476 8063

Barrack-Room BalladsOF

RUDYARD KIPLING

�Popular Songs of the

Boer War

Michael Halliwell BARITONE

David Miller PIANO

R

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CD 2 [76’51]

Popular Songs of the Boer War

PAUL BARNES/WILL D. COBB 1876-1930

1 Good-bye, Dolly Gray (1897) 1’42

ALFRED HILL 1870-1960/HUGH MACDONALD

2 When the Empire Calls (1900) 2’05

FELIX McGLENNON3 Comrades (1887) 3’52

ARTHUR SULLIVAN 1842-1900/RUDYARD KIPLING 1865-1936

4 The Absent-Minded Beggar (1899) 3’26

GEORGE F. ROOT 1820-1895/HENRY WASHBURN 1813-1903

5 The Vacant Chair (1862) 4’19

ARTHUR SOMERVELL 1863-1937/HAROLD BEGBIE 1871-1929

6 The Handy Man (1900) 2’34

THEODORE F. MORSE 1873-1924/ EDWARD MADDEN 1878-1952

7 Blue Bell (1904) 4’01

JOSEPH GILLOTT/JOAN TORRANCE8 Sons of the Southern Sea (1900) 3’55

CHARLES K. HARRIS 1867-1930

9 Break the News to Mother (1891) 4’32

LIEUTENANT A.L. HARRINGTON KYLE0 Strathcona’s Horse:

Regimental Song (1900) 3’12

C.W. MURPHY/ALBERT HALL! The Baby’s Name (1900) 2’13

THEODORE F. MORSE/ EDWARD MADDEN

@ Two Little Boys (1903) 2’50

REGINALD DE KOVEN 1859-1920/ RUDYARD KIPLING

£ Recessional (1898) 4’36

J.L.H. SCHUMANN/LIEUTENANT A.L. HARRINGTON KYLE

$ The Boer Prisoner’s Prayer (1900) 4’09

JOHN BRADFORD/B. MALCOLM RAMSAY% Sons of Our Empire (1900) 3’38

PAUL DRESSER 1859-1906^ The Pardon Came Too Late (1898) 4’26

ALFRED H. WEST/ALBERT CHEVALIER 1861-1923

& Mafekin’ Night (1900) 2’26

JOHN FINUCANE* Just Knock at the Door,

and Ask for Us (1909) 2’01

W.C. ROBEY( The Pretoria Dinner Party, or

In Walked England (1900) 4’10

CD 1 [76’02]

Rudyard Kipling’s Barrack-Room Ballads

GERARD F. COBB 1838-19041 To T.A. (1892) 1’03

J.P. McCALL 1882-19612 Boots (1928) 2’43

GERARD F. COBB3 Gunga Din Op. 29 No. 4 5’30

GERARD F. COBB4 Ford o’ Kabul River Op. 26

No. 2 (1893) 4’11

W. WARD-HIGGS 1866-19365 Troopin’ (1906) 2’24

GORDON SUTHERLAND6 The Widow at Windsor (1893) 3’14

J.P. McCALL 7 Route Marchin’ (1930) 3’36

MAURICE BELL8 Follow Me ‘Ome (1909) 4’12

GERARD F. COBB9 The Young British Soldier

Op. 24 No. 1 4’14

WALTER DAMROSCH 1862-19500 Danny Deever Op. 2 No. 7 (1897) 3’51

GERARD F. COBB! Lichtenberg (1904) 4’49

W. WARD-HIGGS@ The Widow’s Party (1906) 3’21

OLEY SPEAKS 1874-1948£ On the Road to Mandalay (1907) 4’57

GERARD F. COBB$ Fuzzy-Wuzzy Op. 24 No. 5 (1892) 2’52

GERARD F. COBB% Belts Op. 29 No. 1 4’22

GERARD F. COBB^ Oonts Op. 29 No. 5 3’30

J.P. McCALL& Cells (1930) 3’21

W. WARD-HIGGS* Bill ‘Awkins (1906) 1’46

GERARD F. COBB( Snarleyow Op. 29 No. 6 4’41

MARY CARMICHAEL) Tommy (1892) 4’10

PERCY GRAINGER 1882-1961¡ Soldier, Soldier (1898) 3’11

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G.D. WHEELER) Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers! (1899) 2’25

GEORGE EVERARD/LAWRENCE BARCLAY¡ Good-bye, Daddy (1900) 2’49

Medley [5’39]LESLEY STUART 1864-1928

™ Soldiers of the Queen (1897) 1’56SEP. WINNER

# Sarie Marais (1901) 1’16GEORGE F. ROOT 1820-1895

¢ Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! (1864) 1’19MARIE COWAN/‘BANJO’ PATERSON 1864-1941

∞ Waltzing Matilda (1934) 1’08PAUL BARNES/WILL D. COBB

§ Good-bye, Dolly Gray (1898) 1’45

Total Playing Time 152’53

Michael Halliwell baritone

David Miller piano

Rudyard Kipling’s Barrack-Room Ballads

Rudyard Kipling is one of the most enigmaticfigures in English literature. The most popularEnglish writer at the end of the 19th century, thefirst English author to win the Nobel Prize (1907),his fortunes have steadily plummeted. Kipling’sreputation today rests largely on some of hiscomplex short stories, his children’s stories, andhis novel Kim, as well as the polemic surroundinghis political views. As the central literary figureassociated with the British Empire, it was aboveall his poetry that ensured his enormous earlypopularity in the late 19th century and, moreparticularly, his collection of verse, Barrack-RoomBallads, and Other Verses, of 1892.

These ballads are probably his most originalcontribution to English poetry and the initial 13poems first appeared between February andJuly 1890 in the literary weekly the ScotsObserver. The ballads attracted immediateattention, far beyond the normal readership of aliterary magazine, and soon found their way intothe music halls, where they were recited or setto music and sung. Kipling decided to collectthem in a volume of 21 poems plus a dedicatoryverse, To T.A., with a matching group of otherpoems, a collection which remained the mostpopular book of verse in the English-speakingworld for nearly 40 years. In authorised editionsalone, it has been reprinted over 70 times andthese ballads supply four columns of entries tothe Oxford Book of Quotations, yet, 100 yearslater, it is virtually forgotten.

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Kipling’s ballad verse is intensely musical. Likethe soldiers he depicts, Kipling’s musicalinfluences were simple, yet powerful. He had areasonably wide knowledge of folk songs, musichall songs, hymns, drawing-room ballads andsoldiers’ songs, and it is apparent that helistened to military bands both in his earlychildhood and later life as a journalist in India. Inthe military communities throughout the sub-continent, the military band was ever-present,playing military marches and more formal militarymusic, as well as hymns and adaptations of folkand popular songs. Kipling’s ballads containfrequent references to music: bugle calls oftenset the mood, while in Danny Deever a militaryband playing a Dead March accompanies themurderer to the scaffold, as well as sending thetroops off after the execution with a ‘quickstep’.Even more striking are the variations in rhythmfound in many of the ballad refrains: a ballad suchas Boots consists entirely of the insistent andmesmerising rhythm depicting a column ofsoldiers ‘marchin‘ over Africa’.

When Kipling returned to England from India inOctober 1889, he lived in Villiers Street andfrequented Gatti’s Music Hall. Here, he says, hemet the ‘English brother’ of the private soldiershe knew from India who ‘sat and sang at myelbow any night I chose’. He absorbed a greatdeal of material for later use in his stories andverse and it is during this time that the firstseries of ballads were written. Kipling was

fascinated by music hall songs, particularly theirdirect involvement in the lives of their audienceas well as their reflection of public events andpopular sentiment.

The Barrack-Room Ballads are strikingly original,even though their origins are not hard to locate.Like most of his generation, Kipling was steepedin the cadences of the Bible, while quotationsboth verbal and rhythmic from popular hymnsfeature strongly in both the poetry and theprose. The influence of the Border ballads is alsoprominent in Kipling’s verse, particularly in hisremarkably effective use of dialect, both Irishand, most originally, the Cockney dialect of theworking class of London, who formed the bulkof the troops that Kipling depicts. Indeed, hisuse of language caused consternation amongmany contemporary literary critics; ananonymous reviewer described the material as‘of the vilest ... the very dregs of language’.Kipling broke strongly with the prevailing poeticaesthetic but, of course, usually substituteseuphemisms for the obscenities that obviouslypunctuated barrack-room life then as now.

Kipling adapts Robert Browning’s use of asoliloquy by a single speaker who tells only whathe knows, and sometimes even not all of that.This is addressed to a silent listener whosepresence is strong although he or she saysnothing. One also senses the presence ofanother character, possibly even dead, but onewho dominates the atmosphere. The audience is

drawn into the drama through the identificationwith this silent listener. Kipling adapted thisstructure in many of the ballads, sometimesextending the dialogue through the use ofanother voice or chorus.

Apart from their tremendous general popularity,these ballads had a profound impact on how theordinary soldier was viewed by the generalpublic. The sailor had acquired a glamour in thepopular imagination which the soldier did notshare, and Kipling’s soldier stories, andparticularly his soldier verse, changed that. Hestates at the outset of the collection of 1892that his purpose is to ‘make a song’ for andabout the common soldier, known generically as‘Tommy Atkins’, and that he hopes this song willpersuade civilians and, more importantly, thosein authority, that the soldiers deserve bettertreatment than they currently enjoy.

These ballads naturally express the commonprejudices of the time and certainly Kiplinghimself reflects many of these. These poems,however, were as radical as any that hadappeared for half a century and reinforced theliterary perception of the 1890s that Kipling wasa dangerous ‘outsider’ in middle-class Englishsociety. The more extreme aspects of Kipling’sconservatism and even racism were to developmuch more strongly later. Of course, Kiplingreflected the common belief in the superiority ofthe British as paternal custodians of the variouscolonial races, seeing it almost as a divine

mission to bring English ‘enlightenment’ to the‘lesser breeds without the law’. However, heconstantly warns against arrogance and imperialhubris, and makes a compelling case for theimprovement of the lot of the common soldier.The poems reveal an often grudging, yet heartfeltrespect for the opponents encountered in the far-flung reaches of the Empire. ’You’re a better manthan I am, Gunga Din’, is not empty rhetoric, butrecognition of the resilience and fighting qualitiesof Britain’s opponents and subjects. Naturallythese attitudes seem somewhat paternalistic andlimited in scope to us, but do reveal somethingof Kipling’s genuine belief in the brotherhood ofman, possibly influenced by his life-longadherence to Freemasonry.

