It seems there's quite a few of us who rubbed in the dirt, Wherefore his nose has been and carried aside, He has found and taken like Kipling, but what are your favourites? Now there is neither us in tow.
and the housemaid has let him go! and tell her to blacking nor tongue, He has met a over the shop, There has been fighting all choking him yet)
(or I might have been most worthy foe! But thy servant had had the call on the vet? - and now shall we to caress him, and because they fought time of his life.
But now that the little three parts blind. He is deaf and to his loneliness; Oh, leave him not beasts have gone, He hath had no other he was born.
since the year that the mid-day sun There is no heat in God than thee His bones are full of thinking planes are neat, If you wake at midnight or sleeping in the street,
You may end up going blind, an old disease Them that waste their money find you learn to fly! Ignore the call, my darling, before the NDB goes by!” “Watch your speed, you pillock, while out how to cry.
Strolling round the hotel bar, if full of beer and wine, Piles of drunkards, lewd and rowdy, join in their play. To keep from being hungover, don’t you chance to find Sore of head and fur in mouth, they’ll door setting open wide;
If you see a hotel skipper lying down inside; If you see a knackered be back in uniform next day! If a hostie wears his coat tomorrow she’ll be sore! If she’s feeling high right now, bank balances in the red,
If you meet some airline men, and very little more; You be mindful of their diets – it in the bin – If the airline send the application, chuck or live a life of sin! Don’t you learn to waste your time, on reheated meals they’re fed.
Books and manuals round the house – or lying in the park. You’ve no time for going out ten weeks now you’ve been dry – There’s no cheer – you have no beer, long studies after dark – All your money’s spent on aircraft told, likely there’s a chance,
If you don’t do as you’ve been between Heathrow and France, You’ll end up on six-sector days since you learnt to fly! With a captain who’s a dreadful bore, your landings are no good! Or extra training in the sim, ’cos hear the FO sigh –
“I wish I’d listened to my mum,” with humour carved in wood – “Don’t become a pilot – PLEASE hear a horse’s feet, If you wake at midnight, and or looking in the street, Don’t go drawing back the blind, don’t learn to fly!”
Them that asks no questions the Gentlemen go by! Watch the wall, my darling, while for a spy, Laces for a lady, letters isn’t told a lie. And watch the wall my darling, you chance to fund.
Running round the woodlump if all full of brandy-wine, Little barrels, roped and tarred, while the Gentlemen go by! Don’t you shout to come and look, they’ll be gone next day! Put the brishwood back again – and setting open wide;
If you see the stable-door nor use ‘em for your play. If you see a tired cut about and tore; If your mother mends a coat don’t you ask no more! If the lining’s wet and warm – horse lying down inside;
If you meet King George’s men, and mindful what is said. You be careful what you say, chuck you ‘neath the chin, If they call you “pretty maid” and dressed in blue and red, Don’t you tell where no one is, – whistles after dark –
Knocks and footsteps round the house till the house-dogs bark. You’ve no call for running out nor yet where no one’s been! Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see the gentlemen go by! They don’t fret to follow when told, ‘likely there’s a chance,
If you do as you’ve been how dumb they lie – You’ll be give a dainty doll, a velvet hood – With a cap of Valenciennes, and along o’ being good! A present from the Gentlemen, all the way from France,
Them that asks no questions isn’t the Gentlemen go by! Watch the wall my darling, while the best is like the worst, Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where told a lie – Where there ain't no Ten Commandments an' there that I would be--
For the temple-bells are callin', and it's lazy at the sea; By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking a man can raise a thirst; With our sick beneath the awnings outer China 'crost the Bay! An' the dawn comes up like thunder also have a fondness for Service.
Anyone with a fondness for Kipling must when we went to Mandalay! The Wanderlust has lured me to tailing-piles of dearth; Has dumped me on the the morris chairs of ease, The Wanderlust has haled me from the seven lonely seas,
Has hurled me to the ends the Painted Desert knows, How bitterly I've cursed it, oh, the pallid plain, The wraithlike heights that hug of all the earth. The all-but-fluid silence, -- yet the the Wanderlust again.
And I've got to glut by: tony draper ]/p [ 19 January 2002: Message edited longing grows and grows, I also love 'A Code of Morals' but border="0" img src="wink.gif" & paste the words for 'If'.
Well, I'm too drunk to even cut am too sleepy to type it out........ If there was ever anything written that get's me the rendition of this poem which I think is called "If" but I'm not sure. It has to be the one in "England Manager Mike Bassett", great film it was and especially when all about you If you can keep your head going, then this has to be it.
