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Hello.
I'm a French guy interested in Afghanistan but I couldn't traduce on my own The Young British Soldier from Rudyard Kipling which I would really appreciate to understand.
Could anyone help me traducing it?, or at least explain me the most difficult parts of the text?
Thank you.
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day,
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay,
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts,
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts --
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts --
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout,
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said:
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind,
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind;
Be handy and civil, and then you will find
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . .
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! --
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck,
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old *****;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine,
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine,
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier.
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East *** half-trained recruit, I think
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast, *** He
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
Serve, serve, serve as a soldier,
So-oldier ~OF~ the Queen!
Now all you recruities what's drafted to-day, *** recruits
You shut up your rag-box an' 'ark to my lay, *** not sure, mouth I expect *** listen *** again not sure, speech I expect
An' I'll sing you a soldier as far as I may:
A soldier what's fit for a soldier.
Fit, fit, fit for a soldier . . .
First mind you steer clear o' the grog-sellers' huts, *** of *** alcohol sellers
For they sell you Fixed Bay'nets that rots out your guts -- *** fixed bayonettes (a metaphor)
Ay, drink that 'ud eat the live steel from your butts -- *** would *** again not sure, could be wooden butt of a rifle
An' it's bad for the young British soldier.
Bad, bad, bad for the soldier . . .
When the cholera comes -- as it will past a doubt --
Keep out of the wet and don't go on the shout, *** not sure, could mean drinking spree
For the sickness gets in as the liquor dies out,
An' it crumples the young British soldier.
Crum-, crum-, crumples the soldier . . .
But the worst o' your foes is the sun over'ead:
You ~must~ wear your 'elmet for all that is said: *** helmet
If 'e finds you uncovered 'e'll knock you down dead,
An' you'll die like a fool of a soldier.
Fool, fool, fool of a soldier . . .
If you're cast for fatigue by a sergeant unkind, *** task, chore
Don't grouse like a woman nor crack on nor blind; *** complain *** swear
Be handy and civil, and then you will find *** hard-working I think *** polite
That it's beer for the young British soldier.
Beer, beer, beer for the soldier . . .
Now, if you must marry, take care she is old --
A troop-sergeant's widow's the nicest I'm told,
For beauty won't help if your rations is cold,
Nor love ain't enough for a soldier.
'Nough, 'nough, 'nough for a soldier . . . *** Enough
If the wife should go wrong with a comrade, be loath *** reluctant
To shoot when you catch 'em -- you'll swing, on my oath! -- *** be hanged
Make 'im take 'er and keep 'er: that's Hell for them both,
An' you're shut o' the curse of a soldier.
Curse, curse, curse of a soldier . . .
When first under fire an' you're wishful to duck,
Don't look nor take 'eed at the man that is struck, *** heed (notice)
Be thankful you're livin', and trust to your luck *** living
And march to your front like a soldier.
Front, front, front like a soldier . . .
When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch, *** half
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old b-itch; *** a rifle
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich, *** such
An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .
When shakin' their bustles like ladies so fine, *** the bit that sticks out at the back of a Victorian lady's dress
The guns o' the enemy wheel into line,
Shoot low at the limbers an' don't mind the shine, *** a two wheeled cart attached to a field gun, which may carry ammunition
For noise never startles the soldier.
Start-, start-, startles the soldier . . .
If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white,
Remember it's ruin to run from a fight:
So take open order, lie down, and sit tight,
And wait for supports like a soldier.
Wait, wait, wait like a soldier . . .
When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,
And the women come out to cut up what remains,
Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains *** Just
An' go to your Gawd like a soldier. *** God
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
Go, go, go like a soldier,
So-oldier ~of~ the Queen!
That's it!
The words that are written in bold are just the ones I can't understand, just like rag-box, or ark to my lay, which I googled in vain...
Can you explain me the ones you understand?
Quote:
Originally Posted by Panzenoni
He did, Panz. The explanations follow the three asterisks (***).
That poem is quite the artifact. The last stanza, about committing suicide to prevent mutilation/castration, is a little shocking.
A British soldier fighting in Afghanistan has re-written a famous poem by Rudyard Kipling about the hellish conditions troops face in the country.
The anonymous serviceman based his words on Kipling's 1895 The Young British Soldier, which graphically described the tough conditions British forces faced while in Afghanistan in the nineteenth century.
The second Anglo-Afghan War described by Kipling started through fears that Russia would move dangerously close to India through Afghanistan and resulted in 2,500 British deaths between 1878 and 1880.
Lay is song. Often of an heroic nature. It's used a bit tongue-in-cheek by Kipling here.
Traduced? An unconscious joke surely. The Martini-Henry was widely used by the British army in Colonial wars. It has even been used in recent times by Taliban fighters in Afghanistan. To shoot a human with it beyond 400 yards you would have to be lucky / unlucky.