Have You Kippled Lately?

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Anent my second most recent post:
Poems - The Sons of Martha

The Sons of Martha

THE Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary's Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

They say to mountains, " Be ye removèd" They say to the lesser floods " Be dry."
Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd - they are not afraid of that which is high.
Then do the hill tops shake to the summit - then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.

 The rest of the poem, as well as notes on the text, sources, references, etc.,  at the link.

This one is a perennial favorite in some corners of the blogosphere: Poems - 'The Gods of the Copybook Headings'

The Ballad of the Red Earl

The Ballad of the Red Earl

by Rudyard Kipling

RED EARL, and will ye take for guide
The silly camel-birds,
That ye bury your head in an Irish thorn,
On a desert of drifting words?

Ye have followed a man for a God, Red Earl,
As the Lord o’ Wrong and Right;
But the day is done with the setting sun—
Will ye follow into the night?

He gave you your own old words, Red Earl,
For food on the wastrel way;
Will ye rise and eat in the night, Red Earl,
That fed so full in the day?

Ye have followed fast, ye have followed far,
And where did the wandering lead?
From the day that ye praised the spoken word
To the day ye must gloss the deed.

And as ye have given your hand for gain,
So must ye give in loss;
And as ye ha’ come to the brink of the pit,
So must ye loup across.

For some be rogues in grain, Red Earl,
And some be rogues in fact,
And rogues direct and rogues elect;
But all be rogues in pact.

Ye have cast your lot with these, Red Earl;
Take heed to where ye stand.
Ye have tied a knot with your tongue, Red Earl,
That ye cannot loose with your hand.

Ye have travelled fast, ye have travelled far
In the grip of a tightening tether,
Till ye find at the end ye must take for friend
The quick and their dead together.

Ye have played with the Law between your lips,
And mouthed it daintilee;
But the gist o' the speech is ill to teach,
For ye say: "Let wrong go free."

Red Earl, ye wear the Garter fair
And gat your place from a King:
Do ye make Rebellion of no account,
And Treason a little thing?

And have ye weighed your words, Red Earl,
That stand and speak so high?
And is it good that the guilt o' blood,
Be cleared at the cost of a sigh?

And is it well for the sake of peace,
Our tattered Honour to sell,
And higgle anew with a tainted crew --
Red Earl, and is it well?

Ye have followed fast, ye have followed far,
On a dark and doubtful way,
And the road is hard, is hard, Red Earl,
And the price is yet to pay.
   
Ye shall pay that price as ye reap reward
For the toil of your tongue and pen --
In the praise of the blamed and the thanks of the shamed,
And the honour o' knavish men.
 
They scarce shall veil their scorn, Red Earl,
And the worst at the last shall be,
When you tell your heart that it does not know
And your eye that it does not see.

As ye sow...

Light gardening day today.  Mostly poking seeds into dirt hoping it's not too late in the year for anything to prosper.  (As late as the season started here, that may not be forlorn...)

Various lettuce, radishes, peas (snow and sweet), carrots.  Also, for variety, echinacea, catnip and cat grass.

Mrs. Drang also planted some germaniums. (Or was it hygrangiums? I always get those two mixed up...)

Anyway, no pics, because what could be more boring than a photo of a hole in the ground?

EDIT to add a link to Rudyard Kipling's paean to purveyors of plant seeds: Pan in Vermont

Interesting...

Seeing that The Searchers was going to be on soon, I turned to the station and saw that the 1942 version of The Jungle Book was on.  In a sudden fit of "Where are they now?" curiosity, I looked up Sabu on IMDb, and learned that his early career was almost a Hollywood cliche, as he was trained (appropriately enough) as a mahout, but was discovered while mucking out the elephant stables and "had a movie career handed to him on a silver platter."

After making three wildly successful movies for Alexander Korda, he moved to Hollywood, where he was, alas, cast largely in formulaic potboilers...

...and, after becoming an American citizen in 1944 he enlisted in the US Army Air Corps, where he served as an aerial gunner and was awarded the Air Medal and the Distinguished Service Cross.

Alas, his post-war movie career never met the promise of those early days, and he died of an unexpected heart attack at the age of 39.

Shall We Kipple? (III)

'The Gods of the Copybook Headings'

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,

I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.

Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn

That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:

But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,

So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,

Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,

But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come

That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,

They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;

They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;

So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.

They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.

But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know." 

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life

(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)

Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death." 

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all, 

By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul; 

But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy, 

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die." 

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew

And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true

That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man

There are only four things certain since Social Progress began. 

That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, 

And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins

When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins, 

As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn, 

The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return! 