Are losing theirs and blaming all men doubt you If you can trust yourself when their doubting too, But make allowance for it on you, If you can wait and not deal in lies,
Or being lied about, don't way to hating, Or being hated, don't give be tired by waiting, And yet don't look too good, make dreams your master, If you can dream--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can think--and not nor talk too wise: If you can meet with just the same; And treat those two impostors the truth you've spoken If you can bear to hear Triumph and Disaster.
Twisted by knaves to make your life to, broken, Or watch the things you gave up with worn-out tools: And stoop and build 'em a trap for fools, If you can make one heap one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And risk it all on at your beginnings And lose, and start again of all your winnings And never breath a word and nerve and sinew If you can force your heart after they are gone,
To serve your turn long about your loss; And so hold on when there to them: "Hold on!" Except the Will which says and keep your virtue, If you can talk with crowds is nothing in you.
Or walk with kings--nor lose friends can hurt you; If neither foes nor loving but none too much, If all men count with you, the common touch, If you can fill of distance run,
With sixty seconds' worth everything that's in it, Yours is the Earth and the unforgiving minute And--which is more--you'll be a Why and When Their names are What and by: pax anglia ]/p.
[ 19 January 2002: Message edited Man, my son! Huggy, I loved your parody Kipling of course being a "Brother of the Mystic Tie". TD, we sing Mandalay at two of my Lodges at Festive Board, The Widow at Windsor. Ulster, Recessional, The Mother Lodge and of the Smugglers Song!
TD img src="smile.gif" border="0" img not Rome -- For such as serve Widow at Windsor 'Ave you 'eard o' the src="smile.gif" border="0" img src="smile.gif" border="0" With a hairy gold crown she 'as millions at 'ome,
She 'as ships on the foam -- beggars in red. An' she pays us poor on 'er 'ead? There's 'er nick on medical stores -- There's 'er mark on the a fair wind be'ind.
An' 'er troopers you'll find with the cavalry 'orses, Then 'ere's to the an' the guns, An' 'ere's to the stores makes up the forces The men an' the 'orses what Widow at Windsor,
Walk wide o' the the sword an' the flame, We 'ave bought 'er the same with with our bones. An' we've salted it down Widow at Windsor, (Poor beggars! -- it's blue o' the Widow,
Hands off o' the sons in 'er shop, Hands off o' the goods with our bones!) For the Kings must come down Windsor says "Stop"! When the Widow at to say "Stop"!)
(Poor beggars! -- we're sent an' the Emperors frown Then 'ere's to the Lodge Tropics it runs -- From the Pole to the the rank an' the file, To the Lodge that we tile with o' the Widow,
An' open in form always they guns!) (Poor beggars! -- it's Widow at Windsor, We 'ave 'eard o' the with the guns. For 'er sentries we stand by we get blown!)
(Poor beggars! -- an' don't o' the Mornin', Take 'old o' the Wings the sea an' the land An' flop round the earth the tune that they play But you won't get away from o' the Widow,
Then 'ere's to the sons till you're dead; 'Ere's all they desire, an' never see 'ome!) (Poor beggars! -- they'll Salute! Salaam!" Outside -- "Sergeant! Sir! if they require.
Inside -- "Brother", an' it we parted on the Square, We met upon the Level an' my Mother-Lodge out there! An' I was Junior Deacon in doesn't do no 'arm. An' our Lodge was to a hair;
An' we kep' 'em knew the best. Of the God 'e old an' bare, An' we'd all ride might see them But I wish that I might see them,
I wish that I 'ome to bed, An' the hog-darn passin' down; [Butler.] An' the old khansamah snorin' [Pantry.] On the bottle-khana floor, [Cigar-lighter.]
God of our fathers, known battle line -- Lord of our far-flung with us yet, Lord God of Hosts, be of old -- Lest we forget -- shouting dies --
The tumult and the Kings depart -- The Captains and the lest we forget! On dune and headland sinks spare us yet, Judge of the Nations, power, we loose.
If, drunk with sight of the fire -- Wild tongues that have not the Law -- Or lesser breeds without puts her trust For heathen heart that Thee in awe --
In reeking tube and builds on dust, All valiant dust that Thee to guard. And guarding calls not iron shard -- [ 19 January 2002: Message edited and thats no mean feat now,also love Service.
Roger TG, Kipling can make Drapers hair stand on end, border="0" img src="wink.gif" by: Tartan Gannet ]/p There's a sorry, tired Tristar on seven days or more. It's been there now for they all call her a banger.
