by Taylor MacHenry

The spirit of the words in the below picture, I believe, are best expressed by Rudyard Kipling in his poem, TOMMY.

As a journalist, he witnessed the valor and bloodshed of the British soldier, and then the disdain in which “proper British society” held their soldiers, whom he named Tommy Atkins, a common fellow among people of little worth or importance.

This incensed Kipling because no one among “proper British society” had sacrificed even a whet’s worth of their own value compared to the boy he called, Tommy Atkins, who gave up his life on the battlefields for King and Country.

The Scots Observer in Edinburgh first published Kipling’s poem, TOMMY, on March 1, 1890.

Some 25 years later, on September 27, 1915, Rudyard Kipling’s dearly loved son, John, went missing in action, fighting the Germans in the Battle of Loos in Northern France, bringing the poem TOMMY home to resonate with all of the English-speaking world. Kipling died on January 18, 1936, never knowing the fate of his beloved son, John Kipling, an 18 year old British lieutenant, cannon fodder they called them.

John Kipling shipped off to France on his 18th birthday, August 17, 1915, and six weeks later, he led a platoon of Irish Guards into the jaws of no-man’s land, in the Battle of Loos. More than a thousand British soldiers lay scattered on that killing field, many of them buried in mass graves, known only to God. Young Lieutenant Kipling was one of those Unknown Soldiers who died there.

In his youth, Kipling wrote of adventure, The Man Who Would Be King. But the loss of his son, John, left the great poet, novelist, journalist and critic of society in a dismal, gray pal.

He wrote great poetry, but they were always words of some sort of mourning.

Responding to the death of 16-year old Sailor, Jack Cornwell, Kipling was inspired to write, MY BOY JACK. Many say that the poem is a veiled commentary about the loss of his own son.

MY BOY JACK
by Rudyard Kipling

“Have you news of my boy Jack? “
Not this tide.
“When d’you think that he’ll come back?”
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Has any one else had word of him?”
Not this tide.
For what is sunk will hardly swim,
Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

“Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind—
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide.

A supporter of the war effort in England, with the declared death of John Kipling, the great poet grew disgruntled with war and angry at “proper British society” in general. And angry with himself for supporting the war, which he believed helped motivate his boy, John, to join up and go to France.

Kipling’s very brief, single-sentence, COMMON FORM, slaps the face of British society, including himself.

COMMON FORM
by Rudyard Kipling

If any questions
why we died,
Tell them,
because our fathers lied.

Rudyard Kipling’s life-long passion of supporting all soldiers called to war, however, is perhaps best remembered by the world in his angry words in each stanza of TOMMY.

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!