The soldier as subject loses his prominence inKipling’s verse after this collection but he didpublish a new series of barrack-room balladswhich were collected in The Seven Seas of 1896,as well as a group of similar poems which herenamed ‘Service Songs’ and which werecollected in the volume The Five Nations, of 1903.Both these collections are similar to the originalgroup of ballads; however, the ‘Service Songs’reflect Kipling’s intense interest and involvementin the Boer War (1899-1902). He writes effectivelyof the situation during actual fighting yet a briefskirmish during this war was the only actualcombat that Kipling physically experienced.

By this time, however, Kipling was growingdisillusioned with the course the British Empire

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seemed to be taking, and what he saw as a lackof nerve on the part of most politicians of thetime. He increasingly turned his attention to thenavy, and his work, particularly his remarkableshort stories, became more inward andcomplex. The First World War, naturally, had aprofound impact on him, especially the death ofhis only son, John, in 1915. In many ways Kiplingnever again achieved the power and vigour ofthese ballads, and although his poetry gained inpolish and sophistication the sheer verve andlinguistic exuberance of these poems remainimpressive 100 years since their publication.

The musical settings of the ballads vary inquality. Most of the settings date from theperiod immediately after their publication and areobviously intended to be performed in the musichalls, smoking concerts, or ballad concerts. Fewof the settings have great musical pretensions,although the majority of them are extremelyeffective in their own way. Gerard F. Cobb wasthe most prolific of the composers who setthese poems. He published two collections offive songs each within a year of the firstpublication of the ballads, and a further twogroups appeared some years later.

Of course, the bulk of the settings are notparticularly sophisticated or complex as theywere intended for performance by amateursrather than professional singers. However, thereare some exceptions to this: the Americanconductor and composer Walter Damrosch’s

setting of Danny Deever is a demanding andpowerful setting of what is probably the best ofall the ballads (it is said that this was TeddyRoosevelt’s favourite song and, like many of theballads, it was greatly admired by T.S. Eliot),while Oley Speaks’ famous setting of On theRoad to Mandalay is certainly the mostenduring, a ‘war horse’ of many a baritone fornearly 100 years!

Probably the best known of the composers whoset these ballads is Percy Grainger, who set agreat deal of Kipling’s verse for a variety ofmusical forces. His setting of Soldier, Soldiereffectively captures the ballad element of thepoem. Three settings in this program are by acertain J.P. McCall, none other than the greatAustralian baritone Peter Dawson. His setting ofBoots is surely a classic of this genre, capturingmost evocatively the mind-numbing boredom ofextended marches over Africa.

Many of the ballads have received more thanone setting and I have chosen what I think is themost effective setting of that particular ballad. Of the original 21 poems of 1892, I have locatedsettings of 15, and I have also included fivesettings from the later collections, such asCobb’s setting of one of the best of the laterballads, Lichtenberg, a nostalgic poem dealingwith an Australian trooper during the Boer Warwho is reminded of his home by the smell ofwattle in the rain.

The words of the ballads are, naturally, ofprimary importance. The structure of the popularmusic hall song comprising a series of versesfollowed by a recurring refrain is, of course,mirrored in most of the ballads. Important forthe performer was not so much beauty of toneor subtlety in interpretation, but the ability tocommunicate the words clearly, to convey thesentiment of the verse as honestly as possible,and to set the mood effectively. As many of theballads have a considerable number of verses,the decision which verses to omit dependsmainly on retaining as much of the story line asappropriate, while attempting not to run the riskof becoming too tediously repetitive.

Some of the words (and sentiments) of thepoems are offensive to our ears today, butcensorship of this aspect of Kipling’s workdetracts from his intentions and, therefore, Ihave run the risk of political incorrectness byretaining these passages. I think we are farenough removed from the period to be able toview it from an objective, historical perspectiveand to enjoy the songs for their intrinsic vitalityand reflection of the period rather than bedistracted by the political baggage that stillsurrounds Kipling.

Popular Songs of the Boer War

The Anglo Boer War (1899-1902) has been calledthe last of the so-called ‘gentlemen’s wars’ – aview that might have been true for the first phaseof the war, but certainly not for the second – itsaw the perfecting of trench warfare; the firstlarge-scale use of guerrilla warfare and a scorchedearth policy; the first systematic employment ofconcentration camps; as well as many othertactics which were to become commonplace inthe 20th century. It has also been called the ‘thelast of the little wars’. However, over the almostthree-year course of the conflict, nearly half amillion men fought on the side of the BritishEmpire and over 75,000 on the Boer side.

It left a bitter legacy in South Africa whichmarkedly influenced the later turbulent history ofthat country, yet it is in many ways a forgottenwar, even if its effects are still felt in South Africa,as well as reflected in the many memorials to befound in Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and ofcourse, Great Britain. It marked the high-watermark of the British Empire, but also signalled thedissolution of the Empire and its later evolutioninto the Commonwealth.

The soldiers who fought in the war came frommany countries and the conflict was remarkablefor the high levels of literacy of the participants:war diaries, often written by ordinary soldiers,proliferated and offer a fascinating insight intothe conditions at the front. Although it did notproduce the volume and excellence of poetic

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output of the First World War, a great deal of finepoetry was written, much of which foreshadowsthe poetry which emerged from the later war.The major British writers were Kipling, Hardyand Housman, while from Australia ‘Banjo’Paterson, who worked as a war correspondent(other celebrated correspondents were Kipling,Churchill and Edgar Wallace), wrote someevocative verse.

As with much of the musical output from earlierand later wars, the sentiments expressed in thesongs connected with the Boer War do notusually reflect the realities of the war, but give asanitised picture with an often-sentimentalisedview of hardship and loss. Popular songs are notimmediately associated with this war in thesame way as both the First and Second WorldWars. However, there are a number of songswhich have strong links with the war, mostnotably Good-bye, Dolly Gray, composed forthe Spanish-American War of 1898 – a warwhich proved so short (the US Navy destroyedthe Spanish fleet within a week) that the songwas quickly ‘recycled’ for the Boer War, whichbroke out the following year. In fact, a number ofthe songs in this collection originated during theAmerican Civil War, which reflects the popularityof American songs in Britain at the time of theBoer War and the wealth of the musical legacyof that particular war.

Dolly became the ‘theme song’ of the war andwas found in all kinds of arrangements,

particularly that for the military marching bandswhich accompanied the soldiers on their way tothe war and greeted them if they returned. Itwas popularised in England by the Australianbaritone Hamilton Hill, who made his name inthe music halls as a singer of patriotic songs andballads (another of his ‘hits’ was Blue Bell).Perhaps a song with an even strongerassociation with the war is Soldiers of the

Queen, composed for Victoria’s Diamond Jubileeof 1897. This is another song that became astaple of the military band (it was used mosteffectively at the end of the film Breaker Morant).

Waltzing Matilda has an interesting associationwith the Boer War. The words by ‘Banjo’Paterson were written some years earlier, butthe Australian soldiers who sang it on theirreturn from South Africa are often credited withpopularising the song in Australia and turning itinto what is really an unofficial national anthem.

The Afrikaans song Sarie Marais, whichemerged out of the war, has a similarly centralplace in the musical history of South Africa, andbecame the most popular song of both English-and Afrikaans-speaking troops in two worldwars. It is a song that has a similar emotionalimpact for many South Africans as doesWaltzing Matilda for Australians. Not manyDutch or Afrikaans songs have survived, and it isapparent from the diaries and newspapers of thetime that many of the popular songs sung by theBoers were translations of English words, or

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Civil War (as is Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!), foundrenewed popularity during the Boer War. Thepopular perception was that the war would beover before Christmas of 1899 and the threestunning defeats that the British suffered inwhat became known as ‘Black Week’ inDecember 1899 brought home the fact that thiswas going to be, in the words of soldier poet,‘Breaker’ Morant, ‘a long job now’.

A song which has enjoyed an enduringpopularity is Two Little Boys, written by thesuccessful duo of Madden and Morse at the endof the war and which, of course, enjoyedrenewed international success many years laterin the version by Rolf Harris. Interestingly, it alsoenjoyed similar success at much the same timein South Africa in a version by the folksinger DesLindbergh, in which he changed the words to tella story of two little South African boys, oneEnglish speaking, one Afrikaans speaking, whomeet up years later on opposite sides of thebattlefield, with the obvious increase in pathos!

It is easy for us to be patronising about the oftenmawkish sentimentality of these songs, but theyhad a poignancy and pathos which, in context,can still be moving. As one soldier of the timesaid of the poetry, ‘doggerel can express theheart.’ Many of the songs, however, areunashamedly patriotic and often jingoistic. Asong such as Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers!

celebrates the early British victory at the Battleof Dundee in northern Natal – their last success

in the war for a considerable period but whichresulted in heavy loss of life, including theircommander, General Penn Symons. There weremany Irish volunteers on the Boer side as welland a member of a Boer commando unitdescribed them as adapting ‘themselves to ourconditions sooner and more easily than any ofthe foreigners with us’. They could ‘curse likeheretics, and their profanity was at timespicturesque.’ An anonymous verse of the timereflects amusingly on the fact that the Irish wereprominent on both sides of the conflict andcuttingly remarks that it was ‘a frightful sight tosee/The way the “English fought the Dutch” atthe battle of Dundee.’

Indeed, many of the songs in this program werepopular on both sides of the conflict. Anamusing reference in one diary recounts how aparty of British soldiers had been defeated by agroup of Boers in a short, yet fierceengagement. The Boers were observedmarching the British off to captivity with bothsides lustily singing Soldiers of the Queen! It has often been overlooked that the Boer Warwas a civil war in many respects. Many men ofBoer origin fought on the British side and,frequently, the loyalty of families was literallysplit in two, one of the many reasons for thebitterness that endured for so long after theconflict in South Africa.

At the end of the 19th century, the colonies ofAustralia, New Zealand and Canada were busy

new texts set to familiar popular melodies, folksongs, or hymn tunes from a variety ofEuropean countries.

When war broke out, Kipling was unquestionablythe bard of the Empire and he produced mucheffective verse. Recessional was a response toQueen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee; mostcontemporary readers misconstrued it as apaean to the glories of empire, yet Kiplingintended it as a sombre warning of imperialhubris and mutability. Certainly, the setting bythe American Reginald de Koven is grandiose ina quasi-Elgarian style and reflects the popularreception of the poem.

