Some Hack With The Unlikely Name of Rudyard Wrote This

[Subdeacon Joe]

Some doggerel by a hack poet named Kipling:

Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,

The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."

The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,

I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:

O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";

But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,

The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,

O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,

They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;

They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,

But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";

But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,

The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,

O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep

Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;

An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit

Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"

But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,

The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,

O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,

Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;

While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",

But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,

There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,

O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:

We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.

Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face

The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"

But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;

An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;

An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

[Steel-eye Steve SASS #40674]

He also wrote: “If any question why we died. Tell them, because our fathers lied...

[MizPete]

Wow.  Now I gotta take another look at Kipling.

[Forty Rod SASS 3935]

That is one of my all time favorite poems.  Thanks.

[Marshal Mo Hare, SASS #45984]

1 hour ago, Forty Rod SASS 3935 said:

That is one of my all time favorite poems.  Thanks.

I’ve no doubt Tom

[Charlie Harley, #14153]

Kipling was a master of the soldiers’ poetry.

 

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;
She's human as you are - you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

 

The whole poem if interested:  http://www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poems_youngbrit.htm

 

[Charlie Harley, #14153]

Another great stanza...

 

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

[Alpo]

I learned of this one in STARSHIP TROOPERS. That hack could certainly put some words together.

 

 

‘’Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

‘I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,’ said Files-on-Parade.

‘’E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.

      They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,

      For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’—you must look ’im in the face;

      Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,   

      While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

[Duffield, SASS #23454]

Posted in the SF Mess hall at Cao Lan:

 

"It is not good for the Christian health to harry the Asian brown.

For the Christian riles and the Asian smiles and he weareth the Christian down.

At the end of the fight is a tombstone white with the name of the late deceased.

And the epithet clear 'A fool lies here who tried to hustle the East.' "

[Utah Bob #35998]

http://lazybobranch.homestead.com/POMES/StandTo.html

[Utah Bob #35998]

I sometimes channel Mr Kipling's spirit I think. Can't help it.

http://lazybobranch.homestead.com/POMES/Defiance.html

 

[Charlie Harley, #14153]

24 minutes ago, Utah Bob #35998 said:

I sometimes channel Mr Kipling's spirit I think. Can't help it.

http://lazybobranch.homestead.com/POMES/Defiance.html

 

Dammit, UB. Your pome made  the allergies kick in. 

 

[Pat Riot]

O Captain! My Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

                         But O heart! heart! heart!

                            O the bleeding drops of red,

                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

 

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

                         Here Captain! dear father!

                            This arm beneath your head!

                               It is some dream that on the deck,

                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!

                            But I with mournful tread,

                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,

                                  Fallen cold and dead.

 

[Charlie Harley, #14153]

Thank you, Pat. I’ve never heard the whole poem. Just the scene from a Dead Poets Society. 

 

Knowing the whole poem makes the movie scene more poignant. 

[Trailrider #896]

"A Sneider squibbed in the forest,

   someone laughed and fled

And the men of the First Shikkari

  picked up their subaltern, dead.

W' a neat blue 'ole in 'is forehead,

  an the back blown out of 'is 'head!"