All Is Secure ...

[owdun]

Now this is a chance to show that service people are not hard faced ,thick, without finer feelings. Keep it up boys and girls, it's absolutely brilliant.


Aye Owdun.

[Kat =^..^=]

I wander around the silent creepy house alone
And think about all the noises, sights and sounds
That shatters through the circled room of my mind
Knowing that I have no safe place to hide

The shrieks the screams the hideous noises
My soul runs from the pain it causes
I must find a hole a cave a cupboard
A place where I can escape the torment
The agonises of shame wash me like a torrent
I thrash I crawl I pray to God
Please I beg you don’t let this be my lot

I tried to help them I really did
I tried to stop them I really did
But the blue lid I was wearing
Meant I had to turn the other cheek
I thought I was supposed to help
The women children the mild and the meek

Your God forsaken was this place
I wanted to leave with utmost haste
Leave behind the grime the dirt the hate
To get on board and shut the gate
There was no train, no boat, no plane
This hell mouth place was driving me insane

I wake up I hear the noises
The shrieks
The screams
The hideous noises
My soul runs from the pain it causes

Hideous Noises Author Unknown ...

[kwew]

I was just wondering if any of you O&B had had a go at writing anything yourselves? I sure if you were to share it no one would take the mic.
just an idea.

[Guest]

Bootneck, that's a very lovely poem I'm sure the woman to whom you've wrote it will think so too ...

:lilangel:

thanks sticky and Kat, she told me it brought a tear, but i shall not name her, her honour i shall defend,

right, now down the pub

[harry hackedoff]

You big romantic bastard, T
The boy stood on the burning deck
He went all a-quiver
He gave a cough, his leg fell off,
and floated down the river

Now that is poetry

[harry hackedoff]

Here`s three of Brother Rudyard`s


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 limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! Slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao! [Bring water swiftly.]
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!" [Mr. Atkins's equivalent for "O brother."]
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 [Be quick.]
Or I'll marrow you this minute [Hit you.]
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, [Water-skin.]
'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-ranks shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan'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 livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!



Mandalay
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .

I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!



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;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

[Guest]

H, i must be getting soft in my old age, violins please.

[Guest]

You big romantic bastard, T
The boy stood on the burning deck
He went all a-quiver
He gave a cough, his leg fell off,
and floated down the river

Now that is poetry

Sure is HH, sure is, keep em coming.

[Shoulderholster]

Death passed me by,but I.
Caught his swift glance and knew
He saw me too.

When shall we meet again
In the soft April rain ?
When the first swallows wing ?
In time of havesting ?
It may be then :
When the last lacquered leaf falls to the mud beneath ?

When in a time of woe
All the land lies in snow ?
Then perhaps then.

This do I know,we shall
Meet,but I know not now
What time - or how.


Anon Commando on Vis Island 1944


SH

[harry hackedoff]

True enough mate, we all have a date.

Talking to Loz about Kippling, she said she`d never been Kippled, thank you very much.
When I mentioned Dickens, she knee-ed me in the bollocks and threw me for Ippon
Said she`d never been to one, " I`m not that kind of girl, I`ll have you know"

[harry hackedoff]

PS Just exactly what type of girl am I??? I've never managed to work that one out yet....any help would be appreciated

I shall adopt a policy of "Don`t ask, don`t tell"

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Picking his nose, like mad
Rolling it into little balls,
And flicking it at his dad

My groin still hurts, even after all this time
Er, from contact with your knee, obviously

Kin hot tonight, 20 plus, forecast 39-40 tomorrow. Mrs H is down to one vest and no socks in bed must be warm She spends all her working life in Maternity or Geriatric wards and was wearing a fleece at a barby,last Sunday. Mind you, it was only 35
Off for a Bundy, see you all tomorrow
Aye,

[harry hackedoff]

She stood there bright as the sun on that California coast
He was a midwestern boy on his own
She looked at him with those soft eyes, so innocent and blue
He knew right then he was too far from home

What`s that from

[Contractor]

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

[harry hackedoff]

Contractor, lots of coverage, down here, of recent trench system and bodies found. Their Name Liveth For Ever More, Aye,

Lobster, correct, I defy anyone to listen to that piece of poetry whilst driving or riding a bike, and not be "moved" far in excess of the legal limit
She took his hand and she led him along that golden beach
They watched the waves tumble over the sand
They drove for miles and miles up those twisting turning roads
Higher and higher they climbed

And those Hollywood nights
In those Hollywood hills
She was looking so right
In her diamonds and frills
All those big city lights
In those high rolling hills
Above all the lights
She had all the right skills

Night after night and day after day it went on and on
Then came the morning he woke up alone
He spent all night staring down at the lights of LA
Wondering if he could ever go home

She had all the right skills

reminds me of you in your "cutting up dead things" stage. boning, jointing, filleting and sales presentation with personality plus Haw Haw Haw
As you read the words, that drumming, pulsing beat as Bob sings his way through the story, really gets you. I can hear it now in my head. Bet you can, too
Easy, Aye,

[Artist]

Kwew

The little poem that I typed was written by myself many moons ago. 1976 in fact!

It is based on fact as I was on Crimbo rear party with a mate as we had taken our leave early to have a fortnight in Spain as you do.

He stood there at the toilet door,
His bottom lip a quiver,
His 20p had rolled away,
So he'd followed through, as you do,
When drinking rum and bitters.

Another Artistic classic! Based on fact.

Artist