This could well serve as a summary of current "conservative" thought.

Shall We Kipple? (II)

Dane-geld

A.D. 980-1016*

IT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation

To call upon a neighbour and to say: –

"We invaded you last night – we are quite prepared to fight,

 Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for Dane-geld,

And the people who ask it explain

That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld

And then you'll get rid of the Dane!

It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation,

To puff and look important and to say: –

"Though we know we should defeat you,

we have not the time to meet you.

We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;

 But we've proved it again and again,

That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld

 You never get rid of the Dane.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,

 For fear they should succumb and go astray;

So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,

You will find it better policy to say: --

"We never pay any-one Dane-geld,

 No matter how trifling the cost;

For the end of that game is oppression and shame,

 And the nation that plays it is lost!"

Feel free to add dates, i.e., 1930-1938, 1979-2012, etc.

Shall we Kipple? (I)

The Truce of the Bear

1898

YEARLY, with tent and rifle, our careless white men go
By the Pass called Muttianee, to shoot in the vale below.
Yearly by Muttianee he follows our white men in -
Matun, the old blind beggar, bandaged from brow to chin.

Eyeless, noseless, and lipless - toothless, broken of speech,
Seeking a dole at the doorway he mumbles his tale to each;
Over and over the story, ending as he began:
"Make ye no truce with Adam-zad - the Bear that walks like a Man!

"There was a flint in my musket - pricked and primed was the pan,
When I went hunting Adam-zad - the Bear that stands like a Man.
I looked my last on the timber, I looked my last on the snow,
When I went hunting Adam-zad fifty summers ago!

"I knew his times and his seasons, as he knew mine, that fed
By night in the ripened maizefield and robbed my house of bread.
I knew his strength and cunning, as he knew mine, that crept
At dawn to the crowded goat-pens and plundered while I slept.

"Up from his stony playground - down from his well-digged lair -
Out on the naked ridges ran Adam-zad the Bear -
Groaning, grunting, and roaring, heavy with stolen meals,
Two long marches to northward, and I was at his heels!

"Two long marches to northward, at the fall of the second night,
I came on mine enemy Adam-zad all panting from his flight.
There was a charge in the musket - pricked and primed was the pan -
My finger crooked on the trigger - when he reared up like a man.

"Horrible, hairy, human, with paws like hands in prayer,
Making his supplication rose Adam-zad the Bear!
I looked at the swaying shoulders, at the paunch's swag and swing,
And my heart was touched with pity for the monstrous, pleading thing.

"Touched witth pity and wonder, I did not fire then . . .
I have looked no more on women - I have walked no more with men.
Nearer he tottered and nearer, with paws like hands that pray -
From brow to jaw that steel-shod paw, it ripped my face away!

"Sudden, silent, and savage, searing as flame the blow -
Faceless I fell before his feet, fifty summers ago.
I heard him grunt and chuckle - I heard him pass to his den.
He left me blind to the darkened years and the little mercy of men.

"Now ye go down in the morning with guns of the newer style,
That load (I have felt) in the middle and range (I have heard) a mile?
Luck to the white man's rifle, that shoots so fast and true,
But - pay, and I lift my bandage and show what the Bear can do!"

(Flesh like slag in the furnace, knobbed and withered and grey -
Matun, the old blind beggar, he gives good worth for his pay.)
"Rouse him at noon in the bushes, follow and press him hard -
Not for his ragings and roarings flinch ye from Adam-zad.

"But (pay, and I put back the bandage) this is the time to fear,
When he stands up like a tired man, tottering near and near;
When he stands up as pleading, in wavering, man-brute guise,
When he veils the hate and cunning of his little, swinish eyes;

"When he shows as seeking quarter, with paws like hands in prayer
That is the time of peril - the time of the TRuce of the Bear!"

Eyeless, noseless, and lipless, asking a dole at the door,
Matun, the old blind beggar, he tells it o'er and o'er;
Fumbling and feeling the rifles, warming his hands at the flame,
Hearing our careless white men talk of the morrow's game;

Over and over the story, ending as he began: -
"There is no truce with Adam-zad, the Bear that looks like a Man!"

Who?

During my morning blog-reading I saw that both Bobbi and Tam had referred to some Brit git who had compared the poor-quality YouTube video that allegedly inspired--or at least gave the rationale to--the murderous rioters in Cairo and Benghazi to a Jack Chick Tract.

Having never heard the term, I looked Jack Chick up in Wikipedia.

