SUNSET OF THE EMPIRE.


In the great days of the British Empire, a new commanding officer
was sent to a South African bush outpost to relieve the retiring
colonel. After welcoming his replacement and showing the usual...
courtesies (gin and tonic, cucumber sandwiches, etc.) which protocol
decreed, the retiring colonel said, "You must meet my Adjutant,
Captain Smithers, he's my right-hand man and is really the strength
of this office. His talent is simply boundless."
Smithers was summoned and introduced to the new CO, who was
surprised to meet a hunchback, one eyed, toothless, hairless,
scabbed and pockmarked specimen of humanity, a particularly
unattractive man less than three feet tall.
"Smithers, old man, tell your new CO about yourself."
''Well, sir, I graduated with honours from Sandhurst, joined the
regiment and won the Military Cross and Bar after three expeditions
behind enemy lines. I've represented Great Britain in equestrian
events and won a Silver Medal in the middleweight division of the
Olympics. I have researched the history of . . ."
At that point, the colonel interrupted, "Yes, yes, never mind all
that Smithers, he can find all that in your file. Tell him about the
day you told the witch doctor to fuck off."

That is funny!

Sounds a lot like Trump, only in more polite terms.

Grizz

You may talk of gin + beer when you're quartered safe out here,when its always penny fights or Aldershot;but when it comes to slaughter,you do your work on water,+ ye'll like the bloomin boots of 'en whats got it. Now in this sunny clime,where I used to spend my time,A-servin of her majesty the queen,of all the blackfaced crew,The finest man I knew was our regimental bhisti ,Gunga Din.

O.K. Lads. Some of us had a formal education in the arts. I started this one from memory (I could do the whole thing but then no one else can play).So Please come on gents,in all honesty,without looking it up,can everyone complete the entire poem? Even a stanza is good. I am curious about the results.

Sounds like Kipling to me.

Gunga Din Related Poem Content Details
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,
He was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
‘Hi! Slippy hitherao
‘Water, get it! Panee lao,
‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
‘You put some juldee in it
‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute
‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ’is mussick on ’is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was 'Din! Din! Din!
‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;
‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,
‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
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!



Grizz

Right on the button Griz. Thanks for playing along.

Another favorite.

The Thousandth Man
By Rudyard Kipling

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it’s worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.

‘Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for ‘ee.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ’em go
By your looks or your acts or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him,
The rest of the world don’t matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings,
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ’em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man he’s worth ’em all,
Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong’s your wrong, and his right’s your right,
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men’s sight—
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can’t bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot—and after!

Another good one indeed,xgrunt. Now I wonder who will offer up "If".

Come on Lads,some one print 'IF".I could do it myself but but then just like with children;if you do it yourself,they will learn nothing.

Ok, I'll play, but just this once.

quote:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:


If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

"There are strange things done in the midnight sun, by men who moil for gold. (Oops, wrong author)

If you get "Military History Quarterly" magazine,this issue has an article in it about Robert Service.

Picked up a 1940 edition of "The Complete Poems of Robert Service" at a Junque Shop here in St Maries Idaho for $2. That's only a dollar an inch (thickness). The Cremation of Sam Magee has long been by favorite.

quote:

Originally posted by Les Staley:
Picked up a 1940 edition of "The Complete Poems of Robert Service" at a Junque Shop here in St Maries Idaho for $2. That's only a dollar an inch (thickness). The Cremation of Sam Magee has long been by favorite.

Robert Service was a bank employee in Whitehorse, knew his Yukon.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_W._Service


Grizz

There is an Austin musician (what else) name of Kurt Kempner that has put "The cremation of Sam Magee" to music.It's quite good actually.Maybe you can google it.I liked it enough to buy the album.

It may have been the album that my grandpa was listening to. He was intently interested in the developing story when "and there sat Sam looking cool and calm in the midst of the furnace roar" and he knew he'd been HAD. He just said "Hell!"

In that article about him in Military History Quarterly there is a photo of him arm in arm with Marlene Deitrich in a Hollywood lot.He looked pretty happy.