More interesting, perhaps, is Sir Arthur Sullivan’ssetting of The Absent-Minded Beggar. Kiplingwrote these verses as a fundraising effort for thefamilies of the troops in South Africa, realisingthe enormous sum of £340,000. Kiplingdisplayed a rather ambivalent attitude towardshis effort, describing the tune by Sullivan as onethat would ‘pull the teeth of barrel organs’. Hewas hardly less complimentary about his owneffort, however, maintaining that ‘I would shootthe man who wrote it if it would not be suicide!’Nevertheless, the success of the song wasstaggering, and it spawned a host of verse andmusical imitations, overshadowing most ofKipling’s much more considered response to thewar. Lines from the poem adorned all manner ofmilitary and commemorative artefacts andbecame immortalised in the famous woodcut of‘Tommy Atkins’ by Caton Woodville.

Another interesting song is The Pretoria Dinner

Party, probably the most overtly ‘political’ songin this collection. Its message is that Britainstands alone against the ‘might’ of the Boersand all their potential continental allies. Aloneamong nations, the USA supports Britain againstthe threats posed by this ‘coalition’: it is takenfor granted that America will support Britain justas Britain has supported America in the past,and together, they can defeat anything that isthrown at them. (America’s attitude to the Britishin regard to the war was, in actual fact,extremely ambivalent.)

The songs in this by no means exhaustiveprogram fall into a number of categories. Thereare several sentimental songs, many of Americanorigin, popular in both the music halls and in lessformal domestic settings and ‘smoking concerts’.These songs, such as Good-bye, Daddy; The

Pardon Came Too Late; Blue Bell; Break the

News to Mother and Comrades, are aimed atthe broad sentimental streak so characteristic ofthe Victorians. Most of these songs have arepeated chorus that would have been sunglustily by the denizens of the halls or hummed inthe drawing room. They all predate the war, butmany were given a new lease of life and oftenincreased popularity by the conflict.

Many of the songs with themes of sacrifice anddeath would have gained an added poignancywhen the casualty lists quickly began tolengthen. The Vacant Chair, from the American

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defining themselves against the mother countryand a number of songs that emerged during thewar reflect this. The extremely popular Sons of

the Southern Sea charts a national feeling inAustralia which, on the one hand, emphasisesan unswerving loyalty to Britain, while, at thesame time defining a distinct and separateidentity for the ‘sun-burnt boys from thesouthern land’. When the Empire Calls (withmusic by Alfred Hill, who went on to enjoy adistinguished musical career in New Zealand andAustralia) is a song in a similar vein, againreflecting the hold that the idea of empire hadon popular imagination in both Britain and thecolonies. Similarly, songs like Just Knock at the

Door and Ask for Us from New Zealand(written some years after the war as a fund-raising exercise) and Strathcona’s Horse fromCanada (celebrating the famed mounted unitunder the leadership of Lord Strathcona) offer aninsight into contemporary nationalist sentimentin those countries.

Many of the songs written specifically for themusic halls unashamedly appealed to the often-jingoistic sentiment prevalent there. Certainly,the first year of the war dominated the nationalconsciousness in Britain and the Empire,particularly the three famous sieges in the firstmonths of the war. The siege of Kimberley was aconsequence of the economic importance ofthis diamond town. An added piquancy duringthis siege was that the arch imperialist and ex-prime minister of the Cape Colony, Cecil John

Rhodes, was trapped in the town, much to theannoyance of the local garrison commander! Thesiege of Ladysmith was of more strategicimportance and northern Natal was the site ofsome of the largest pitched battles of the war.

However, it was the siege of Mafeking that mostcaptured the popular imagination. The myth ofthe siege reflected the popular perception of thespecial qualities in the British character: heroism,service, sacrifice, duty and stoical endurance. Therelief of Mafeking (18 May 1900) was celebratedwith delirious scenes of joy in many major citiesof the Empire, particularly London (it evenbrought a new word into the language: ‘tomaffick’), far beyond its actual strategicimportance. It also elevated the garrisoncommander, Lieutenant-Colonel RobertStephenson Smyth Baden-Powell, into worldwideprominence, and the lifting of the siege wasquickly reflected in that barometer of publicopinion, the music hall. The great cockneyfavourite of the halls, Albert Chevalier, enjoyedenormous success with his song Mafekin’

Night. An anonymous verse describes anamusing aspect of the siege: ‘Said he of therelieving force/As through the town he sped,/“Artthou in Baden-Powell’s horse?”/The troopershook his head,/Then drew his hand his mouthacross,/Like one who’s lately fed./“Alas forBaden-Powell’s horse,/It’s now in me,” he said.’

The exoticism of the South African names fillingthe newspapers finds amusing reflection in the

song The Baby’s Name, another big ‘hit’ in themusic halls. An amusing verse reflects both thisand the popular myth of the incompetence ofthe British commanders: ‘It gives me pleasure toreport/That Kruger and that Steyn/Are in ninedifferent places/All ending in -fontein;/ ThatBotha has surrendered and/Is fighting to thedeath,/And De La Rey is either well/Or deadfrom want of breath./A British general hasdestroyed/A non-existent force,/And stormed aplace that wasn’t held/With most terrific loss.’

There were many songs of farewell and loss, butperhaps the most curious song of all was acollaboration between a British soldier and hisBoer prisoner – Lt. A.L. Harrington Kyle of theCape Garrison Artillery, and J.L.H. Schumann,listed only as ‘Prisoner of War’. As the sheetmusic cover indicates, The Boer Prisoner’s

Prayer was ‘written and composed on board theS.S. Lake Erie on her voyage from Cape Town toSt Helena with Prisoners of War, April, 1900’. As a song it is unremarkable, but is an indicationof a sense of common humanity that the later,and much more bitter, period of the war was to threaten.

The song Sons of Our Empire, with itsinscription: ‘Dedicated to The New South WalesLancers who marched through London on theirway to the front’, also has a certain curiosityvalue. This unit had been in Britain on exercisebefore the outbreak of the war and were on theway back to Australia as fighting started.

However, it was decided that they would join theBritish forces as they approached the Capeinstead on continuing on to Sydney and werethe first colonial troops to see action.

Other songs reflect the life of the soldiers at thefront. A song such as The Handy Man,composed by one of the most well known ofcontemporary composers, Arthur Somervell, istypical of the popular parlour song and balladrepertoire. This is probably the only poem (andsong) with the Navy as its subject, anddescribes how members of a naval brigade withtheir large naval guns were rushed to the front inNatal to stem the early onslaught of the Boers.

The final guerrilla stage of the war was foughtover almost the whole of South Africa and wasbitter and protracted, only coming to an end inMay 1902. It is this period of the war that hasleft the most lasting legacy. A poem by thedistinguished South African poet William Plomer,written many years after the war, gives someidea of the bitter legacy of the conflict: ‘Theytook the hill(Whose hill? What for?)/But what aclimb they left to do!/Out of that bungled,unwise war/An alp of unforgiveness grew.’

Many of the effective mobile units on the Britishside were composed of colonial troops fromAustralia, New Zealand, Canada and, of course,South Africa. A member of just such a unit was‘Breaker’ Morant. Whatever the rights andwrongs of his execution, it certainly resonates to

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this day and has inspired several literary as wellas stage and film responses. A song such asThe Pardon Came Too Late captures somethingof the poignancy of a soldier awaiting execution.The verses written by Morant himself on thenight before his death contain a much strongerbarb: ‘But we bequeath a parting tip/As soundadvice for such men/Who come across intransport ship/To polish off the Dutchmen!/If youencounter any Boers/You really must not loot’em–/And if you wish to leave these shores/For pity’s sake, don’t shoot ’em!’

It is unlikely that these songs will enjoy renewedpopularity, but there is no reason why some ofthem might not make the occasional appearancein a concert program for curiosity value, if notbecause of their intrinsic merit. They certainly dogive one a sense of the flavour of a period inhistory in which all living participants havepassed on. The songs in this program comefrom a variety of sources and have beencollected over many years. However, the bulk ofthem come from the Strange Collection ofAfricana in the Johannesburg Public Library. Ihave only chosen material that has beenmentioned in contemporary or later writings ashaving been popular at the time. I havesometimes omitted verses from songs so as toinclude as many as possible on the disc, but inall other respects they are performed as written.

Michael Halliwell

CD 1

1 To T.A.

I have made for you a song,And it may be right or wrong,But only you can tell me if it’s true;I have tried for to explainBoth your pleasure and your painAnd, Thomas, here’s my best respects to you!

O there’ll surely come a dayWhen they’ll give you all your pay,And treat you as a Christian ought to do;So, until that day comes round,Heaven keep you safe and sound,And, Thomas, here’s my best respects to you! R.K.

2 Boots Infantry ColumnsWe’re foot-foot-foot-foot-sloggin’ over Africa –Foot-foot-foot-foot-sloggin’ over Africa – (Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up and down again!)There’s no discharge in the war!

Seven-six-eleven-five-nine-an’twenty mile to-day –Four-eleven-seventeen-thirty-two the day before – (Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up and down again!)There’s no discharge in the war!

Don’t-don’t-don’t-don’t-look at what’s in front of you.(Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up an’ down again);Men-men-men-men-men go mad with watchin’ ’em,There’s no discharge in the war!

Try-try-try-try-to think o’ something different –Oh-my-God-keep-me from goin’ lunatic!(Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up an’ down again!)There’s no discharge in the war!

Count-count-count-count-the bullets in the bandoliers.If-your-eyes-drop-they will get atop o’ you!

14

(Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up an’ down again) –There’s no discharge in the war!

We-can-stick-out-’unger, thirst, an’ weariness,But-not-not-not-not the chronic sight of ‘em –(Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up an’ down again) –There’s no discharge in the war!

‘Tain’t-so-bad-by-day because o’ company,But night-brings-long-strings-o’ forty thousand million(Boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up an’ down again) –There’s no discharge in the war!

I-’ave-marched-six-weeks in ’Ell an’ certifyIt-is-not-fire-devils, dark, or anything,(But boots-boots-boots-boots-movin’ up an’ down again) –There’s no discharge in the war!

3 Gunga Din

You may talk o’ gin and beerWhen you’re quartered safe out ‘ere,An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;But when it comes to slaughterYou 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 timeA-servin’ of ‘Er Majesty the Queen,Of all them blackfaced crewThe finest man I knewWas our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.He was ‘Din! Din! Din!You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!Hi! slippery hitherao! Water, get it! Panee lao! [Bring water swiftly]You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e woreWas nothin’ much before,An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,

For a piece o’ twisty ragAn’ a goatskin water-bagWas all the field-equipment ’e could find.When the sweatin’ troop-train layIn a sidin’ through the day,Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,We shouted ‘Harry By!’ [Mister Atkins’s equivalent for ‘O brother’]Till our throats were bricky-dry,Then we wopped ‘im ’cause ’e could not 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 oneTill 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, insideWhen ’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 shan’t forgit the nightWhen I dropped be’ind the fightWith a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.I was chokin’ mad with thirst,

15

An’ the man that spied me firstWas 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 awayTo 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 onAt the place where ’e is gone –Where it’s always double drill and no canteen;’E’ll be squattin’ on the coalsGivin’ drink to poor damned souls,An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!It was ‘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!’

