I'm back! I had to take some time off from posting here to finish my short paper for my class. Hey! As soon as you people start giving me grades I'll shift my priorities! The paper was on Wake Island. I found it very interesting that it gave so many hope as they held out for the two weeks following the initial Japanese assault they repelled on 11 December. It gave people hope in a positive way in the same way that Pearl had done in a negative one. Wake was the inspiration of a nation, even after the capitulation on 23 December. Now, how many Americans out of a hundred could even place the name? Even for WWII scholars it is not as well studied as other battles such as Iwo Jima and Okinawa, Normandy and Anzio. There are some great books out there, however. The three main ones I looked at were Given Up for Dead, by Sloan, Facing Fearful Odds by Urwin, and Alamo of the Pacific by Wukovitz.
Back to poetry:
Here is one I really like. The author is Rudyard Kipling who is a phenomenal poet – although some may have trouble with the cockney accent written into some of his works. The one I wish to share today is one of the more familiar ones, Tommy. It was read to me by Col. John Allen (who is now a major general and assistant II MEF commander) when I went through the Basic School in Quantico (6 months of basic officer training after commissioning.) His point was that the military (especially prior to 9/11) is oftentimes put in the back of society. Like the junk yard dog that people are glad to have when needed, but not invited to parties, as it were. There is certainly more appreciation shown toward men and women in uniform today, but debate in the Senate would indicate that not everyone wants to go shake the hand of a returning vet, so to speak.
TOMMY (Poem) by Rudyard Kipling from Barrack-Room Ballads
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, Mr. 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 how'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;
But Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!