The lanky lad from northern town
stepped onto southern soil.
Alighting from a battered bus
into the midday boil.
His reception wasn't friendly
the greeting scorched the air.
"Line up you f-----g Yankees"
he heard a corporal swear.
The sweat froze on his forehead
he didn't blink an eye.
The sand fleas feasted on his neck
his skin began to fry.
The town was Beaufort-by-the-Sea
the boy thought it was hell.
Across the channel, Parris Isle
beckoned him to dwell.
Upon its hostile burning sand
for eternity it seemed.
Oh, what a sad mistake he made
this wasn't what he dreamed.
He marched and drilled on sandy soil
his flesh turned hard and lean.
And when the moon went down at last
he emerged, a proud marine.
Platoon #259: Nov 48 - Feb 49 Parris Island
Raymond Le Rendu