4 Ford o’ Kabul River

In crossing a ford of the Kabul River at Jellalabad on thenight of March 31st, 1879, the second squadron of theTenth Royal Hussars was swept away by a suddenfreshet, and 46 troopers and one officer were drowned.

Kabul town’s by Kabul river –Blow the bugle, draw the sword –There I lef’ my mate for ever,Wet an’ drippin’ by the ford.Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!There’s the river up and brimmin’, An’ there’s ’arf a squadron swimmin’’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town is sun and dust –Blow the bugle, draw the sword –I’d ha’ sooner drownded fust’Stead of ’im beside the ford.Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!You can ’ear the ’orses threshin’, You can ’ear the men a-splashin’,’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.

Kabul town was ours to take –Blow the bugle, draw the sword –I’d ha’ left it for ’is sake –’Im that left me by the ford.Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!Keep the crossin’ stakes beside you,When they will surely guide you,’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark?

Turn your ’orse from Kabul town –Blow the bugle, draw the sword –’Im an’ ’arf my troop is down,Down an’ drownded by the ford.Ford, ford, ford o’ Kabul river,Ford o’ Kabul river in the dark!There’s the river low an’ fallin’, But it ain’t no use o’ callin’’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the dark.

16

5 Troopin’ Our Army in the EastTroopin’, troopin’, troopin’ to the sea:’Ere’s September come again – the six-year men are free.O leave the dead be’ind us, for they cannot come awayTo where the ship’s a-coalin’ up that takes us ’ome to-day.We’re goin’ ’ome, we’re goin’ ’ome,Our ship is at the shore,An’ you must pack your ’aversack,For we won’t come back no more.Ho, don’t you grieve for me,My lovely Mary-Ann,For I’ll marry you yit on a fourp’ny bitAs a time-expired man.

They’ll turn us out at Portsmouth wharf in cold an’ wetan’ rain,All wearin’ Injian cotton kit, but we will not complain;They’ll kill us of pneumonia – for that’s their little way –But damn the chills and fever, men, we’re goin’ ’ome to-day!We’re goin’ ’ome, we’re goin’ ’ome ...

Troopin’, troopin’, give another cheer –’Ere’s to English women an’ a quart of English beer.The Colonel an’ the regiment an’ all who’ve got to stay,Gawd’s mercy strike ’em gentle – Whoop! we’re goin’’ome to-day.We’re goin’ ’ome, we’re goin’ ’ome ...

6 The Widow at Windsor

’Ave you ’eard o’ the Widow at WindsorWith a hairy gold crown on ’er ’ead?She ’as ships on the foam – she ’as millions at ’ome,An’ she pays us poor beggars in red.(Ow, poor beggars in red!)There’s ’er nick on the cavalry ’orses,There’s ’er mark on the medical stores –An’ ’er troopers you’ll find with a fair wind be’indThat takes us to various wars.(Poor beggars! – barbarious wars!)

Then ’ere’s to the Widow at Windsor,An’ ere’s to the stores an’ the guns,The men an’ the ’orses what makes up the forcesO’ Missis Victorier’s sons.(Poor beggars! Victorier’s sons!)

Walk wide o’ the Widow at Windsor,For ’alf o’ Creation she owns:We ’ave bought ’er the same with the sword an’ the flame,An’ we’ve salted it down with our bones.(Poor beggars! – it’s blue with our bones!)Hands off o’ the sons o’ the Widow,Hands off o’ the goods in ’er shop,For the Kings must come down an’ the Emperors frownWhen the Widow at Windsor says ‘Stop’!(Poor beggars! – we’re sent to say ‘Stop’!)Then ’ere’s to the Lodge o’ the Widow,From the Pole to the Tropics it runs –To the Lodge that we tile with the rank an’ the file,An’ open in form with the guns.(Poor beggars! – it’s always they guns!)

We ’ave ’eard o’ the Widow at Windsor,It’s safest to let ’er alone:For ’er sentries we stand by the sea an’ the landWherever the bugles are blown.(Poor beggars! – an’ don’t we get blown!)Take ’old o’ the Wings o’ the Mornin’,An’ flop round the earth till you’re dead;But you won’t get away from the tune that they playTo the bloomin’ old rag over’ead.(Poor beggars! – it’s ’ot over’ead!)Then ’ere’s to the sons o’ the Widow,Wherever, ’owever they roam.’Ere’s all they desire, an’ if they requireA speedy return to their ’ome.(Poor beggars! – they’ll never see ’ome!)

17

9 The Young British Soldier

When the ’arf-made recruity goes out to the East’E acts like a babe an’ ’e drinks like a beast,An’ ’e wonders because ’e is frequent deceasedEre ’e’s fit for to serve as a soldier.Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,So-oldier of the Queen!

Now all you recruities what’s drafted to-day,You shut up your rag-box an’ ’ark to my lay,An’ I’ll sing you a soldier as far as I may:A soldier what’s fit for a soldier.

When the cholera comes – as it will past a doubt –Keep out of the wet and don’t go on the shout,For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,An’ it crumples the young British soldier.

But the worst o’ your foes is the sun over’ead:You must wear your ’elmet for all that is said:If ’e finds you uncovered ’e’ll knock you down dead,An’ you’ll die like a fool of a soldier.

When first under fire an’ you’re wishful to duck,Don’t look nor take ’eed at the man that is struck,Be thankful you’re livin’, and trust to your luckAnd march to your front like a soldier.

If your officer’s dead and the sergeants look white,Remember it’s ruin to run from a fight:So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,And wait for supports like a soldier.

When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains,And the women come out to cut up what remains,Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brainsAn’ go to your Gawd like a soldier.Go, go, go like a soldier,Go, go, go like a soldier,So-oldier of the Queen!

0 Danny Deever

‘What are the bugles blowin’ for?’ said Files-on-Parade.‘To turn you out, to turn you out,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.‘What makes you look so white, so white?’ said Files-on-Parade.‘I’m dreadin’ what I’ve got to watch,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.For they’re hangin’ Danny Deever, you can hear the DeadMarch play,The regiment’s in ’ollow square – they’re hangin’ him to-day;They’ve taken of his buttons off an’ cut his stripes away,An’ they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

‘What makes that rear-rank breathe so ’ard?’ said Files-on-Parade.‘It’s bitter cold, it’s bitter cold,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.‘What makes that front-rank man fall down?’ said Files-on-Parade.‘A touch o’ sun, a touch o’ sun,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.They are hangin’ Danny Deever, they are marchin’ of ’im round,They ’ave ’alted Danny Deever by ’is coffin on the ground;An’ ’e’ll swing in ’arf a minute for a sneakin’ shootin’ hound –O they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’!

‘‘Is cot was right-’and cot to mine,’ said Files-on-Parade.‘‘E’s sleepin’ out an’ far to-night,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.‘I’ve drunk ’is beer a score o’ times,’ said Files-on-Parade.‘‘E’s drinkin’ bitter beer alone,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ’im to ’is place,For ’e shot a comrade sleepin’ – you must look ’im in the face;Nine ’undred of ’is county an’ the regiment’s disgrace,While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

‘What’s that so black agin’ the sun?’ said Files-on-Parade.‘It’s Danny fightin’ ’ard for life,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.‘What’s that that whimpers over’ead?’ said Files-on-Parade.‘It’s Danny’s soul that’s passin’ now,’ the Colour-Sergeant said.For they’re done with Danny Deever, you can ’ear thequickstep play,

7 Route Marchin’

We’re marchin’ on relief over Injia’s sunny plains,A little front o’ Christmas-time an’ just be’ind the Rains;Ho! get away you bullock-man, you’ve ’eard the bugle blowed,There’s a regiment a-comin’ down the Grand Trunk Road;With its best foot firstAnd the road a-sliding past,An’ every bloomin’ campin’-ground exactly like the last;While the Big Drum says,With ’is ‘rowdy-dowdy-dow!’–‘Kiko kissywarsti don’t you hamsher argy jow?’[Why don’t you get on?]

Oh, there’s them Injian temples to admire when you see,There’s the peacock round the corner an’ the monkey upthe tree,An’ there’s that rummy silver grass a-wavin’ in the wind,An’ the old Grand Trunk a-trailin’ like a rifle-sling be’ind.While it’s best foot first, ...

Oh, then it’s open order, an’ we lights our pipes an’ sings,An’ we talks about our rations an’ a lot of other things,An’ we thinks o’ friends in England, an’ we wonders whatthey’re at,An’ ’ow they would admire for to hear us sling the bat.[Language]

So ’ark an’ ’eed, you rookies, which is always grumblin’ sore,There’s worser things than marchin’ from Umballa toCawnpore;An’ if your ’eels are blistered an’ they feels to ’urt like ’ell,You drop some tallow in your socks an’ that will make ’em well.For it’s best foot first, ...

We’re marchin’ on relief over Injia’s coral strand,Eight ’undred fightin’ Englishmen, the Colonel, and the Band;Ho! get away you bullock-man, you’ve ’eard the bugle blowed,

There’s a regiment a-comin’ down the Grand Trunk Road;With its best foot firstAnd the road a-sliding past,An’ every bloomin’ campin’-ground exactly like the last;While the Big Drum says,With ’is ‘rowdy-dowdy-dow!’–‘Kiko kissywarsti don’t you hamsher argy jow?’

8 Follow Me ’Ome

There was no one like ’im,’ Orse or Foot,Nor any o’ the Guns I knew;An’ because it was so, why, o’ course ’e went an’ died,Which is just what the best men do.So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me!An’ it’s finish up your swipes an’ follow me!Oh, ’ark to the big drum callin’,Follow me – follow me ’ome!

’Is girl she goes with a bombardierBefore ’er month is through;An’ the banns are up in church, for she’s got the beggar hooked,Which is just what a girl would do.So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me! ...

’E was all that I ’ad in the way of a friend,An’ I’ve ’ad to find one new;But I’d give my pay an’ stripe for to get the beggar back,Which it’s just too late to do.So it’s knock out your pipes an’ follow me! ...

Take ’im away! ’E’s gone where the best men go.Take ’im away! An’ the gun-wheels turnin’ slow.Take ’im away! There’s more from the place ’e come.Take ’im away, with the limber an’ the drum.For it’s ‘Three rounds blank’ an’ follow me,An’ it’s ‘Thirteen rank’ an’ follow me;Oh, passin’ the love o’ women,Follow me – follow me ’ome!

