Danny Deever

[Bill Smy]

Some more Kipling for you young guys who lack the refinements of a good education.
===============

DANNY DEEVER

"WHAT are the bugles blowin‘ for? " said Files-on-Parade.
"To turn you out, to turn you out," the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes you look so white, so white? " said Files-on-Parade.
"I‘m dreadin‘ what I‘ve got to watch," the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they‘re hangin‘ Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play
The regiment‘s in ‘ollow square - they‘re hangin‘ him to-day;
They‘ve taken of his buttons off an‘ cut his stripes away,
An‘ they‘re hangin‘ Danny Deever in the mornin‘.
"What makes the rear-rank breathe so ‘ard? " said Files-on-Parade.
"It‘s bitter cold, it‘s bitter cold," the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What makes that front-rank man fall down? " said Files-on-Parade.
"A touch o‘ sun, a touch o‘ sun," the Colour-Sergeant said.
They are hangin‘ Danny Deever, they are marchin‘ of ‘im round,
They ‘ave ‘alted Danny Deever by ‘is coffin on the ground;
An‘ e‘ll swing in ‘arf a minute for a sneakin‘ shootin‘ hound
0 they‘re hangin‘ Danny Deever in the mornin‘!

" ‘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‘.

"What‘s that so black agin the sun? " said Files-on-Parade.
"It‘s Danny fightin‘ ‘ard for life," the Colour-Sergeant said.
"What‘s that that whimpers over‘ead? " said Files-on-Parade.
"It‘s Danny‘s soul that‘s passin‘ now," the Colour-Sergeant said.
For they‘re done with Danny Deever, you can ‘ear the quickstep play
The regiment‘s in column, an‘ they‘re marchin‘ us away;
Ho! the young recruits are shakin‘, an‘ they‘ll want their beer to-day,
After hangin‘ Danny Deever in the mornin‘.

 

[Mo` fella]

Another good one...

Bill, can you recommend a book of Kipling‘s work?

 

[Tyrnagog]

Very nice, Smy..

But then, I have always been partial to Kiplings work.

{excerpt from 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, [Water-skin.]
‘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-files 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 ****ed souls,
An‘ I‘ll get a swig in **** 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!

 

[Bill Smy]

Mo'fella

Try this web site

 

[Slim]

Thanks Bill

When reading star ship troopers I had always wondered what (or who) Danny Deever was. Now I know.

Slim

 

[Art Johnson]

Re Rudyard Kipling. I have a book "The Works of Kipling" published by Black's Readers Service Company that is very good unfortunately it is more than 50 years old and undoubtedly out of print. Try Abes Books on the internet they have more than 700 pages of books by Kipling ranging in price from 1$ to over $8000

 

[Steel Badger]

I was introduced to Kipling on my ISCC in '85. My section commander was devoted to improving our knowledge of all things military....preferrable while we were in the pushup position.....

"You can talk of gin and beer when you're quartered safe out here...ONE Master Corporal"
"Or at your petty fights an Aldershotit...TWO MCPL!!"

 

[a_majoor]

Tommy
by Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public house to get a pint of cheer.
The owner up and says, "We serve no Red Coats here".
The girls behind the bar, they laughed and giggled fit to die.
I'm out into the street again and to myself says I;

O it's Tommy this, and Tommy that, an Tommy go away.
But it's "Thank you mister Adkins", when the band begins to play.
The band begins to play my boys, the band begins to play.
O it's "Thank you mister Adkins, when the band begins to play.

Yes, making mock of uniforms that guard you while you sleep.
Is cheaper than them uniforms, and they are starving cheap.
An hustlin drunken soldiers when they're going large a bit.
Is five times better than parading in full kit.

Then it's Tommy this, and Tommy that, and "Tommy, own your soul"?
But it's "thin red line of heroes, when the drums begin to roll.
The drums begin to roll, by boys, the drums begin to roll.
O it's "thin red line of heroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red heroes, nor we aren't no back guards too.
But single men in barracks, most remarkably like you.
And if sometimes our conduct ain't all you fancy paints.
Why, single men in barracks don's grow into plaster saints.

While it's Tommy this, and Tommy that, and Tommy fall be'end.
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir, when there's trouble in the wind.
There's trouble in the wind, by 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 better food for us, and schools, and fires, and all.
We'll wait for extra 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's disgrace.

For it's Tommy this, and Tommy that, and "chunk him out, the bruit".
But it's "Savior of this country" when the guns begin to shoot.
And it's Tommy this and Tommy that, and anytime you please.
And Tommy ain't  a blooming fool  - you bet that Tommy sees.


Johnny Canuck sees too....

 

[Steel Badger]

Check a wee buik called Mr Kipling's Army.

A great wee work on the traditions and (often hilarious) experiences of the old British Army (Pre WW1)


A sterling investment.

 

[Slim]

Seems like Kiplking had the right of it even way back then...Despite the fact that he lost his own son who was, in fact, a soldier too.