Jack Thomas Chick (born April 13, 1924) is an American publisher, writer, and comic book artist of fundamentalist Christian tracts and comic books.[1] His comics have been described by the Los Angeles Magazine as "equal parts hate literature and fire-and-brimstone sermonizing".

Oh. Him. Caught an NCO slipping some of that crap into the bag of a woman widely suspected of being a lesbian, and put a stop to it. Hmm:

Chick's company, Chick Publications, claims to have sold over 750 million tracts, comics tracts, videos, books, and posters designed to promote Protestant evangelism from a Christian fundamentalist point of view.

Videos? Oh, goody, he's expanded.

Many of these are controversial, as they accuse Roman Catholics, Freemasons, Muslims and many other groups of murder and conspiracies, while Chick maintains his views are simply politically incorrect.

I think we can take it as given that members of one of those groups is, in fact, given to conspiring to commit murder, among other crimes in the name of their religion.

Look, I'm STILL not saying all Muslims are terrorists or murderers, I'm STILL not saying Islam Delenda Est, but forgetting the truce of the Bear when dealing with Salafis, and/or Wahabists (I'm not sure there's a difference) is foolish.

At best.

Verse of the Day

Inspired by my misunderstanding of Bill Quick's post Daily Pundit » Deals on Screw Guns

Screw-guns
by Rudyard Kipling

SMOKIN’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule,
With seventy gunners be’ind me, an’ never a beggar forgets
It’s only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets—’Tss! ’Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain’t:
We’d climb up the side of a sign-board an’ trust to the stick o’ the paint:
We’ve chivied the Naga an’ Looshai, we’ve give the Afreedeeman fits,
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits—’Tss! ’Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

If a man doesn’t work, why, we drills ’im an’ teaches ’im ’ow to behave;
If a beggar can’t march, why, we kills ’im an’ rattles ’im into ’is grave.
You’ve got to stand up to our business an’ spring without snatchin’ or fuss.
D’you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us—’Tss! ’Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

The eagles is screamin’ around us, the river’s a-moanin’ below,
We’re clear o’ the pine an’ the oak-scrub, we’re out on the rocks an’ the snow,
An’ the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains
The rattle an’ stamp o’ the lead-mules the jinglety-jink o’ the chains—’Tss! ’Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

There’s a wheel on the Horns o’ the Mornin’, an’ a wheel on the edge o’ the Pit,
An’ a drop into nothin’ beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:
With the sweat runnin’ out o’ your shirt-sleeves, an’ the sun off the snow in your face,
An’ ’arf o’ the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in ’er place—’Tss! ’Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we call round with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don’t get away from the guns!

Smokin’ my pipe on the mountings, sniffin’ the mornin’ cool,
I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o’ my old brown mule.
The monkey can say what our road was the wild-goat ’e knows where we passed.
Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin’s! Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast—’Tss! ’Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we take tea with a few guns, o’ course you will know what to do—hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an’ surrender it’s worse if you fights or you runs:
You may hide in the caves, they’ll be only your graves, but you can’t get away from the guns!

More for The Day

From Brother Kipling

 The Veterans

To-day, across our fathers' graves, 

 The astonished years reveal 

The remnant of that desperate host 

Which cleansed our East with steel. 

Hail and farewell! 

We greet you here, 

With tears that none will scorn-- 

O Keepers of the House of old, 

 Or ever we were born! 

One service more we dare to ask-- 

 Pray for us, heroes, pray, 

That when Fate lays on us our task 

We do not shame the Day!

Written for the Gathering of Survivors the Indian Mutiny, Albert Hall, 1907
(Which is an interesting little bit of fore-shadowing, I suppose.)

Chant-Pagan
ENGLISH IRREGULAR, DISCHARGED

Me that 'ave been what I've been --
  Me that 'ave gone where I've gone --
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen --
  'Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An' 'ouses both sides of the street,
And 'edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an' gentry between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet --
  Me that 'ave been what I've been?

Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world
'Eave up all shiny with dew,
Kopje on kop to the sun,
An' as soon as the mist let 'em through
Our 'elios winkin' like fun --
Three sides of a ninety-mile square,
Over valleys as big as a shire --
"Are ye there? Are ye there? Are ye there?"
An' then the blind drum of our fire . . .
An' I'm rollin' 'is lawns for the Squire,
Me!

Me that 'ave rode through the dark
Forty mile, often, on end,
Along the Ma'ollisberg Range,
With only the stars for my mark
An' only the night for my friend,
An' things runnin' off as you pass,
An' things jumpin' up in the grass,
An' the silence, the shine an' the size
Of the 'igh, unexpressible skies --
I am takin' some letters almost
As much as a mile to the post,
An' "mind you come back with the change!"
Me!