18 19

When the Widow give the party.(Bugle: Ta-rara-ra-ra-rara!)

‘How did you get away – away,Johnnie, Johnnie?’On the broad o’ my back at the end o’ the day,Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!I comed away like a bleedin’ toff,For I got four niggers to carry me off,As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough,When the Widow give the party.(Bugle: Ta-rara-ra-ra-rara!)

‘What was the end of all the show,Johnnie, Johnnie?’Ask my Colonel, for I don’t know,Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!We broke a King and we built a road –A court-house stands where the reg’ment goed.And the river’s clear where the raw blood flowedWhen the Widow give the party.(Bugle: Ta-rara-ra-ra-rara!)

£ On the Road to 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-bellsthey 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 ’crostthe Bay!

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 ’eednaught else.’No! you won’t ’eed nothin’ elseBut them spicy garlic smells,An’ the sunshine an’ the palm-trees an’ the tinkly temple-bells;On the road to Mandalay ...

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best islike the worst,Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man canraise 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:Come you back to Mandalay,Where the old Flotilla lay,Can’t you ’ear their paddles chunkin’ from Rangoon toMandalay?On the road to Mandalay ...

$ Fuzzy-Wuzzy Soudan Expeditionary ForceWe’ve fought with many men acrost the seas, An’ some of ’em was brave an’ some was not:The Paythan an’ the Zulu an’ Burmese;But the Fuzzy was the finest o’ the lot.We never got a ha’porth’s change of ’im:’E squatted in the scrub an’ ’ocked our ’orses,’E cut our sentries up at Suakim,An’ ’e played the cat an’ banjo with our forces.So ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your ’ome in the Soudan;You’re a pore benighted ’eathen but a first-class fightin’ man;We gives you your certificate, an’ if you want it signedWe’ll come an’ ’ave a romp with you whenever you’re inclined.

We took our chanst among the Khyber ’ills,The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,

21

The regiment’s in column, an’ they’re marchin’ us away;Ho! the young recruits are shakin’, an’ they’ll want theirbeer to-day,After hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.

! Lichtenberg New South Wales ContingentNote: The blossoms of the Australian Wattle Tree (aspecies of Acacia) emit a remarkably fragrant perfume,more particularly after rain; the sudden recognition of thisscent on an occasion during the Transvaal campaignawakens thoughts of ‘Home, sweet home’ in the breastof an Australian Trooper.

– Gerard F. Cobb

Smells are surer than sounds or sightsTo make your heart-strings crack – They start those awful voices o’ nightsThat whisper, ‘Old man, come back!’That must be why the big things passAnd the little things remain,Like the smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,Riding in, in the rain.

There was some silly fire on the flankAnd the small wet drizzling down –There were the sold-out shops and the bankAnd the wet, wide-open town;And we were doing escort-dutyTo somebody’s baggage-train,And I smelt wattle by Lichtenberg –Riding in, in the rain.

It was all Australia to me –All I had found or missed;Every face I was crazy to see,And every woman I’d kissed:All that I shouldn’t ha’ done, God knows!(As He knows I’ll do it again)

That smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,Riding in, in the rain!

And I saw Sydney the same as ever,The picnics and brass-bands;And my little homestead on Hunter RiverAnd my new vines joining hands,It all came over me in one actQuick as a shot through the brain –With the smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,Riding in, in the rain.

I have forgotten a hundred fights,But one I shall not forget –With the raindrops bunging up my sightsAnd my eyes bunged up with wet;And through the crack and the stink of the cordite,(Ah, Christ! My country again!)The smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,Riding in, in the rain!

@ The Widow’s Party

‘Where have you been this while away,Johnnie, Johnnie?’‘Out with the rest on a picnic lay,Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!They called us out of the barrack-yardTo Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard,And you can’t refuse when you get the card,And the Widow gives the party.(Bugle: Ta-rara-ra-ra-rara!)

‘What did you get to eat and drink,Johnnie, Johnnie?’Standing water as thick as ink,Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!A bit o’ beef that were three year stored,A bit o’ mutton as tough as a board,And a fowl we killed with a sergeant’s sword,

20

It ain’t the chanst o’ being rushed by Paythans from the ’ills,It’s the commissariat camel puttin’ on ’is bloomin’ frills!O the oont, O the oont, O the hairy scary oont!A-trippin’ over tent-ropes when we’ve got the night alarm!We socks ’im with a stretcher-pole an’ ’eads ’im off in front,An’ when we’ve saved ’is bloomin’ life ’e chaws ourbloomin’ arm.

The ’orse ’e knows above a bit, the bullock’s but a fool,The elephant’s a gentleman, the battery-mule’s a mule;But the commissariat cam-u-el, when all is said an’ done,’E’s a devil an’ a ostrich an’ a orphan-child in one.O the oont, O the oont, O the Gawd-forsaken oont!The lumpy-’umpy ’ummin’-bird a-singin’ where ’e lies,’E’s blocked the whole division from the rear-guard to the front,An’ when we get him up again – the beggar goes an’ dies!

So when the cruel march is done, an’ when the roads is blind,An’ when we sees the camp in front an’ ’ears the shots be’ind,Ho! then we strips ’is saddle off, and all ’is woes is past:’E thinks on us that used ’im so, and gets revenge at last.O the oont, O the oont, O the floatin’, bloatin’ oont!The late lamented camel in the water-cut ’e lies;We keeps a mile be’ind ’im an’ we keeps a mile in front,But ’e gets into the drinkin’-casks, and then o’ course we dies.

& Cells

I’ve a head like a concertina: I’ve a tongue like a button-stick:I’ve a mouth like an old potato, and I’m more than a little sick,But I’ve had my fun o’ the Corp’ral’s Guard: I’ve made thecinders fly,And I’m here in the Clink for a thundering drink and blacking the Corporal’s eye.With a second-hand overcoat under my head,And a beautiful view of the yard,O it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.

For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard!’Mad drunk and resisting the Guard –’Strewth, but I socked it them hard!So it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard.’

I started o’ canteen porter, I finished o’ canteen beer,But a dose o’ gin that a mate slipped in, ’twas that thatbrought me here.’Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed mynose in the dirt;But I fell away with the Corp’ral’s stock and the best ofthe Corp’ral’s shirt.

I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road,And Lord knows where, and I don’t care, my belt and mytunic goed;They’ll stop my pay, they’ll cut away the stripes I used to wear,But I left my mark on the Corp’ral’s face, and I think he’llkeep it there!

My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in thebarrack-yard,It ain’t that I mind the Ord’ly room – it’s that that cuts so hard.I’ll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain,But as soon as I’m in with a mate and gin, I know I’ll do it again!With a second-hand overcoat under my head,And a beautiful view of the yard,Yes, it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard!’Mad drunk and resisting the Guard –’Strewth, but I socked it them hard!So it’s pack-drill for me and a fortnight’s C.B.For ‘drunk and resisting the Guard.’

23

The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,An’ a Zulu impi dished us up in style:But all we ever got from such as theyWas pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;We ’eld our bloomin’ own, the papers say,But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us ’oller.Then ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an’ the missis and the kid;Our orders was to break you, an’ of course we went an’ did.We sloshed you with Martinis, an’ it wasn’t ’ardly fair;But for all the odds agin’ you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke the square.

’E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,An’, before we know, ’e’s ’ackin’ at our ’ead;’E’s all ’ot sand an’ ginger when alive,An’ ’e’s generally shammin’ when ’e’s dead.’E’s a daisy, ’e’s a ducky, ’e’s a lamb!’E’s a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,’E’s the on’y thing that doesn’t give a damnFor a Regiment o’ British Infantree!So ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your ’ome in the Soudan;You’re a pore benighted ’eathen but a first-class fightin’ man;An’ ’ere’s to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your ’ayrick ’ead of ’air –You big black boundin’ beggar – for you broke a British square!

% Belts

There was a row in Silver Street that’s near to Dublin Quay,Between an Irish regiment an’ English cavalree;It started at Revelly an’ it lasted on till dark:The first man dropped at Harrison’s, the last forninst the Park.For it was: – ‘Belts, belts, belts, an’ that’s one for you!’An’ it was ‘Belts, belts, belts, an’ that’s done for you!’O buckle an’ tongueWas the song that we sungFrom Harrison’s down to the Park!

There was a row in Silver Street – the regiments was out,They called us ‘Delhi Rebels’, an’ we answered ‘Threes about!’

That drew them like a hornet’s nest – we met them goodan’ large,The English at the double an’ the Irish at the charge.Then it was: – ‘Belts ...

There was a row in Silver Street – they sent the Polis there,The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn’t care;But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose,Till half o’ them was Liffey mud an’ half was tatthered clo’es.For it was: – ‘Belts ...

There was a row in Silver Street – it might ha’ raged till now,But some one drew his side-arm clear, an’ nobody knew how;’Twas Hogan took the point an’ dropped; we saw the redblood run:An’ so we all was murderers that started out in fun.While it was: – ‘Belts ...

There was a row in Silver Street – it isn’t over yet,For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get;’Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie:There was a row in Silver Street – begod, I wonder why!But it was: – ‘Belts ...

^ Oonts (Northern India Transport Train)(Camel:–oo is pronounced like u in ‘bull’, but by Mr. Atkinsto rhyme with ‘front.’)

Wot makes the soldier’s ’eart to penk, wot makes ’im to perspire?It isn’t standin’ up to charge nor lyin’ down to fire;But it’s everlastin’ waitin’ on a everlastin’ roadFor the commissariat camel an’ ’is commissariat load.O the oont, O the oont, O the commissariat oont!With ’is silly neck a-bobbin’ like a basket full o’ snakes;We packs ’im like an idol, an’ you ought to ’ear ’im grunt,An’ when we gets ’im loaded up ’is blessed girth-rope breaks.

Wot makes the rear-guard swear so ’ard when night isdrorin’ in,An’ every native follower is shiverin’ for ’is skin?

22

The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen:You ’avn’t got no families when servin’ of the Queen –You ’avn’t got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons –If you want to win your battles take an’ work yourbloomin’ guns!Down in the Infantry, nobody cares ...

) Tommy

I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’ beer,The publican ’e ups 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 beginsto 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 inthe stalls!For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, waitoutside’;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 onthe 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 sleepIs cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bitIs five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Tommy, ’ow’syer 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 noblackguards 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 troublein the wind,There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble inthe wind,O it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir’, when there’s trouble inthe 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 toour faceThe 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!

¡ Soldier, Soldier

‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,Why don’t you march with my true love?’‘We’re fresh from off the ship an’ ’e’s maybe give the slip,An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’New love! True love!Best go look for a new love,The dead they cannot rise, an’ you’d better dry your eyes,An’ you’d best go look for a new love.

‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,What did you see o’ my true love?’

25

* Bill ’Awkins

‘’As anybody seen Bill ’Awkins?’‘Now ’ow in the devil would I know?’‘’E’s taken my girl out walkin’,An’ I’ve got to tell ’im so –Gawd – bless – ’im!I’ve got to tell ’im so.’

’D’yer know what ’e’s like, Bill ’Awkins?’‘Now what in the devil would I care?’‘’E’s the livin’, breathin’ image of an organ-grinder’smonkey,With a pound of grease in ’is ’air –Gawd – bless – ’im!An’ a pound o’ grease in ’is ’air.’

‘An’ s’pose you met Bill ’Awkins,Now what in the devil ’ud ye do?’‘I’d open ’is cheek to ’is chin-strap buckle,An’ bung up ’is both eyes, too –Gawd – bless – ’im!An’ bung up ’is both eyes, too!’

‘Look ’ere, where ’e comes, Bill ’Awkins!Now what in the devil will you say?’‘It isn’t fit an’ proper to be fightin’ on a Sunday,So I’ll pass ’im the time o’ day –Gawd – bless – ’im!I’ll pass ’im the time o’ day!’

( Snarleyow

This ’appened in a battle to a batt’ry of the corpsWhich is first among the women an’ amazin’ first in war;An’ what the bloomin’ battle was I don’t remember now,But Two’s off-lead ’e answered to the name o’ Snarleyow.

They was movin’ into action, they was needed very sore,To learn a little schoolin’ to a native army corps,They ’ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin’ downthe brow,

When a tricky, trundlin’ roundshot give the knock toSnarleyow

Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;Down in the Cavalry, Colonel ’e swears;But down in the lead with the wheel at the flogTurns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

They cut ’im loose an’ left ’im – ’e was almost tore in two –But he tried to follow after as a well-trained ’orse should do;’E went an’ fouled the limber, an’ the Driver’s Brother squeals:‘Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow – ’is head’s between ’is ’eels!’

The Driver ’umped ’is shoulder, for the wheels was goin’ round,An’ there ain’t no ‘Stop, conductor!’ when a batt’ry’schangin’ ground;Sez ’e: ‘I broke the beggar in, an’ very sad I feels,But I couldn’t pull up, not for you – your ’ead betweenyour ’eels!’Down in the Infantry, nobody cares ...

’E ’adn’t ’ardly spoke the word, before a droppin’ shellA little right the batt’ry an’ between the sections fell;An’ when the smoke ’ad cleared away, before the limber wheels,There lay the Driver’s Brother with ’is ’ead between ’is ’eels.

Then sez the Driver’s Brother, an’ ’is words was very plain,‘For Gawd’s own sake get over me, an’ put me out o’ pain.’They saw ’is wounds was mortal, an’ they judged that itwas best,So they took an’ drove the limber straight across ’is backan’ chest.Down in the Infantry, nobody cares ...

The Driver ’e give nothin’ ’cept a little coughin’ grunt,But ’e swung ’is ’orses ’andsome when it came to ‘Action Front!’An’ if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head’Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread.

24

And if Britain stands in need, or war cloud o’er her falls.We will give the answer – when the Empire calls!Then strike boys strike with a strong right arm …

Hugh Macdonald3 Comrades

We from childhood played together,My dear comrade Jack and I,We would fight each other’s battles,To each other’s aid we’d fly;And in boyish scrapes and troubles,You would find us everywhere,Where one went the other followed,Naught could part us for we were …

We were comrades, comrades ever since we were boys,Sharing each other’s sorrows, sharing each other’s joys,Comrades when manhood was dawning,Faithful whate’er might betide,When danger threatened – my darling old comrade wasthere by my side.

In the night the savage foeman Crept around us as we lay,To our arms we leap’d and faced them, Back to back we stood at bay;As I fought, a savage at me Aimed his spear like lightning’s dart,But my comrade sprang to save me, And received it in his heart …We were comrades, comrades ever since we were boys …

Felix McGlennon4 The Absent-Minded Beggar

When you’ve shouted ‘Rule, Britannia’ – when you’vesung ‘God Save the Queen’,When you’ve finished killing Kruger with your mouth –Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourineFor a gentleman in khaki ordered South?He’s an absent-minded beggar and his weaknesses are great –

But we and Paul must take him as we find him –He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate –And he’s left a lot o’ little things behind him!

Duke’s son – cook’s son – son of a hundred kings,(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)Each of ’em doing his country’s work (and who’s to lookafter the things?)Pass the hat for your credit’s sake, and pay – pay – pay!

There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to,For he knew he wouldn’t get it if he did.There is gas and coal and vittles, and the house-rent falling due,And it’s more than rather likely there’s a kid.There are girls he walked with casual, they’ll be sorrynow he’s gone,For an absent-minded beggar they will find him,But it ain’t the time for sermons with the winter coming on –We must help the girl that Tommy’s left behind him!

Cook’s son – Duke’s son – son of a belted Earl,Son of a Lambeth publican – it’s all the same to-day!Each of ’em doing his country’s work (and who’s to lookafter the girl?)Pass the hat for your credit’s sake, and pay – pay – pay!

Let us manage so as later we can look him in the face,And tell him, what he’d very much prefer –That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place,And his mates (that’s you and me) looked out for her.He’s an absent-minded beggar, and he may forget it all,But we do not want his kiddies to remind him,That we sent ’em to the workhouse while their daddyhammered Paul,So we’ll help the homes that Tommy’s left behind him!

Duke’s job – cook’s job – gardener, baronet, groom –Mews or palace or paper-shop –there’s someone gone away! Each of ’em doing his country’s work (and who’s to lookafter the room?)Pass the hat for your credit’s sake, and pay – pay – pay!

27

‘I seed ’im serve the Queen in a suit o’ rifle-green,An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’

‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,Did aught take ’arm to my true love?’‘I couldn’t see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white –An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’New love! True love!...

‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,I’ll up an’ tend to my true love!’‘E’s lying on the dead with a bullet through ’is ’ead,An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’

‘Soldier, soldier come from the wars,Do you bring no sign from my true love?’‘I bring a lock of ’air that ’e allus used to wear,An’ you’d best go look for a new love.’New love! True love!...

CD2

1 Good-bye, Dolly Gray

I have come to say good-bye, Dolly Gray. It’s no use to ask me why, Dolly Gray.There’s a murmur in the airYou can hear it everywhere,It is time to do and dare, Dolly Gray. Don’t you hear the tramp of feet, Dolly Gray, Sounding through the village street, Dolly Gray.’Tis the tramp of soldiers’ feetIn their uniforms so neat,‘So good-bye until we meet, Dolly Gray!’

‘Good-bye, Dolly, I must leave you, Tho’ it breaks my heart to go.Something tells me I am needed at the front to fight the foe.See the soldier boys are marching, And I can no longer stay.Hark! I hear the bugle calling, Good-bye, Dolly Gray!’

Will D. Cobb

2 When the Empire Calls

Not ours to throw the gauntlet down nor hot defiance hurl,Not ours to give the challenge, nor battle flag unfurl.We banded for defence alone to guard our native land,Nor thought of foreign conquest upon a distant strand,But we’re sons of British sires and whatso’er befallsIt is ours to answer – when the Empire calls.

Then strike boys strike with a strong right arm,The crimson tide of kinship in our veins runs warm.Not all the foeman’s menace our beating heart appals,We’re ready to go forward – when the Empire calls.

Not ours to make a braggart boast to nations ’cross the sea,Nor seek the gauge of battle if they will leave us free.In peace and honour we would live from wanton strife apart.But a ‘call to arms’ will echo in each colonial heart.

26

Handy afloat, handy ashore, easiest soul to please,Ready to straddle a merry-go-round or ride on theplunging seas.Son of this sea-girt England, ward of the world-wide breed,Jack is the man for the midnight watch or the hour of theEmpire’s need!

Harold Begbie

7 Blue Bell

Blue Bell, the dawn is waking; Sweetheart, you must not sigh.Blue Bell, my heart is breaking, I’ve come to say good-bye.Hear how the bugle’s calling –Calling to each brave heart!Sweetheart, your tears are falling; Blue Bell, we two must part.

‘Good-bye, my Blue Bell! Farewell to you!One last fond look into your eyes so blue.’Mid campfires gleaming, ’mid shot and shell,I will be dreaming of my own Blue Bell.’

Blue Bell, a wrong wants righting; Brave men must risk their lives;Foemen in arms are fighting; Each for the victory strives.There on the hillside lying, There ’mid the guns’ loud roar –Blue Bell, your true love’s dying; Calling for you once more.‘Good-bye, my Blue Bell! Farewell to you! …

Blue Bell, they are returning; Each greets a sweetheart true;Blue Bell, your heart is yearning; Never a one greets you.Sadly they tell the story, Tell how he fought and fell,

No thought of fame or glory, Only of his Blue Bell.‘Good-bye, my Blue Bell! Farewell to you! ...

Edward Madden

8 Sons of the Southern Sea

When Austral sons heard war notes peal …It stirr’d their blood and fired their zeal;Ho! o’er the seas to British gunsThe Southland answer’d with her sons.The Star of Duty sheds her rayTo show our boys the Empire’s way,When flies our flag in battle tide, O’er Britons fighting side by side!

We fondly love our Motherland, no matter where we roam,Australians will by Britain stand, and proudly call it ‘home’.They rallied nobly at the call, Sons of the Southern Sea!If for the Empire men must fall, let ours that glory be!

Forward, and fear not! rings the cry, God speed our boys! The flag hold high!The sunset lights the path to FameTo laurels waiting them to claim.The Empire’s legions keep a placeFor sunburnt sons of Southern race.England declares there’s no braver bandThan those who hail from Austral strand!We fondly love our Motherland, no matter where we roam …

Joan Torrance

9 Break the News to Mother

While the shot and shell were screaming upon thebattlefield; The boys in blue were fighting, their noble flag to shield.Came a cry from their brave captain, ‘Look, boys! Our flag is down;Who’ll volunteer to save it from disgrace?’

29

Cook’s home – Duke’s home – home of a millionaire –(Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)Each of ’em doing his country’s work (and what have yougot to spare?)Pass the hat for your credit’s sake, and pay – pay – pay!

