Background : A poem written by the late Reg Magrath during his time as a P.O.W. (covered in copyright by the family). Presumed written in Changi by the family.
You start off each morning,
With insufficient grub,
Your face never a scrub,
Your teeth had never a rub,
With sickly groan too tired to moan,
You'll begin to think you'll never get home,
You're one of the mugs that Wavell left behind him.
Oh you'll walk along the railway track,
With a bucket on your head,
Your hearts as heavy as lead,
You wish that you were dead,
You're weary and worn and your clothes are torn,
You wish that you had never been born,
You're one of the mugs that Wavell left behind him.
Oh you're working on the embankment,
Swinging a hammer and tap,
Keeping your eye on the Jap,
It's bloody hard work on pap,
You're full of squits, you get fever and fits,
Your clothes are lousy with chats and ticks,
You're one of the mugs that Wavell left behind him.
You come in from work each evening,
With a pair of aching feet,
Your misery quite complete,
They'll give you some rice to eat,
Then you hear them shout, get up, get out,
You'll find it hard to crawl about,
You're one of the mugs that Wavell left behind him.