We talk of great victories won in the west

      And of when release comes and those we love best

      We listen to hear the most incredible tales

      The beatings we get take the wind from our sails

      The one thing we're sure of and it's not very nice

      At each meal we're fed with nothing but RICE.


      We scrounge from the swill bins, an undesirable source

      But you'll do things like that when you're hungry, of course

      Our Officers in charge often wrangle in vain

      But the Nips in command, show only disdain

      In this situation its like the throw of a dice

      But a near damn certainty we'll only get RICE.


      We seize what we can every day through the wire

      But its not very much or what we desire

      Who ever thought we would see Brigadiers

      Grabbing buns through the bars like Regents Park bears

      But its wrong to label such gluttony a vice

      When all you get fed with is a bowl of boiled RICE.


      We've no blankets or clothes and we sleep on the floor

      No windows to close and worse still, there's no door

      A problem severe and not easy to resolve

      Is the one of hygiene and there are others to solve

      But who gives a damn for the menace of lice

      The one thing that matters is a meal other than RICE.


Anonymous 1942 -1945

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