Poem written by Eric while in Singapore.

I'm sick of the Chink and the Tartar
I'm tired of the Jap and Malay,
And far away spots on this Planet
Are no place for yours truly to stay

I've had enough of undersized chicken
And milk that comes out of a can,
The East is no place to stick it
For this particular man.

I'm weary of curry and rice, all
Mingled with highly spiced dope,
I'm tired of bathing in Lysol
And washing with Carbolic Soap.

I'm fed up with itchy diseases
Mosquitoes, vermin and flies,
I'm fed up with tropical breezes
And sunshine that dazzles the eyes.

Oh Lord for a wind with a tingle
An atmosphere zestful and keen,
Oh Lord once again there to mingle
With crowds who are white folk and clean.

To eat without fear of infection
To sleep without using a net,
And throw away all my collection
Of Iodine, Quinine et-cet.

To hear all the noise and bustle
The hurry and fret of the West,
I'd trade all the Orient glamour
That damned lying poets suggest.

They speak of the East as enthralling
There may be a small truth in that,
But what is the use of my "stalling"
I'm completely "browned off" so that's that.

So roll on that glorious morning
when someone shall walk up and say,
Get your kit bags and junk all together
Tomorrow you'll be on your way.