The Volunteer

Robert Service | Robert Service

[Clive]

Sez I: My Country calls? Well, let it call.
I grins perlitely and declines wiv thanks.
Go, let 'em plaster every blighted wall,
'Ere's ONE they don't stampede into the ranks.
Them politicians with their greasy ways;
Them empire-grabbers -- fight for 'em? No fear!
I've seen this mess a-comin' from the days
Of Algyserious and Aggydear:
I've felt me passion rise and swell,
But . . . wot the 'ell, Bill? Wot the 'ell?

Sez I: My Country? Mine? I likes their cheek.
Me mud-bespattered by the cars they drive,
Wot makes my measly thirty bob a week,
And sweats red blood to keep meself alive!
Fight for the right to slave that they may spend,
Them in their mansions, me 'ere in my slum?
No, let 'em fight wot's something to defend:
But me, I've nothin' -- let the Kaiser come.
And so I cusses 'ard and well,
But . . . wot the 'ell, Bill? Wot the 'ell?

Sez I: If they would do the decent thing,
And shield the missis and the little 'uns,
Why, even _I_ might shout "God save the King",
And face the chances of them 'ungry guns.
But we've got three, another on the way; <
It's that wot makes me snarl and set me jor:
The wife and nippers, wot of 'em, I say,
If I gets knocked out in this blasted war?
Gets proper busted by a shell,
But . . . wot the 'ell, Bill? Wot the 'ell?

Ay, wot the 'ell's the use of all this talk?
To-day some boys in blue was passin' me,
And some of 'em they 'ad no legs to walk,
And some of 'em they 'ad no eyes to see.
And -- well, I couldn't look 'em in the face,
And so I'm goin', goin' to declare
I'm under forty-one and take me place
To face the music with the bunch out there.
A fool, you say! Maybe you're right.
I'll 'ave no peace unless I fight.
I've ceased to think; I only know
I've gotta go, Bill, gotta go.

[nathanbedford]

TOMMY

by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

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!

[Glock22]

THE DAY OF BATTLE
H.e. Housman

Far I hear the bugles blow
To call me where I would not go,
And the guns begin the song:
Soldier, fly! Or stay for long.

Comrade, if to turn and fly
Made a soldier never die,
Fly I would, for who would not?
‘Tis sure no pleasure to be shot.

But since the lad who runs away
Lives to die another day,
And cowards’ funerals, when they come,
Are not mourned so well at home,

Therefore, though the best is bad,
Stand and do your best, my lad.
Stand and fight, and see your slain,
And take the bullet in your brain.

[Clive]

We honour the fallen but have a tendency to forget the wounded.

We have an obligation to spend whatever it takes to help a wounded warrior to live as nearly a normal life as possible, Yet, we have instances of returned wounded warriors needing such things as wheel chair ramps on their homes being nitpicked by government bean counters.

We have an obligation to treat, and with respect, the returned veteran suffering PTSD, yet we have instances of some being left to their own devices and even being shunned.

Things have greatly improved since Kipling wrote "Tommy" but we still have a distance to go. Tommy Atkins deserves better even today.

[onona]

The Star Spangled Banner
by Francis Scott Key

Oh! say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming;
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze o’er the towering steep
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam;
Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
‘Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh! long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is the band who so vauntingly swore,
‘Mid the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,
A home and a country they’d leave us no more?
Their blood hath washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution;
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war’s desolation;
Blessed with victory and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, “In God is our trust”:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

[central_va]

"The principle for which we contend is bound to reassert itself, though it may be at another time and in another form."

          - Jeff Davis Pres, CSA

=============================================

I'm a Good Ole Rebel.

          - Major Innes Randolph CSA  

Oh, I'm a good old rebel,
Now that's just what I am,
And for this Yankee nation,
I do no give a damn.
I'm glad I fought a ganner,
I only wish we won.
I aint asked any pardon for anything I've done.

I hates the yankee nation and everything they do.
I hates the declaration of independence, too.
I hates the glorious union, just dripping with our blood.
I hates the striped banner, and fitted all I could

I road with Robert E. Lee,
For three years, thereabout.
Got wounded in four places,
And I starved at point lookout.
I caught the Rheumatism
Campin' in the snow.
But I killed a chance of Yankees
And I'd like to kill some more.

3 hundred thousand Yankees
Is stiff in southern dust.
We got 3 hundred thousand


Before they conquered us
They died of Southern Fever
And southern steel and shot
I wish there were 3 million
Instead of what we got.
I can't pick up my musket
And fight 'um down no more
But I ain't gonna love 'um
Now that is certain sure
And I don't want no pardon
For what I was and am
I won't be reconstructed
And I do not give a damn

Oh, I'm a good old rebel,
Now that's just what I am,
And for this Yankee nation,
I do no give a damn.
I'm glad I fought a ganner,
I only wish we won.
I aint asked any pardon for anything I've done.
I aint asked any pardon for anything I've done.

[Tainan]

A Kit Carson Scout

He was a Chieu Hoi, a turncoat, a "Kit Carson Scout".
Ironically, his name was Nam!
I would have never believed an NVA soldier would become my friend!
Yet he did!
He was twenty-one years old and was a six-year combat veteran!
His fervor to serve with us was hellbent extreme!
I once asked him why I should trust him?
And he told me of how the NVA tortured and killed his elderly parents
For not letting them draft his thirteen year old brother
Their only means means of working the farm!
A few days later he saved me from an ambush!
He taught me how to read Charlie's signs in rocks and trees!
And how to listen to insects to stay alive!
When a fire fight broke out Nam always came running to the front!
He fought like ten "Rock Soldiers" possessed!
His bravery was beyond amazing!
He was a hardened warrior, with Ninja skill and an Iron Will!
But most of all, he was my friend!
He called me "Chicago" (chi-ka-goo)and dreamed of going there!
He'd stare at post cards of the big city for hours, asking a hundred questions!
The last time I saw Nam was when a chopper lifted me out of the Bush,
As it climbed to no more than twenty feet in the air I saw Nam on the ground.
For the first time with tears on his hard face, waving and shouting, "Bye, Chi-ka-goo, bye"!
I've often wondered if my friend made it out, and if so, where is he?
Nam, a Kit Carson Scout, a Warrior and a Friend, love ya Bro - Chicago!
-
Pete "the Greek" Agriostathes - B/1/501

Poetry of the Vietnam War

[Traveler59]

For my fellow Veterans:

No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

William Shakespeare