The Young V.A.D., approximately Christmas, 1916

Item — Box: 1, Folder: 3, item: 12

Identifier: 2010-064-3-12

Staff Only

Scope and Contents

A typewritten and mimeographed set of verses regarding the young women of the Voluntary Aid Detachment (VAD) in preparation for the Christmas show at St. Ignatius Hospital at Malta.

Transcript

The Young V. A. D.

1. I’m a young V. A. D. From far over the sea The pride of the Army and the R.A.M.C. I am guileless and simple (Just look at my dimple) No doubt of my charms you have heard. My hands are so neat As are also my feet My touch is so gentle, my voice is so sweet I can dress you, caress you Or anything, bless you I hope you’re not doubting my word.

2. I was dreadfully bored When the fighting abroad Fired Cuthbert and Clarence and dear little Claude And I thought that I too Must find something to do Tho’ at first my dear parents demurred So I learned to cook grub And to rub and scrub And I’m sure in a pinch I could give you a tub. I can dress you, caress you Or anything, bless you I hope you’re not doubting my word.

When upon the first day In my Uniform grey I, in front of my mirror, myself did survey I looked more “fit to kill” Than to succor the ill Tho’ there’s nothing blood-thirsty inferred— It’s a duck of akit And an excellent fit For we like to look fetching when doing out bit When we dress you, caress you Or anything, bless you I hope you’re not doubting my word.

4. I feared in Malta My courage might falter But hear that Ignatius may lead to the altar On fine starry nights When the Garden invites This notion’s not wholly absurd There’s a bit of a scoff When I ask for time off But I can work sometimes so there’s no need to cough I can dress you, caress you Or anything, bless you I hope you’re not doubting my word.

5. Now I feared with my song I had kept you too long But they made me do something to help them along We must all make a foo Of ourselves – it’s the rule And its part of the xmastide fare Now you’ve had your fill But don’t dare to be ill Or to-morrow your M.O. will order a pill And we’ll have to nurse you And probably curse you For having a Xmas pain ----- there!