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11 Aug 09 - 10:44 AM (#2697715) Subject: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: Keith A of Hertford Tommy Atkins (with apologies to Kipling) Written by Patrick Campbell They flew me 'ome from Baghdad with a bullet in me chest. Cos they've closed the army 'ospitals, I'm in the NHS. The nurse, she ain't no Britisher an' so she ain't impressed. It's like I'm some street corner thug who's come off second best. Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "You're not welcome 'ere". But when Saddam was collar'd, they was quick enough to cheer. They're proud when Tommy Atkins 'olds the thin red line out there, But now he's wounded back at 'ome, he has to wait for care. Some stranger in the next bed sez, "Don't you feel no shame? You kill my Muslim brothers!" So it's me not 'im to blame! An' then the cleaner ups an' sez "Who are you fightin' for? It ain't for Queen and country 'cos it's Bush's bloody war!" It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, what's that smell?" But it's "God go with you, Tommy," when they fly us out to 'ell. O then we're just like 'eroes from the army's glorious past. Yes, it's "God go with you, Tommy," when the trip might be your last. They pays us skivvy wages, never mind we're sitting ducks, When clerks what's pushing pens at 'ome don't know their flippin' luck. "Ah, yes" sez they "but think of all the travel to be 'ad." Pull the other one. Does Cooks do 'olidays in Baghdad? It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, know your place," But it's "Tommy, take the front seat," when there's terrorists to chase . An' the town is full of maniacs who'd like you dead toot sweet. Yes, it's "Thank you, Mr Atkins," when they find you in the street. There's s'pposed to be a covynant to treat us fair an' square But I 'ad to buy me army boots, an' me combats is threadbare. An' 'alf the bloody 'elicopters can't get in the air, An' me pistol jammed when snipers fired. That's why I'm laid up 'ere. Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, "We 'ave to watch the pence"; Bold as brass the P.M. sez, "We spare them no expense. "But I'll tell you when they do us proud an' pull out all the stops, It's when Tommy lands at Lyneham in a bloomin' wooden box! |
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11 Aug 09 - 11:44 AM (#2697756) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: Micca Bloody 'ell Keith, Well done! the very spirit that Kipling was talking about, " Its Tommy this and Tommy that and Tommy 'ows yer soul but its thin red line of 'eroes when the drums begin to roll" Plus ca change, plus ca le meme chose |
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12 Aug 09 - 04:49 AM (#2698351) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: Keith A of Hertford Cheers Micca, but I do not even know the author, Patrick Campbell. |
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12 Aug 09 - 07:06 AM (#2698429) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: Leadfingers Excellent ! And I hope any one who uses it DOES credit Mr Campbell ! |
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12 Aug 09 - 08:49 AM (#2698485) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: alanabit It is certainly well written. |
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12 Aug 09 - 09:01 AM (#2698491) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: Barry Finn VERY WELL DONE Barry |
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12 Aug 09 - 11:46 AM (#2698588) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: terrier I wonder if Patrick Campbell also wrote THIS |
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12 Aug 09 - 05:59 PM (#2698920) Subject: RE: Lyr Add: New Tommy Atkins From: Gervase If I had the talent I'd like to do a new take on Kipling's Arithmetic on the Frontier: A GREAT and glorious thing it is To learn, for seven years or so, The Lord knows what of that and this, Ere reckoned fit to face the foe - The flying bullet down the Pass, That whistles clear: " All flesh is grass." Three hundred pounds per annum spent On making brain and body meeter For all the murderous intent Comprised in "villainous saltpetre". And after?- Ask the Yusufzaies What comes of all our 'ologies. A scrimmage in a Border Station- A canter down some dark defile Two thousand pounds of education Drops to a ten-rupee jezail. The Crammer's boast, the Squadron's pride, Shot like a rabbit in a ride! No proposition Euclid wrote No formulae the text-books know, Will turn the bullet from your coat, Or ward the tulwar's downward blow. Strike hard who cares - shoot straight who can The odds are on the cheaper man. One sword-knot stolen from the camp Will pay for all the school expenses Of any Kurrum Valley scamp Who knows no word of moods and tenses, But, being blessed with perfect sight, Picks off our messmates left and right. With home-bred hordes the hillsides teem. The troopships bring us one by one, At vast expense of time and steam, To slay Afridis where they run. The "captives of our bow and spear" Are cheap, alas! as we are dear. These days you can substitute a sack of fertiliser and a jerry full of diesel for the 10-rupee jezail, but the effect is just the same. Wise old bugger, Kipling. |