John H. Hall
AN ODE TO AN ACFV
A civilian went at half past nine
down towards the Cease Fire Line.
He took with him his buffalo three,
and got shot up by MMG.
He rushed along to the nearest post;
his face was as white as a bloody ghost.
He reported to the Captain there,
a lanky beggar all covered in hair.
The Captain wrote and with a cunning grin,
he filled some extra details in.
Quite a lengthy tale he made,
he even added a hand grenade.
He sent his report to B.H.Q.
The Adjutant added a thing or two.
Thirty soldiers there were seen,
All dressed in olive green.
The B.M. received this tale of woe,
it was enough to make the pallor show,
He also had a funny grin,
as he filled his Thursday’s SITREP in.
The report was sent to the UN team,
by this time it was quite a dream,
The OIC thought it a lot of tripe,
And went on playing his Scottish pipe.
The messages then flew thick and fast,
a joint investigation arranged at last.
It was decided that at half past three,
to meet down at the PCP.
The Indians came all spick and span;
you could tell that they were soldiers, man.
The PAKs were there in numbers few,
for a change they wore their uniforms too.
There among the heat and flies,
the UN listened to all the lies.
Notes were taken, statements made,
a dismissal was the price they paid.
To all you Milobs in Kashmir,
Do NOT believe all that you hear.
Close your mouths, open your eyes,
You’ll soon learn how to pick the lies.
Be careful what you have to say,
You could be P.N.G. any day.
Be nice to Commanders, curt with BMs,
And look for the day your twelve months ends.
Written in 1964 by Major John H. Hall