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!
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ST UnWoked & UnVaxxed! 
Thank you for this. In present day America, TV is the only experience many (most?) people have of the military. The image presented on television is very G rated: the television tells us that the heroes who protect us are all squeaky clean family men who would never dream of so much as even using foul language. Anyone who has met more than one or two soldiers knows that this is B.S, but some Americans are apparently addicted to the Disney version of military life, and they get very upset when they encounter real life military guys who don’t resemble Disney characters. I don’t understand this: first of all, the real life military guys I have known are way more interesting and more fun than the military guys I see on television. Secondly, where do civilians get off lecturing military guys about morality? The ingratitude is stunning.
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Let’s not forget the “baby-killer”/’time-bomb vet” idiocy that followed people home from Vietnam; or the isolationist leftovers that returning vets sometimes encountered after WWII. The “GWOT” (Global War on Terror) version seems to be something like: “While We’re at War, America’s at The Mall”. It’s unredeemed human nature at work…Still an’ all.
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Uh oh ST, I’m sorry I brought this to mind. đŸ¤
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Aye, and S/F, ST! I like it when you “Kipple” (share Kipling) with us.
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I appreciate your sensitivity, Hypatia, but please don’t worry so much. I am now and forevermore in my happy place, chillin’ and walking about with pretty almond-coloured girls half my age who laugh, jest too and help me forget about all that, as a young maiden ought.
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 ‘eed naught else.”
No! you won’t ‘eed nothin’ else
But 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 is like the worst,
Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments an’ a man can raise a thirst…
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Like that? I LOVE it!
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and Rah, ST!
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