pecunium

I was listening to a piece on the radio, about the new album recorded by the Royal Scots Dragoons Guards (Carabiniers and Greys). This is a swell bunch of guys (I got to see some of them last summer when I was up at Cameron Barracks).

It was a nice enough piece. Thirty-five years ago they released an album, and someone decided to do another one. So far so good.

But the reporter asked a stupid question. One that two-minutes of research would have prevented. She made a reference to them, "playing" in Afghanistan and Iraq, as if the Pipes and Drums are nothing more than a band, instead of being soldiers too.

Then again, "Veterans' Day" irks me anyhow.

Yeah, I'm a vet. It matters, but it matters in ways the "holiday" can't address. My grandfather was in WW1. The end of WW1 means more to me (and not because of him, he's just a concretization of it; for me) than some silly "tribute" to "those who serve." The platitudes on the commercials, of how much "we" owe to veterans ring a little hollow when I see how hard it is to get VA benefits. When I think about, "concurrent reciept" when the guys who get a pro-rated retirement from being in the Reserves also have to wait, 20-40 years to collect it.

"Veterans' Day" make me think o' "Tommy" So I guess I'll share.

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!

That was penned in 1892, almost 120 years on, and nothing much is changed.