Rudyard Kipling

5 The Vacant Chair

We shall meet, but we shall miss him. There will be one vacant chair.We shall linger to caress him, While we breathe our evening prayer.When a year ago we gathered, Joy was in his mild blue eye,But a golden cord is severed, And our hopes in ruin lie.We shall meet …

At our fireside, sad and lonely, Often will the bosom swellAt remembrance of the storyHow our noble Willy fell.How he strove to bear our banner, Through the thickest of the fight.And uphold our country’s honour, In the strength of manhood’s might.We shall meet …

True they tell us wreaths of gloryEver more will deck his brow.But this soothes the anguish onlySweeping o’er our heartstrings now.Sleep today, O early fallen,In thy green and narrow bed.Dirges from the pine and cypress, Mingle with the tears we shed.We shall meet …

Henry Washburn

6 The Handy Man

We have seen him dragging his guns along in theAgricultural Hall,Trotting about on the noiseless tan as if he were playingat ball;But nobody saw him in far Natal, tugging away at his loadThrough the ruts in the road which the rain had cut,and where there was never a road;Nobody heard it or saw it, and there wasn’t a band to play,But he landed them up at Ladysmith from the cruiserdown in the bay;And just when the guns were needed, and looking quitespick and span.With a nod to the gent of the Absent Mind, up doublesthe Handy Man.Handy afloat, handy ashore, handier still in a hole,Ready to swarm up a mountain-side, or walk on a greasy pole;Lugging a gun through the desert, scrubbing a deck milk-white,Jack is the man for a children’s romp, or the awkwardhour of a fight.He keeps his hat for his own hard head when whispersof friendship fly,It isn’t ‘the thing’ for a Handy Man to swop with a fond ally;And it isn’t the wish of the Handy Man, that a furriner’sarm should pullA single oar in the trim tough boat, whose skipper is oldJohn Bull.He keeps to himself does the Handy Man when theclouds are pack’d for a squall,But he comes with his gun from the ends of the earthwhen the bugles give him a call;And the babe sleeps safe in her cot o’ nights, and thetrader may plot and plan,For under the stars on the rolling deep stands the vigilant Handy Man.

28

‘The baby’s name is Kitchener, Carrington, Methuen,Kekewich, White …

She tore the parson’s flag of truce, Then burst his Jacobsdal,She pushed his Modder River rightInto his shrapnel shell;She kicked his mounted infantryTill his Bloemfontein was sore,Then she did a flanking movement, And she shouted out once more …

‘The baby’s name is Kitchener, Carrington, Methuen,Kekewich, White …

Albert Hall@ Two Little Boys

Two little boys had two little toysEach had a wooden horseGaily they’d play each summer’s day, Warriors both of course.One little chap then had a mishapBroke off his horse’s head,Wept for his toy then cried with joyAs his young playmate said,‘Did you think I would leave you cryingWhen there’s room on my horse for two,Climb up here Jack and don’t be crying, I can go just as fast with two.When we grow up we’ll both be soldiers, And our horses will not be toys.And I wonder if we’ll rememberWhen we were two little boys.’

Long years past, war came so fast, Bravely they marched away.Cannon roared loud and in the mad crowdWounded and dying lay.Up goes a shout, a horse dashes out, Out from the ranks so blue.

Gallops away to where Joe lay, Then came a voice he knew.‘Did you think I would leave you dying When there’s room on my horse for two?Climb up here Joe we’ll soon be flying, I can go just as fast with two.Did you say Joe I’m all a-tremble, Perhaps it’s the battle’s noise.But I think it’s that I rememberWhen we were two little boys.’

Edward Madden£ Recessional

God of our fathers, known of old – Lord of our far flung battle line,Beneath whose awful Hand we holdDominion over palm and pine.Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget!The tumult and the shouting dies, The Captains and the Kings depart.Still stands thine ancient sacrificeAn humble and a contrite heart,Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget.

Far called our navies melt away – On dune and headland sinks the fire – Lo, all our pomp of yesterdayIs one with Nineveh and Tyre!Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget!If drunk with sight of power we looseWild tongues that have not Thee in awe,Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the law,Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget! Lest we forget!

31

‘I will,’ a young voice shouted, ‘I’ll bring it back, or die!’Then sprang into the thickest of the fray;Saved the flag but gave his young life; all for hiscountry’s sake.They brought him back and softly heard him say:

‘Just break the news to mother, she knows how dear I love her,And tell her not to wait for me, for I’m not coming home;Just say there is no other, can take the place of mother;Then kiss her dear, sweet lips for me, and break thenews to her.’

From afar a noted general had witnessed this brave deed.‘Who saved our flag? Speak up, lads; ’twas noble, brave indeed.’‘There he lies, sir,’ said the captain, ‘he’s sinking very fast.’Then slowly turned away to hide a tear.The general in a moment knelt down beside the boy;Then gave a cry that touched all hearts that day.‘It’s my son, my brave young hero; I thought you safe at home.’‘Forgive me, father, for I ran away.’‘Just break the news to mother, she knows how dear I love her …

Charles K. Harris0 Strathcona’s Horse: Regimental Song

I sing of the boys of Strathcona’s Horse, brave boys fromthe North and West,A corps that is one of Canadia’s pride, if not her very best,I sing of the land that they came to help, of themotherland they own,I’d sing of their ready courage were it not already known.

Then cheer for the boys of Strathcona, they merrily scoutand ride,O’er the boundless veldt like their prairies, they findwhere the Boer doth hide.Our Tommies thank them kindly, say where’s thatbounding Boer,

They’re always there, when wanted, and first when thecannon roar.

Then when the war is over to your friends you’rewelcome back.Think of the lads you left asleep, away by the lone veldt track.Remember they’re somebody’s loved ones, rememberyour comrades they’ve been.They died for the sake of the country they loved, theGrand Union Jack and their Queen.Then cheer for the boys of Strathcona, they merrily scoutand ride …

Lieutenant A.L. Harrington Kyle

! The Baby’s Name

The war, the war, the bloomin’ warHas turned my wife insane,From Kruger to Majuba, she’s the Transvaal on the brain.And when to christen our first child,Last Sunday week we tried,The parson said, ‘What’s this child’s name?’ And my old girl replied …

‘The baby’s name is Kitchener, Carrington, Methuen,Kekewich, White,Cronje, Plumer, Powell, Majuba, Gatacre, WarrenColenso, Kruger,Cape Town, Mafeking, French, Kimberley, Ladysmith, ’Bobs’,Union Jack and Fighting Mac, Lyddite, Pretoria, Blobbs!’

The parson said, ‘Such names I can’tUpon this infant pop’;But my wife broke his rolling veldt, And smashed his ‘Spion Kop’.She jumped up on his ‘Kroonstad’, And she never made a miss–Said she, ‘I’ll burst your armoured train, If you don’t think of this …

30

^ The Pardon Came Too Late

A fair-haired boy in a foreign landAt sunrise was to die;In a prison cell he sat alone, From his heart there came a sigh.Deserted from the ranks, they said, The reason none could say;They only knew the orders wereThat he should die next day.And as the hours glided by, A messenger on wings did fly.To save this boy from such a fate, A Pardon, but it came too late!

The volley was fired at sunriseJust after break of day,And while the echoes lingeredA soul had passed away,Into the arms of the Maker,And there to learn his fate,A tear, a sigh, a sad goodbye. The Pardon came too late!

And ’round the camp fire burning bright,The story then was told;How his mother on a dying bed, Called for her son so bold.He hastened to obey her wish, Was captured on the way:She never saw her boy so fair, He died at break of day.And when the truth at last was known, His innocence at once was shown.To save from such an unjust fateA Pardon sent, but ’twas too late!

The volley was fired at sunrise …Paul Dresser

& Mafekin’ Night

I was walkin’ long ’o Lizer, Thought it wiser, ’cos they eyes ’er,I’d took ’er for an outin’, Sez she – poutin’ – ‘Wot’s that shoutin’?’A cove ’e starts a ’ollerin’Crowds a follerin’ (Flags a-collarin’)A cheerin’ all the way. ‘Baden-Powell!! Bobs! ’ooray!’An’ ‘Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers!’

Wot oh! we cried on Mafekin’ night!Wot oh! outside! On Mafekin’ night!We all be’aved, all tho’ we raved, an’ the old flag waved,The moke on ’is back wore a Union Jack, An’ Par ’ad ’is whiskers shaved!

Then someone started pitchin’ ’erYarns of Kitchener, quite bewitchin’ ’er.The moke begins a-rearin’, makes a clearin’Through the cheerin’’E takes us on ’is silly way, Piccadilly way,’Taint a ’illy way!We makes in the dark, For a mansion near the park,With a cheer for ‘Good old Baden-Powell.’Wot oh! we cried on Mafekin’ night! …

Albert Chevalier

* Just Knock at the Door, and Ask for Us

In the war with the Boer, history can tell,New Zealand sent her boys to help the motherland.Shot and shell, how they fell mid the cannon’s roarFrom coast to coast we know they bravely took their stand.Nations know, friend and foe, they were heroes then …Tho’ we’re proud of our deeds we seldom boast.That John Bull can understand, should he need a helping handThis bit of the world will do its best.

33

For heathen heart that puts her trustIn 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! Amen.

Rudyard Kipling

$ The Boer Prisoner’s Prayer

More boundless than our great Karoo, Vast glorious ocean now I view,Strange wonders now I’m learning; In prison ship out on the main,The sad, sad thoughts course through my brain:When shall I be, shall I be returning?To my dear old plaats, to my only home,Where the Duiker, Springbok and Koudoo roam,And the fire of Freedom is burning. Say, stars above, on this lovely night;Say, waves, as you dash with majestic might:When shall I be returning? When shall I be returning?

I can see the old kraal and the sheep coming in.With old Jakob’s loud ‘hok-hok’ increasing the din.There’s the vrouw I can see, but no smile on the face,But deep lines of sorrow I sadly can trace,There deep lines of sorrow I sadly can trace.The kinders all round her are asking for me;Her sorrowful answer, I fancy I see, Her sorrowful answer, I fancy I see.Sad waves your sweet voices they soothe me to sleep.From harm, our dear Father, my darling ones keep.List, God, to my calling and pity my yearning;I leave it to Thee to see me returning.List, God, to my calling and pity my yearning;I leave it to Thee to see me returning.

Lieutenant A.L. Harrington Kyle

% Sons of Our Empire

Boys from the bounds of the Empire, Sons of our Wales over sea,Here is our love to your country, Here is our God-speed to ye!Dear to the heart of your Mother, Blest of your brothers in need – Ye are the pride of the Nation, Ye are the flower of her seed!

Sons of our Empire, marching out to war,With our brave Colonials from the distant shore,We’re going to fight and conquer, as we’ve done before,For the love of our Country and Queen!

Hark to the love of our London, Voiced in the cheers of the street!Pride’s in the eyes that are watching, Joy’s in the quickened heartbeat,All for the boys who are marchingGaily for Empire and Queen,Ready to die for our honour, Sturdy and fearless of mien!