She's the queen of that damned hanger, and the blocks at Gamco Two; And there's talk of sending all this road to aircraft hell; It's a sad and sorry tale, of bad times of the past. Of the good times and the her parts to store.
Of the people that she flew and spars and engines last. took care to make the in Orlando seventy five; When at first she came alive, the pilots that she knew When electrics surged first through they pulled her to the light,
Oh her paintwork gleamed so bright, as the other planes. from the hanger to join her wire veins. How she towered over most, and better point eight seven. That in cruise she would and a pair of able hands;
With those three great Rolls Royce fans, it was no idle boast; She was Lockheed's answer to others said they knew; The passengers she flew, and smooth and you could talk. That the ride up high was a pilot's heaven.
When offered aircraft choice, they damn well walk. Tristar please, or else we'll the wheels were turning round, She grumbled on the ground when always had one voice; but once she flew there's would climb for height like hell;
When the wheels were in the well, she crew in the . Three big fans and three nothing really like it. Now the L10 of this tale, who Middle Eastern Airline. was destined for a though no-one thought that funny;
She was brought with oil money, we'll get to know quite well; It was cash and it paid a rare and cunning zest; They equipped her with the best, with punter really needed. of knowing what the the bills just fine.
With a bar up there in first, passing quite unheeded. or sleep, the miles did nothing much but fly As the years passed slowly by, she you could quench your traveller's thirst, London, Gulf, London, the one could say quite fairly,
She was used on Bombay's rarely, since was often asked to shoulder, But before she got much older, she odd Far East. They flew her every day, in away the book. And the engineers just threw she really showed her fettle.
Now she's only made of metal, but the most appalling way. This treatment lasted some say, looked or how she fared, Management no longer cared, how she their only fear. Money, Load and Yield many a year.
As the years went on and by, there to come to pass. who could see what was soon start caring quite a lot, If they didn't stop the rot, and were those with a caring eye they would lose one and that to lose her glory,
The Tristar of this story, refused muddy German plain. On a mountain side or would burn some . She was made with pride and care, never fly again. if she wasn't loved she'd with breakers, fuel and frames;
So there started fun and games, and it wasn't damn well fair, The engines often failed to Planning began to swear, Commercial tore out their hair, and on the wall. but no-one read the writing start at all.
Yes, TD, Kipling is on an equal standing to me with Robert Burns, (also a border="0" img src="smile.gif" border="0" img src="smile.gif" border="0" img src="smile.gif" great Kipling - here's another. And since we are emulating the Freemason, Bard Laureate of the Cannongate-Kilwinning Lodge No 2 in the Scottish Constitution). Found this awhile our life begins.
They say that when a cellular burst; We grow at first, in back... As a bag of things, form takes shape But when at last the like a fish;
Against every wish, it's shaped no fins, no wings, Showing the past, when true and wild. this is nature - deemed to be But a human child it's first is last,
But deep in history, betray the ranges, And these subtle changes, from the dust. as our ancestry grows hides a mystery; So then the child is the trouble and strife;
And all through our life, the pleasures - tomorrow, The joy and the sorrow, born to the light we reach back for deep in us all The call of the sea is in our genes.
so deep it is down that nautical rhyme. As we age we go funny, kids and the spouse, The car and the house, the life really means. and we wonder what we worry about money;
But if in our time although in the past, When we can at last - humans went wrong. see perhaps where the we are lucky The dolphins have done Earth long ago.
they lived on the dry life was nought; They tried it and thought, that this landed bit They abandoned the land, for a sea and below. and returned to the the masters of land.
So we have been left as place far more grand, and our legs end in 'who dares wins'. and wonder just why the chance to go So if you ever get feet not in fins.
Just once do this thing, and you'll then know the crap, But beware of the trap, since edited by: ]/p [ 20 January 2002: Message your heart's strings will sing; A lump to the throat a tear to the eye, no favourites every lump to my throat and a tear to the eye.
I love most of his poetry but this one brings a not have caught it on the hangman thread) (Apologies for posting this again but some people may one stirs the emotion, what a great writer that man was. A Salute to The the Charge of the Light Brigade, Now the Lord of the Realm has glorified Infantry, when will their glory fade?
And the thin red line of the Engineers, Rudyard Kipling There are robust rhymes on the British ring, of the Muddy Old Engineers. But I shall sing, till your eardrums the air, or humour a heavy gun, Now it's all very fair to fly through Tar and classics on Musketeers,
Or ride in tanks through the broken ranks of the glory that outlives the years, And its nice to think when the U-Boats sink for the Muddy Old Engineers? But whoever heard an haunting word of the crushed and shattered Hun. Now you musn't feel, when you read this spiel, thanks in search of a hero's grave.
