But on the up side, we lived in barrack rooms rather than tents, and if they were pretty spartan and decrepit, still they were an improvement. The food was awful, but that was true of Canungra as well. Mostly, the punishment bit was the boredom—there were no obstacle courses to run over, nor truck ambushes (nor trucks) nor firing ranges to create variety. But the weather was far better, more temperate instead of the oppressive heat and humidity of Queensland. To spend the next month lounging about at Holdsworthy seemed a far preferable option to doing that month at Canungra.

There was a young man from Kildare,
Who took a young maid on the stair,
At the thirty-third stroke,
The banister broke,
And he finished her off in mid-air.
…and…
There was a young girl from Aberystwyth
Who took grain to the mill to get grist with.
The miller’s son Jack,
Laid her flat on her back
And united the parts that they pissed with.
…and…
There was a young man from Belgrave,
Who kept a dead whore in a cave.
Now it took lots of pluck
To have such a cold fuck,
But think of the money he saved.
…and…
There was a young fella from Horsham,
Who took off his knackers to wash ‘em
His mother said, Jack,
If you don’t put ‘em back,
I’ll step on the buggers and squash ‘em
…and…
A daring young poofta from Broome,
Took a prostitute up to his room.
But they argued all night
About who had the right
To do what, and how, and to whom.
…and…
     sorry, no more. Just a selection of favourites from Baring-Gould’s wonderful compilation—The Lure of the Limerick. (To be honest, I didn’t actually check if any of them were in fact in his book, but I’ll bet they are.)