Tommy
Hello,
This is the first poem I ever learned. My Dad would
read this to me and I never tired of it. I have very
mixed feeling about Kipling. It is a good sound poem and
reads well. However I loath English Imperialism even now
after the fall of the Empire. This one I keep because of
what it says about the people who do the dirty little
jobs that no one else wants to do. That's me, the modern
day Tommy Atkins, of use today and completely disposable
tomorrow. Fortunately in my line of work there is always
someone else with a job that needs to be done.
Best wishes,
Barry
TOMMY
by Rudyard Kipling (with minor changes
by me.)
I went into a public-'ouse to fetch a
pint o'beer,
The publican 'e up and 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:
Oh 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, Mister
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'
their 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, ow's yer soul?"
Bit 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 cloak 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 the
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!
|