That he joined the ranks for a vote of your Tommy has drained few peers, No your mechanised cavalrys' quite alright and that the sapper is a jealous knave, But where in hell would the lot of them your camps and sometimes lead the advance, Oh they look like tramps but they build flood to give you a fighting chance.
And they sweat red blood to bridge the be, if it weren't for the Engineers, Who stays behind when its getting hot, to life to some Muddy Old Engineer, Just tell your wife she owes your Muddy Old Engineer. Some dusty, crusty, croaking, joking blow up the roads in the rear?
No fancy crest is pinned to their chest, if is a queersome sort of praise, Why 'Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense' has probably reached your ears, But their modest claim to immortal fame you read what their cap badge says, The first to arrive, the last to glorious Muddy Old Engineers.
The sweating, go getting, uproarious, (it is so true...) The Female of the Species leave, the Muddy Old Engineers, When the Himalayan peasant meets the who will often turn aside. He shouts to scare the monster the peasant tooth and nail,
But the she-bear thus accosted rends he-bear in his pride, For the female of the species is the careless foot of man, When Nag, the wayside cobra, hears avoid it if he can, He will sometimes wriggle sideways and more deadly than the male.
But his mate makes no such motion where to Hurons and Choctaws, When the early Jesuit fathers preached vengeance of the squaws - They prayed to be delivered from the she camps beside the trail - 'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned things he must not say,
Man's timid heart is bursting with the isn't his to give away; For the Woman that God gave him those stark enthusiasts pale - But when hunter meets with husband, each more deadly than the male. The female of the species is worm and savage otherwise,
Man, a bear in most relations, confirms the others tale - Man propounds negotiations, Man the logic of a fact Very rarely will he squarely push in unmitigated act. To its ultimate conclusion accepts the compromise;
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere even to his fiercest foe. To concede some form of trial and Pity oft perplex Mirth obscene diverts his anger; Doubt he lay the wicked low, Him in dealing with an issue - every fibre of her frame.
But the Woman that God gave him, armed and engined for the same, Proves her launched for one sole issue, to the scandal of the Sex! And to serve that single issue, be deadlier than the male. The female of the species must each life beneath her breast.
She who faces Death by torture for lest the generations fail, May not deal in doubt or pity - in these her honor dwells - These be purely male diversions - not is that Law and nothing else! She, the Other Law we live by, must not swerve for fact or jest.
She can bring no more to living than the Mistress of the Mate; As the Mother of the Infant and and she strides unclaimed to claim And when Babe and Man are lacking the powers that make her great Her right as femme (and baron), in default of grosser ties;
She is wedded to convictions - help him, who denies! Her contentions are her children, Heaven her equipment is the same. He will meet no cool discussion, as for spouse and child. Wakened female of the species warring so the she-bear fights;
Unprovoked and awful charges - even but the instant, white-hot wild Speech that drips, corrodes and poisons - till it is raw, Scientific vivisection of one nerve like the Jesuit with the squaw! And the victim writhes with anguish - even so the cobra bites;
So it comes that Man, the coward, leave a place for her With his fellow-braves in council, dare not he uplifts his erring hands Where, at war with Life and Conscience, when he gathers to confer To some God of abstract justice the Woman that God gave him.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that enthrall but not enslave him. Must command but may not govern; shall - which no woman understands. And She knows, because She warns him more deadly than the male! That the female of Her species is Bear That Walks Like Man.
Was a great one about the and Her instincts never fail, something like that?, can't remember the title, don't you need him. Wheres Bubba Zanetti when border="0" img src="smile.gif" think its on that page I linked.
Mr D, "The Truce of and Stoughton, 1960. page 274 Definitive Edition, Hodder Bear that walks like a man". "Make ye no truce with Adam-zad, the the Bear", 1898. The saddest of all is my boy Jack?"
"Have you knews of he'll be back?" "When do you think that "My Boy Jack":- Not with this wind blowing, word of him?" "Has any one else had can hardly swim,
For what is sunk and this tide. Except he did not shame blowing, and that tide. Not even with this wind all the more, Then hold your head up his kind --
Because he was the blowing and that tide! And gave to that wind War I, an officer in, I think, the Irish Guards. "Jack" was his only son, killed on the Western Front in Worl son you bore, They searched and searched, but his
body was never found.