Slim

 

[a_majoor]

Music lyrics in somewhat of the same vein

From the Album "Setting Sons" (1979) by the British group "The Jam"

Little Boy Soldier

Its funny how you never knew what my name was,
Our only contact was a form for the election.
These days I find that you don't listen,
These days I find that we're out of touch,
These days I find that I'm too busy,
So why the attention now you want my assistance -
What have you done for me.
You've gone and got yourself in trouble,
No you want me to help you out.
These days I find that I can't be bothered,
These days I find that its all too much,
To pick up a gun and shoot a stranger,
But I've got no choice so here I come - war games.
I'm up on the hills, playing little boy soldiers,
Reconnaissance duty up at 5:30.
Shoot shoot shoot and kill the natives,
You're one of us and we love you for that.
Think of honour, Queen and country,
You're a blessed son of the British Empire,
God's on our side and so is Washington.
Come out on the hills with the little boy soldiers.
Come on outside - I'll sing you a lullaby,
Or tell a tale of how goodness prevailed.
We ruled the world - we killed and robbed,
The ******* lot - but we don't feel bad.
It was done beneath the flag of democracy,
You'll believe and I do - yes I do - yes I do -
yes I do -
These days I find that I can't be bothered,
To argue withthem well what's the point,
Better to take your shots and drop down dead,
then they send you home in a pine overcoat
With a letter to your mum
Saying find enclosed one son - one medal and a note -
to say "We won"

 

[Bill Smy]

Why do you march old man,
With medals on your chest?
Why do you grieve old man, for
The friends you laid to rest?
Why do your eyes still gleam old man,
When you hear the bugles blow?
Tell me, why do you cry old man,
For those days so long ago?

I'll tell you why I march with medals on my chest,
I'll tell you why I grieve young man,
For those I laid to rest.
Through misty fields of gossamer silk come visions of distant times
When the boys of tender age marched forth
To distant lines.

We buried them in a blanket shroud,
Their young flesh scorched and blackened,
A communal grave, newly gouged in blood stained
Gorse and bracken;
And you ask me why I march young man â “
I march to remind you all.
That for those apple-blossomed youths, you'd
Never have known freedom at all.

Anonymous
Published in â Å“This Englandâ ?, Autumn 2000

 

[Slim]

And you ask me why I march young man â “
  I march to remind you all.
That for those apple-blossomed youths, you'd
  Never have known freedom at all.

 

[Veterans son]

Why do you march old man,
With medals on your chest?
Why do you grieve old man, for
The friends you laid to rest?
Why do your eyes still gleam old man,
When you hear the bugles blow?
Tell me, why do you cry old man,
For those days so long ago?

I'll tell you why I march with medals on my chest,
I'll tell you why I grieve young man,
For those I laid to rest.
Through misty fields of gossamer silk come visions of distant times
When the boys of tender age marched forth
To distant lines.

We buried them in a blanket shroud,
Their young flesh scorched and blackened,
A communal grave, newly gouged in blood stained
Gorse and bracken;
And you ask me why I march young man â “
I march to remind you all.
That for those apple-blossomed youths, you'd
Never have known freedom at all.

Anonymous
Published in â Å“This Englandâ ?, Autumn 2000

Thank you for posting the poem!

 

[Steel Badger]

The Digger's Legacy

by Eric Bogle..
Author of The Green Fields of France and The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.

Did you think that we'd forget you mate;
With the slow march of the years;
That as time passed, we'd wipe the slate,
Of your sorrow and your tears?
Did you think we'd scorn your sacrifice,
Find no honour in the debt?
When your lives paid our freedom's price.....
How then, could we forget?

A soldier stands in every town, on solemn, sad parade;
And beneath his feet, as the years roll round;
The names there slowy fade,
While around him in the warm embrace;
Of the freedom he defended,
A nation full of pride and place;
Reaches for the vision splendid!.

Did you think we'd take for granted;
All you fought, to keep alive,
That the seed your spirit, planted
Would struggle to survive...
While Mothers, Fathers, daughters, sons
Spent their blood and sweat and tears;
To nourish a peace so dearly won;
How then, could we forget?

 

[SHARP WO]

Were knights of the round table, we dance whenever were able, we do routines...... Sorry thats the quest for the Holy Grail.

SHARP WO

 

[Steel Badger]

Forgot the chorus...


And that's the digger's legacy...
the freedom we hold yet...
We never can repay them,
And we never should forget..




(A "Digger" is an Aussie Soldier)



Below are two Memorials for our own WW1 Fallen penned by Kipling in 1919...


TWO CANADIAN MEMORIALS


      I

We giving all gained all.
Neither lament us nor praise.
Only in all things recal,
it is Fear, not death that Slays....

    II



From little towns in a far land we came,
To save our honour and a world aflame.
By little towns in a far land we sleep,
And trust that world we won to you to keep!