#1
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War -Army anthem
"Over hill, over dale
as we hit the dusty trail, and the caissons go rolling along. In and out, hear them shout, counter march and right about and the caissons go rolling along. Then it's Hi! Hi! Hee! in the field artillery, shout out your numbers loud and strong, for where e'er you go you will always know that the caissons go rolling along. In the storm, in the night, action left or action right, see those caissons go rolling along. Limber front, limber rear, prepare to mount your cannoneer and the caissons go rolling along. Then it's Hi! Hi! Hee! in the field artillery, shout out your numbers loud and strong, for where e'er you go you will always know that the caissons go rolling along. Was it high, was it low, where the hell did that one go? As those caissons go rolling along. Was it left, was it right, now we won't get home tonight, and those caissons go rolling along. Then it's Hi! Hi! Hee! in the field artillery, shout out your numbers loud and strong, for where e'er you go you will always know that the caissons go rolling along that the caissons go rolling along that the caissons go rolling along." |
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#2
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I like Kipling better.
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East 'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier. Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, Serve, serve, serve as a soldier, So-oldier _of_ the Queen! Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may: A soldier what's fit for a soldier. Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . . First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts -- Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts -- An' it's bad for the young British soldier. Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . . When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt -- Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out, A' it crumples the young British soldier. Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . . But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead: You must wear your 'elmet for all that is said: If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead, An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier. Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . . If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; Be handy and civil, and then you will find That it's beer for the young British soldier. Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . . Now, if you must marry, take care she is old -- A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told, For beauty won't help if your rations is cold, Nor love ain't enough for a soldier. 'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . . If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! -- Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both, An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier. Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . . When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck, Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck, Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck And march to your front like a soldier. Front, front, front like a soldier . . . When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch; She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich, An' she'll fight for the young British soldier. Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . . When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, The guns o' the enemy wheel into line, Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, For noise never startles the soldier. Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . . If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white, Remember it's ruin to run from a fight: So take open order, lie down, and sit tight, And wait for supports like a soldier. Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . . When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. Go, go, go like a soldier, Go, go, go like a soldier, Go, go, go like a soldier, So-oldier _of_ the Queen! |
#3
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Des!
Fantootinfristic!!! |
#4
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Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool,
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule, With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgets It's only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you! So when we call round with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo! Jest send in your Chief an' surrender -- it's worse if you fights or you runs: You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don't get away from the guns! They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain't: We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the paint: We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the Afreedeeman fits, For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns . . . If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave; If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave. You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or fuss. D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns . . . The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' below, We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out on the rocks an' the snow, An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains The rattle an' stamp o' the lead-mules -- the jinglety-jink o' the chains -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns . . . There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit, An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit: With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' the sun off the snow in your face, An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er place -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns . . . Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin' cool, I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule. The monkey can say what our road was -- the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed. Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast -- 'Tss! 'Tss! For you all love the screw-guns -- the screw-guns they all love you! So when we take tea with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do -- hoo! hoo! Jest send in your Chief an' surrender -- it's worse if you fights or you runs: You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, but you can't get away from the guns |
#5
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Des -
Kinda just a day in the life ain't it... Somethin' tells me it was an artillery officer who saw to it the Army got that particular anthem, it'd be fascinating to learn exactly how that did come to pass... if you look at the Navy anthem, it's basically a football or sports "Fight Song" vs Army, rather than a song which carries the essence like it ought to (in my opinion)... which is why I chose to post the Navy HYMN in their "Sea" war forum. |
#6
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At the time the song was written, the great majority of general staff officers had come up through the artillery - being the most technical of the army trades at the time, and thus the best educated. I guess it isn't too surprising it ended up as the army anthem.
Kipling will always be the soldier's poet though.
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This space for hire. |
#7
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Des -
I often come back to this thread, where you wrote out the Kipling for us... just to read it again. |
#8
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"Fuzzy-Wuzzy"
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I'd rather be historically accurate than politically correct. |
#9
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Dear God in heaven
Preserve us all, in your infinite mercy. Cover with your precious hand our troopers, they who serve at the call. Guide and guard them in their duty, safe home, in one piece, please. |
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