Tommy this an’ Tommy that
Got this from Jim Algrant, a former colleague at CIA. I don’t know who the author is, but I have to share it:
They flew me ‘ome from Baghdad with a bullet in me chest.
Cos they’ve closed the army ‘ospitals, so now I’m NHS.
Yes, it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, and “You’re not welcome ‘ere”.
But when Saddam was collar’d, they was quick enough to cheer.
That nurse, she ain’t no Britisher an’ I know she ain’t impressed.
It’s like I’m some bloody ‘ooligan, who’s come off second best.
They’re proud when Tommy Atkins ‘olds the thin red line out there,
But now he’s wounded back at ‘ome, ‘he has to wait for care.
Some stranger in the next bed sez, “Don’t you feel no shame?
You kill my Muslim brothers, man!” So it’s me, not ‘im’s, to blame!
An’ then the cleaner ups an’ sez “What you fightin’ for?
It ain’t for Queen and country ‘cos it’s Bush’s bloody war!”
It’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, what’s that smell?”
But it’s “God go with you, Tommy,” when they fly us out to ‘ell.
O then we’re just like ‘eroes from the Army’s glorious past.
Yes, it’s “God go with you, Tommy,” when the trip might be your last.
They pays us skivvy wages, never mind we’re sitting ducks,
When clerks what’s pushing pens at ‘ome don’t know their flippin’ luck.
“Ah, yes” sez they, “but think of all the travel that yo ‘ad.”
Since when did Thomas Cook do ‘olidays in Baghdad ?
So it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, know your place,”
But it’s “Tommy go in front ,” when there’s terrorists to chase.
An’ the town is full of IEDs that’ll blow you up toot sweet.
Then, it’s “Sorry, Mr Atkins,” when they find you in the street.
That Gordon Brown‘s s’pposed to ‘ave a ‘covenant’, to treat us fair an’ square
But I ‘ad to buy me army boots, an’ me combats is threadbare.
An’ ‘alf the bloody choppers can’t get into the air,
An’ me rifle jammed when the snipers fired. That’s why I’m laid up ‘ere.
Oh, it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, “We ‘ave to watch the pence”;
But bold as brass the P.M. lies, “We spare them no expense.”
But let me tell you when they do us *really* proud – an’ pull out all the stops,
It’s when Tommy lands at Lyneham, in a polished wooden box.
Kipling would like this I think. Empire upholder or not, I doubt he would approve of today’s nonsense in Iraq. Come to think of it, Kipling lived to see the first British adventure in subduing Iraq in the 20′s. I wonder what he wrote about it?
It’s sad what these guys go through. These wars would have ended long ago if the elites hadn’t cauterized the parts of their hearts that were designed to answer to the cries of their working-class brethren.
I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag
Country Joe McDonald
http://www.countryjoe.com/feelmus.htm
Thomas-
Kipling wrote a poem called Mesopotamia in 1917.
It starts:
They shall not return to us, the resolute, the young,
The eager and whole-hearted whom we gave:
But the men who left them thriftily to die in their own dung,
Shall they come with years and honour to the grave?
Binky Mouse. Thanks so much for finding and sharing this. You sure are a good researcher. This poem is so affecting and applicable to the present situation that I’m printing it below.
They shall not return to us, the resolute, the young,
The eager and whole-hearted whom we gave:
But the men who left them thriftily to die in their own dung,
Shall they come with years and honour to the grave?
They shall not return to us, the strong men coldly slain
In sight of help denied from day to day:
But the men who edged their agonies and chid them in their pain,
Are they too strong and wise to put away?
Our dead shall not return to us while Day and Night divide -
Never while the bars of sunset hold.
But the idle-minded overlings who quibbled while they died,
Shall they thrust for high employments as of old?
Shall we only threaten and be angry for an hour?
When the storm is ended shall we find
How softly but how swiftly they have sidled back to power
By the favour and contrivance of their kind?
Even while they soothe us, while they promise large amends,
Even while they make a show of fear,
Do they call upon their debtors, and take counsel with their friends,
To confirm and re-establish each career?
Their lives cannot repay us – their death could not undo -
The shame that they have laid upon our race.
But the slothfulness that wasted and the arrogance that slew,
Shall we leave it unabated in its place?
Rudyard Kipling
pre1914:
Tommy (1890)
Recessional (1897)
writing directly elated to the First World War:
Prose -
Mary Postgate
The Gardener