls Are part of these stories. In the drowsy days on escort, riding slowly half asleep, With the endless line of waggons stretching back, While the khaki soldiers travel like a mob of travelling sheep, Plodding silent on the never-ending track, While the constant snap and sniping of the foe you never see Makes you wonder will your turn come -- when and how? Facing it yet! He showed 'em the method of travel -- The boy sat still as a stone -- They never could see him for gravel; He came in hard-held, and alone. We cannot love the restless sea, That rolls and tosses to and fro Like some fierce creature in its glee; For human weal or human woe It has no touch of sympathy. Their version of "The man from Snowy River" is the best I have ever heard (about 15mins long) A very stirring poem set to music. The trooper knew that his man would slide Like a dingo pup, if he saw the chance; And with half a start on the mountain side Ryan would lead him a merry dance. Some say it was a political comment on the violent shearers strikes happening at the time, while a new book Waltzing Matilda: the true story argues it may have been about a love triangle happening in Patersons life when he wrote it. . He left the camp by the sundown light, And the settlers out on the Marthaguy Awoke and heard, in the dead of night, A single horseman hurrying by. A thirty-foot leap, I declare -- Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare. He came for the third heat light-hearted, A-jumping and dancing about; The others were done ere they started Crestfallen, and tired, and worn out. Andrew Barton Paterson was born on the 17th February 1864 in the township of Narambla, New South Wales. Unnoticed and undenied; But the smallest child on the Watershed. Discover the many layers to this legendary Australian character yourself at the exhibition which is open seven days a week from 9am to 3pm thanks . "For I've always heard --" here his voice grew weak, His strength was wellnigh sped, He gasped and struggled and tried to speak, Then fell in a moment -- dead. See also: Poems by all poets about death and All poems by Banjo Paterson The Angel's Kiss Analysis of this poem An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead. The race is run and Shortinbras enters,leading in the winner.FIRST PUNTER: And thou hast trained the winner, thou thyself,Thou complicated liar. A.B. Joe Nagasaki, the "tender", smiling a sanctified smile, Headed her straight for the gunboat--throwing out shells all the while -- Then went aboard and reported, "No makee dive in three mile! Sure the plan ought to suit yer. When courts are sitting and work is flush I hurry about in a frantic rush. "I care for nothing, good nor bad, My hopes are gone, my pleasures fled, I am but sifting sand," he said: What wonder Gordon's songs were sad! As I lie at rest on a patch of clover In the Western Park when the day is done. Banjo published this mischievous tale of a young lad who doesnt want to be christened and ends up being named after a whisky in The Bulletin in 1893. Wives, children and all, For naught the most delicate feelings to hurt is meant!!" "Then cut down a couple of saplings,Place one at my head and my toe,Carve on them cross, stockwhip, and saddle,To show there's a stockman below."Hark! There are folk long dead, and our hearts would sicken-- We should grieve for them with a bitter pain; If the past could live and the dead could quicken, We then might turn to that life again. He snapped the steel on his prisoner's wrist, And Ryan, hearing the handcuffs click, Recovered his wits as they turned to go, For fright will sober a man as quick As all the drugs that the doctors know. [1] The subject of the poem was James Tyson, who had died early that month. The doctor met him outside the town "Carew! . . Cycles were ridden everywhere, including in the outback by shearers and other workers who needed to travel cheaply. Says Jimmy, "The children of Judah Are out on the warpath today." . "Who'll bet on the field? The scapegoat is leading a furlong or more, And Abraham's tiring -- I'll lay six to four! And then it came out, as the rabble and rout Streamed over the desert with many a shout -- The Rabbi so elderly, grave, and patrician, Had been in his youth a bold metallician, And offered, in gasps, as they merrily spieled, "Any price Abraham! The scapegoat he snorted, and wildly cavorted, A light-hearted antelope "out on the ramp", Then stopped, looked around, got the "lay of the ground", And made a beeline back again to the camp. 'Ten to One, Golumpus. Clancy of the Overflow was inspired by an experience Banjo Paterson had while he was working as a lawyer. When the cheers and the shouting and laughter Proclaim that the battle grows hot; As they come down the racecourse a-steering, He'll rush to the front, I believe; And you'll hear the great multitude cheering For Pardon, the son of Reprieve. Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford -- A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell -- Chanced to find him drunk as a lord Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel. They went tearin' round and round, And the fences rang and rattled where they struck. . Geebung is the indigenous name for a tough fruiting shrub (Persoonia sp.). Lawson almost always wrote as one who travelled afoot - Paterson as one who saw plain and bush from the back of a galloping horse. Him goin' to ride for us! One, in the town where all cares are rife, Weary with troubles that cramp and kill, Fain would be done with the restless strife, Fain would go back to the old bush life, Back to the shadow of Kiley's Hill. Catch him now if you can, sir! Mr. Andrew Barton Paterson, better known throughout Australia as "Banjo" Paterson, died at a private hospital, in Sydney, yesterday afternoon, after about a fortnight's illness. And over the tumult and louder Rang "Any price Pardon, I lay!" Boss must be gone off his head to be sending out steeplechase crack Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back. the whole clan, they raced and they ran, And Abraham proved him an "even time" man, But the goat -- now a speck they could scarce keep their eyes on -- Stretched out in his stride in a style most surprisin' And vanished ere long o'er the distant horizon. The sermon was marked by a deal of humility And pointed the fact, with no end of ability. You have to be sure of your man Ere you wake up that nest-ful of hornets -- the little brown men of Japan. Our chiefest singer yet has sung In wild, sweet notes a passing strain, All carelessly and sadly flung To that dull world he thought so vain. Yet it sometimes happens by some strange crook That a ledger-keeper will 'take his hook' With a couple of hundred thousand 'quid', And no one can tell how the thing was did!" He was never bought nor paid for, and there's not a man can swear To his owner or his breeder, but I know, That his sire was by Pedantic from the Old Pretender mare And his dam was close related to The Roe. Get a pair of dogs and try it, let the snake give both a nip; Give your dog the snakebite mixture, let the other fellow rip; If he dies and yours survives him, then it proves the thing is good. And I am sure as man can be That out upon the track Those phantoms that men cannot see Are waiting now to ride with me; And I shall not come back. Next, Please "I am a barrister, wigged and gowned; Of stately presence and look profound. The freedom, and the hopeful sense Of toil that brought due recompense, Of room for all, has passed away, And lies forgotten with the dead. The Jockey's PunterHas he put up the stuff, or does he waitTo get a better price. Loafing once beside the river, while he thought his heart would break, There he saw a big goanna fighting with a tiger-snake, In and out they rolled and wriggled, bit each other, heart and soul, Till the valiant old goanna swallowed his opponent whole. but they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head, Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead. Kanzo Makame, the diver, failing to quite understand, Pulled the "haul up" on the life-line, found it was slack in his hand; Then, like a little brown stoic, lay down and died on the sand. Mulga Bill was based on a man of the name of William Henry Lewis, who knew Paterson around Bourke, NSW, and who had bought a bicycle because it was an easier form of transport than his horse in a time of drought. )PUNTER: Nay, good Shortinbras, what thinkest thou of Golumpus?Was it not dead last week?SHORTINBRAS: Marry, sir, I think well of Golumpus. His language was chaste, as he fled in his haste, But the goat stayed behind him -- and "scoffed up" the paste. To all devout Jews! One of the riders gallops across the Australian $10 note next to a picture of Paterson. . By this means a Jew, whate'er he might do, Though he burgled, or murdered, or cheated at loo, Or meat on Good Friday (a sin most terrific) ate, Could get his discharge, like a bankrupt's certificate; Just here let us note -- Did they choose their best goat? "I dreamt I was homeward, back over the mountain track,With joy my mother fainted and gave a loud scream.With the shock I awoke, just as the day had broke,And found myself an exile, and 'twas all but a dream. he's down!' Langston Hughes (100 poem) 1 February 1902 - 22 May 1967. He then settled at Coodravale, a pastoral property in the Wee Jasper district, near Yass, and remained there until the Great War, in which he served with a remount unit in Egypt returning with the rank of major.
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