[.cnI redruM]

This deserves a Rudyard Kipling Posting:

Cells
I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick,
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking the Corporal's eye.
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt --
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.

I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where -- and I don't care -- my belt and my tunic goed;
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to wear,
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll keep it there!

My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard,
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room -- it's that that cuts so hard.
I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain,
But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll do it again!
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

[johnb838]

"So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B. For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

Funny, my daddy never taught me THAT one. Didn't learn of it in school either... hmmm...

[FreedomPoster]

Actually, if we're posting Kipling, I think this is more apropos; Fallujah comes to mind. It often seems we have forgotten these lessons:

The Grave of the Hundred Head
by Rudyard Kipling

There's a widow in sleepy Chester

Who weeps for her only son;

There's a grave on the Pabeng River,

A grave that the Burmans shun;

And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri

Who tells how the work was done.

A Snider squibbed in the jungle-

Somebody laughed and fled,

And the men of the First Shikaris

Picked up their Subaltern dead,

With a big blue mark in his forehead

And the back blown out of his head.

Subadar Prag Tewarri,

Jemadar Hira Lal,

Took command of the party,

Twenty rifles in all,

Marched them down to the river

As the day was beginning to fall.

They buried the boy by the river,

A blanket over his face-

They wept for their dead Lieutenant,

The men of an alien race-

They made a samadh¹ in his honour,

A mark for his resting-place.

For they swore by the Holy Water,

They swore by the salt they ate,

That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib

Should go to his God in state,

With fifty file of Burmans

To open him Heaven's Gate.

The men of the First Shikaris

Marched till the break of day,

Till they came to the rebel village

The village of Pabengmay-

A jingal² covered the clearing,

Caltrops hampered the way.

Subadar Prag Tewarri,

Biddin₈ them load with ball,

Halted a dozen rifles

Under the village wall;

Sent out a flanking-party

With Jemadar Hira Lal.

The men of the First Shikaris

Shouted and smote and slew,

Turning the grinning jingal

On to the howling crew.

The Jemadar's flanking-party

Butchered the folk who flew.

Long was the morn of slaughter,

Long was the list of slain,

Five score heads were taken,

Five score heads and twain;

And the men of the First Shikaris

Went back to their grave again,

Each man bearing a basket

Red as his palms that day,

Red as the blazing village-

The village of Pabengmay

And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets

Reddened the grass by the way

They made a pile of their trophies

High as a tall man's chin,

Head upon head distorted,

Set in a sightless grin,

Anger and pain and terror

Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin.

Subadar Prag Tewarri

Put the head of the Boh

On the top of the mound of triumph,

The head of his son below-

With the sword and the peacock banner

That the world might behold and know.

Thus the samadh was perfect,

Thus was the lesson plain

Of the wrath of the First Shikaris-

The price of white man slain;

And the men of the First Shikaris

Went back into camp again.

Then a silence came to the river,

A hush fell over the shore,

And Bohs that were brave departed,

And Sniders squibbed no more;

For the Burmans said

That a white man's head

Must be paid for with heads five-score.

[itsLUCKY2B]

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!