Tommy

Although it might damage my carefully-nurtured image as a hairy-chested he-man, I have a confession to make:

I love poetry.

I have a large collection of poems which speak to me for one reason or another, and there are many poems I enjoy reading aloud (you haven't lived until you've heard my renditions of The Cremation of Sam McGee, by Robert W. Service and Casey at the Bat, by Ernest Thayer). I love reading in general, but there are times when a great poem is the only thing that will hit the spot.

As we lurch into another week, I thought I'd share one of my favorite poems with you. You may know Tommy as the rock opera by Pete Townshend, but that Tommy (and the classic song "Pinball Wizard") was preceded by many years by Rudyard Kipling's poem of the same name.

You may know that "Tommy" (short for "Thomas Atkins") is a generic term for a common British soldier (much as the American term "GI"), and Rudyard Kipling's homage to that common soldier looks at the love-hate relationship between the soldier and the people he (and she, now) is sworn to defend. Having entered the Air Force during the war in Vietnam, I saw the ugly downside of how America viewed its military; things are much different today, when most people go all-out to honor those who put their lives on the line for the nation.

Another great poem to be read aloud...but only if you can do the lower-class British accent...

Tommy
by Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!

Have a good day. Read a great poem aloud. For suggestions, just ask me.

More thoughts tomorrow.

Bilbo