Tag: Rudyard Kipling

GUNGA DIN

 

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 limping lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!

Hi! slippery 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-files shout,

‘Hi! ammunition-mules an’ Gunga Din!’

 

I sha’n’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 living Gawd that made you,

You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

 

Rudyard Kipling

JUST SO STORIES

HOW THE FIRST LETTER WAS WRITTEN

ONCE upon a most early time was a Neolithic man. He was not a Jute or an Angle, or even a Dravidian, which he might well have been, Best Beloved, but never mind why. He was a Primitive, and he lived cavily in a Cave, and he wore very few clothes, and he couldn’t read and he couldn’t write and he didn’t want to, and except when he was hungry he was quite happy. His name was Tegumai Bopsulai, and that means, ‘Man-who-does-not-put-his-foot-forward-in-a-hurry’; but we, O Best Beloved, will call him Tegumai, for short. And his wife’s name was Teshumai Tewindrow, and that means, ‘Lady-who-asks-a-very-many-questions’; but we, O Best Beloved, will call her Teshumai, for short. And his little girl-daughter’s name was Taffimai Metallumai, and that means, ‘Small-person-without-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked’; but I’m going to call her Taffy. And she was Tegumai Bopsulai’s Best Beloved and her own Mummy’s Best Beloved, and she was not spanked half as much as was good for her; and they were all three very happy. As soon as Taffy could run about she went everywhere with her Daddy Tegumai, and sometimes they would not come home to the Cave till they were hungry, and then Teshumai Tewindrow would say, ‘Where in the world have you two been to, to get so shocking dirty? Really, my Tegumai, you’re no better than my Taffy.’

Now attend and listen!

Rudyard Kipling

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the two shall meet,

Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;

But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,

When two strong men stand face to face, tho’ they come from the ends of the earth.

Rudyard Kipling

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

The silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool!

Rudyard Kipling

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

The silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool!

Rudyard Kipling

For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke.

The silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool!

Rudyard Kipling

TOMMY

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, 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’ 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, ‘ow’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;

⁠Yes it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;

⁠But Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool—you bet that Tommy sees!

 

Rudyard Kipling

 

 

For heathen heart that puts her trust

⁠In reeking tube and iron shard,

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

⁠And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,

For frantic boast and foolish word—

Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

(RECESSIONAL, Stanza 5)

Rudyard Kipling

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

⁠Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

⁠Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

(RECESSIONAL, Stanza 4)

Rudyard Kipling