Me that saw Barberton took
When we dropped through the clouds on their 'ead,
An' they 'ove the guns over and fled --
Me that was through Di'mond 'Ill,
An' Pieters an' Springs an' Belfast --
From Dundee to Vereeniging all --
Me that stuck out to the last
(An' five bloomin' bars on my chest) --
I am doin' my Sunday-school best,
By the 'elp of the Squire an' 'is wife
(Not to mention the 'ousemaid an' cook),
To come in an' 'ands up an' be still,
An' honestly work for my bread,
My livin' in that state of life
To which it shall please God to call
Me!

Me that 'ave followed my trade
In the place where the Lightnin's are made;
'Twixt the Rains and the Sun and the Moon --
Me that lay down an' got up
Three years with the sky for my roof --
That 'ave ridden my 'unger an' thirst
Six thousand raw mile on the hoof,
With the Vaal and the Orange for cup,
An' the Brandwater Basin for dish, --
Oh! it's 'ard to be'ave as they wish
(Too 'ard, an' a little too soon),
I'll 'ave to think over it first --
Me!

I will arise an' get 'ence --
I will trek South and make sure
If it's only my fancy or not
That the sunshine of England is pale,
And the breezes of England are stale,
An' there's something' gone small with the lot.
For I know of a sun an' a wind,
An' some plains and a mountain be'ind,
An' some graves by a barb-wire fence,
An' a Dutchman I've fought 'oo might give
Me a job where I ever inclined
To look in an' offsaddle an' live
Where there's neither a road nor a tree --
But only my Maker an' me,
And I think it will kill me or cure,
So I think I will go there an' see.

Me!

Obviously, a veteran of the Boer War(s).  Some things never change, though. Going to far distant lands and meeting strange and interesting people will change a person.  How ya' gonna keep 'em down on the farm, etc., etc.?

The Latest From Where England Used To Be

Telegraph: Soldier in uniform refused service in supermarket.

Sapper--combat engineer, to us--flies home on leave, stops off at pick up some beer on his way to his nephew's birthday party, and is refused service.  "We don't serve soldiers in uniform."

Calls for manager, who says he can't help him, because those are her beliefs.

It's like they want us to have even more reasons we're not them...
h/t Blackfive.

Seems like only yesterday...

TOMMY

(Rudyard Kipling, 1890)
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

Updated for the 21st Century:

O then we're just like 'eroes from the army's glorious past.
Yes, it's "God go with you, Tommy," when the trip might be your last.
They pays us skivvy wages, never mind we're sitting ducks,
When clerks what's pushing pens at 'ome don't know their flippin' luck.
"Ah, yes" sez they "but think of all the travel to be 'ad."
Pull the other one. Does Cooks do 'olidays in Baghdad?
It's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, know your place,"
But it's "Tommy, take the front seat," when there's terrorists to chase

... An' the town is full of maniacs who'd like you dead toot sweet.
Yes, it's "Thank you, Mr Atkins," when they find you in the street.
There's s'pposed to be a covenant to treat us fair an' square
But I 'ad to buy me army boots, an' me combats is threadbare.
An' 'alf the bloody 'elicopters can't get in the air,
An' me pistol jammed when snipers fired. That's why I'm laid up 'ere.
Yes, it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, "We 'ave to watch the pence";
Bold as brass the P.M. sez, "We spare them no expense.

But I'll tell you when they do us proud an' pull out all the stops,
It's when Tommy lands at Lyneham in a bloomin' wooden box!

I was having trouble editing this, and almost forgot to add that the grocery store's general manager apologized, and said he hopes that Tommy will be back--after Tommy's leave was up and he was back in the sandbox.

Ghosts...

In the corridors of Whitehall these days, some report a chill presence, which seems to be whispering... something...

DANEGELD

By Mr. Rudyard Kipling 

IT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
To call upon a neighbour and to say: –
"We invaded you last night – we are quite prepared to fight,
 Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you've only to pay 'em the Dane-geld
And then you'll get rid of the Dane!

It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say: –
"Though we know we should defeat you, we have not the time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
 But we've proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
 You never get rid of the Dane.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
 For fear they should succumb and go astray;
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
You will find it better policy to say: --

"We never pay any-one Dane-geld,
 No matter how trifling the cost;
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
 And the nation that pays it is lost!"

MM has more.

I'm glad to say that the reports indicate that the US is not party to this nonsense, but--alas!--the lands of my ancestors (who seem wiser with each passing day for unassing those AOs) are.