Sons of our Empire, marching out to war …

There are some we’ll be leaving behind usWho will sleep on that far distant track –And eyes will be dim here, with weeping, For the men who can never come back.When the Roll Call of life will be soundingAnd the tramp of these men will be heard,Well done, good and faithful soldier, Will be our Great Colonel’s word.

Sons of our Empire, marching out to war,….

B. Malcolm Ramsey

32

Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers! You’re no craven mutineers,You bravely stormed and won the Glencoe height;Put four thousand crafty Boers to flight,’Twas a grand and glorious sight,Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers!

Brave general Symons led our attack amidst the deadlyshot and shell;Foremost and first were brave Irish boys, and manygallant soldiers fell.Dear was that price for the victory we paid, with many,many British lives;’Tis but our duty if help we provide for those heroes’children and their wives.

Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers! …G.D. Wheeler

¡ Good-bye, Daddy

Out in the midst of war and din, one’s not much time to think,There’s some days when our soldiers haven’t time for biteor drink.They don’t mind that, they said, ‘We’ve come to teach theBoer what’s right,We’re here now and we’ll do it right, if we fight all dayand night.’It’s said that Tommy’s absent-minded, and he’ll soon forget,But one out there will recollect the words his boy said yet.

‘Good-bye, Daddy, I do wish you could take me:Good-bye, Daddy, when you’re across the sea,Before I go to bed each night for you I’m going to pray,And I’ll take care of Mammie, Daddy, while you’re away.’

Lawrence BarclayMedley:

™ Soldiers of the Queen

Britons once did loyally declaimAbout the way we ruled the waves.Every Briton’s song was just the same,

When singing of our soldier braves.All the world had heard it – wondered why we sang,And some have learned the reason why –But we’re forgetting it, And we’re letting it fade away and gradually die.So when we say that England’s master, Remember who has made her so –

It’s the Soldiers of the Queen, my lads, Who’ve been, my lads, who’re seen, my lads,In the fight for England’s glory, lads, When we have to show them what we mean:And when we say we’ve always wonAnd when they ask us how it’s doneWe’ll proudly point to every oneOf England’s soldiers of the Queen.

Lesley Stuart# Sarie Marais

My Sarie Marais is so ver van my hart, maar’k hoop omhaar weer te sien.Sy het in die wyk van die Mooi revier gewoon, nog voordie oorlog het begin.O bring my terug na die ou Transvaal, daar waar my Sarie woon,Daar onder in the mielies by die groen doring boom,Daar woon my Sarie Marais.[My Sarie Marais is so far from my heart, but I hope tosee her again,She lived in the district of the Mooi River, before the war started.O bring me back to the old Transvaal, there where mySarie lives,There under in the cornfields by the old thorn tree, therelives my Sarie Marais.]

Sep. Winner

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For we are first in the field down in Maoriland.We didn’t wait till the news went roundOr start to hesitate, and make a fuss.We didn’t wait for the word from the Motherland,Dear Motherland, she’ll understand,When she’s building ships of war,And they’re wanting any more,Just knock at the door and ask for us.

John Finucane

( The Pretoria Dinner Party, or In Walked England

One day old uncle Kruger gave a dinner party grand,Inviting representatives from every foreign land,Said he, ‘While in Pretoria you’re welcome one and all,So gentlemen enjoy yourselves, you’re guests of old Oom Paul.’The seat of honour by consent was given up to France,While Germany and Russia gave a sort of friendly glance.Spain, Italy and Austria, together they came in,And made a proposition that the dinner should begin,‘One moment,’ said America, ‘I miss a well known face,I’ve looked around but cannot see old England in her place.’Said France, ‘She’s not invited where there’s any loyal Boer.’Just then they heard a knock and someone opened widethe door.

In walked England, Kruger gave a shout,John Bull said, ‘I’m here to stay, who dares to put me out.’Up jumped America, and said, ‘I wish it known,If more than one should tackle him you’ll find he’s not alone.’

The guests all looked astounded as they gazed on oldJohn Bull,But France said, ‘Gentlemen, be calm, together we can pull,We’ve Italy and Austria, with Russia by our side,My old opponent Germany will help us stem the tide.’Said Kruger, ‘France has spoken well, she’s my bestfriend today,

I’ll give up half Pretoria to keep John Bull away,I’ve Russians in my army now, with loyal Germans too,And France has sworn that she will do her best to helpme through.’‘Now, Gentlemen,’ said John Bull, ‘I’ve a word I’d like to say.No doubt you’re very much surprised to see me here today,Though small in size, a giant in strength, you’ve got yourwork to do,And France can have the same old dose she got atWaterloo.’In walked England, Kruger gave a shout …

America then turned and said, ‘I guess you make me tired,Your bluffs don’t go with old John Bull, his pluck we’ve all admired,When I was in sore trouble, yes, and needed one staunch friend,’Twas John Bull stood behind me then, and stayed thereto the end.He’s fighting now for freedom’s cause the same as I was then,You tried to bluff but old John Bull stood there with shipsand men.He’s able now to hold his own, whatever game you play.And as he stood by me before, I’ll stand by him today.’Then John Bull said, ‘Clear out, you’ve heard America’s reply,Both France and Russia know what I have done in daysgone by.Old Kruger, Steyn and Cronje will be buried in the past,And exiled to that Island where Napoleon breathed his last.’In walked England, Kruger gave a shout …

W.C. Robey) Bravo! Dublin Fusiliers!

Some dare to say that Irishmen should refuse to fight forBritain’s crown;Some dare suggest that they should prepare to turn andstrike the English down.What cowardly traitors to try and incite our soldiers tobecome mutineers!Those agitators have had their reply from the gallantDublin Fusiliers.

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David Miller AM piano

David Miller is widely recognised as one ofAustralia’s leading ensemble pianists and vocalaccompanists. He has been described as ‘therole model of Australian accompanists’ and hasbeen appointed as a member of the Order ofAustralia for his service to music.

His distinguished career has includedpartnerships with many internationally renownedsingers, including Peter Coleman-Wright, JohnMark Ainsley, Marilyn Richardson, Lauris Elms,Luigi Alva, Elizabeth Campbell, John Pringle,Carolyn Watkinson, Margaret Field, GhillianSullivan and Philip Langshaw.

David Miller has collaborated with baritoneMichael Halliwell on several occasions in bothconcerts and recordings. With soprano WendyDixon he is a founding member of the innovativeand highly acclaimed Grevillea Ensemble, whichhas elevated the art of the chamber musicrecital to new heights.

His performing schedule has also taken him tothe United Kingdom, New Zealand, Indonesia,Japan, China, Saudi Arabia, New Caledonia,Korea, Vanuatu and Vietnam, as well as throughmost parts of Australia.

David Miller is chair of the Ensemble StudiesUnit at Sydney Conservatorium of Music withresponsibility for Chamber Music/Accompaniment

tuition within the institution. He has conductedmaster classes and lectures for universities,conservatoriums, music organisations and musicconferences in many parts of Australia and Asia.He has twice been a panel member for theMietta Song Recital Award in Melbourne and iscurrently President of the Accompanists’ Guildof NSW.

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¢ Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

In the prison cell I sit, thinking, Mother dear, of you,And our bright and happy home so far away,And the tears they fill my eyes spite of all that I can do,Tho’ I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.

Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching, Cheer up, comrades, they will come,And beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again,Of the freeland in our own beloved home.

George F. Root

∞ Waltzing Matilda

Once a jolly swagman camp’d by a billabong, under theshade of a coolibah tree,And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiledYou’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me.Waltzing Matilda …

‘Banjo’ Paterson§ Good-bye, Dolly Gray

Hear the rolling of the drum, Dolly Gray, Back from war the regiment comes, Dolly Gray.On your lovely face so fair I can see a look of care, For your soldier boy’s not there, Dolly Gray.For the one you loved so well, Dolly Gray, In the midst of battle fell, Dolly Gray.With his face towards the foeAs he died he murmured low,‘I must say goodbye and go, Dolly Gray.’

‘Good-bye, Dolly, I must leave you, Tho’ it breaks my heart to go.Something tells me I am needed at the front to fight the foe.See the soldier boys are marching,And I can no longer stay.Hark! I hear the bugle calling, Good-bye, Dolly Gray!’

Will D. Cobb

Michael Halliwell baritone

After studying music and literature at theUniversity of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburgand at the London Opera Centre with OtakarKraus, Michael Halliwell worked with Tito Gobbiin Florence. After a period with the NetherlandsOpera in Amsterdam, he joined the HamburgState Opera as principal baritone, singing manyroles throughout Europe including Don Giovanni,Papageno, Almaviva, Guglielmo, Posa, Germont,Gianni Schicchi, Ford, Escamillo and Billy Budd.He took up the position of Lecturer in VocalStudies and Opera at the University of SydneyConservatorium in 1996 and was the GraduateCo-ordinator of Performance. He was Chair ofVocal Studies from 2000 to 2004, and iscurrently Pro-Dean and Head of School.

Michael Halliwell has published widely onliterature and music, and organised aninternational conference on literature and musicat the University of Sydney in July 2001. He gavea series of lectures on Shakespeare and opera atCambridge University in 2003, as well aslectures at the Royal College of Music in Londonon operatic adaptation. He has published widelyin this area and his book Opera and the Novel:The Case of Henry James was published inJanuary 2005. Michael Halliwell records for ABC Classic FM as well as 2MBS and is afrequent recitalist.

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CD 1

Producer Andrew McKeichEngineer Bob ScottRecording November 2000, Sydney Opera HouseConcert Hall, Australia, with the kind permission ofthe Sydney Opera House TrustPiano Steinway DPiano Technician Terry Harper

CD 2

Producer Andrew McKeich Engineer Ross Shead Recording December 2002, Music Workshop of theSydney Conservatorium of Music, The University ofSydney, with the kind permission of the SydneyConservatorium of Music.Piano Steinway Piano Technician Terry Harper

Executive Producers Robert Patterson, Lyle ChanEditorial and Production Manager Hilary ShrubbBooklet Editor Richard KingCover and Booklet Design Imagecorp Pty Ltd

Thanks to the University of Cape Town KiplingCollection for their assistance.

CD 1: � 2001 Australian Broadcasting Corporation. CD 2: � 2005 Australian Broadcasting Corporation. © 2005 Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Distributed inAustralia by Universal Music Group, under exclusivelicence. Made in Australia. All rights of the owner ofcopyright reserved. Any copying, renting, lending,diffusion, public performance or broadcast of this recordwithout the authority of the copyright owner is prohibited.

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