I have been attempting to find this poem, does anyone have a link/copy of it?
I used to have it in a collection of First World War poetry when I was back in Scotland, however I was unable to bring the book with me when I emigrated.
I have been attempting to find this poem, does anyone have a link/copy of it?
I used to have it in a collection of First World War poetry when I was back in Scotland, however I was unable to bring the book with me when I emigrated.
There once was a scotsman named Drew
Who put too much wine in his stew
He felt a bit drunk
And fell off his bunk
And landed smack into his shoe ~(C) Ms Niamh Anne King
Interesting, it reminds me much of the style of Wilfred Owen - another talented war poet.
Recruitment
Lads, you're wanted,
Go and help.
On the railway carriage wall
Stuck the poster
and I thought of the hands
that penned the call.
Fat civilians wishing they
Could go and fight the Hun;
Can't you see them
Thanking God they're over forty one.
Girls with feathers, vulgar songs,
Washy verse on England's need
God and don't we damn-well know
How the message ought to read.
Lads, you're wanted, over there
Shiver in the morning dew
More poor devils, like yourselves
Waiting to be killed by you.
E.A. MacKintosh
Perhaps one of the most famous war poems by Wilfred Owen, partially adapted from a famous quote by ancient Roman poet, Horace.
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
YES!!!, this has made my day (summer semester, started today), thanks Mono.
There once was a scotsman named Drew
Who put too much wine in his stew
He felt a bit drunk
And fell off his bunk
And landed smack into his shoe ~(C) Ms Niamh Anne King
Found a link to the poem read by someone... *checks* by David Bradley, it's a *.ram file and there's no Real player on this comp so I can't check if it's still there, but try to go here... it should start a download (resp. the browser should ask you what do you want to do)
I have a plan: attack!
First the text, now a recording. wonderful.
There once was a scotsman named Drew
Who put too much wine in his stew
He felt a bit drunk
And fell off his bunk
And landed smack into his shoe ~(C) Ms Niamh Anne King
At your service, mister
I have a plan: attack!
Recruiting was published in War, The Liberator, Mackintosh's posthumous anthology (John Lane, 1918) and is practically impossible, and expensive, to find.
However, for anyone interested in Mackintosh's poems Can't Shoot a Man With a Cold, Lt E Alan Mackintosh M.C. 1893 - 1917 Poet of the Highland Division Colin Campbell and Rosalind Green www.argyllpublishing.com pub. 2004 ISBN 1 902831 76 4 £12.99 covers his pre-war and war time life and most of his poems. The authors separately set out to do him justice, and in the end co-operated in the first book ever on Mackintosh. I am pleased to say it had good reviews in Scotland!
Last edited by Colin Campbell; 05-25-2005 at 12:51 PM.
Thank you. It must have taken a lot of courage for someone to write like that during the first world war. I would really like to know more about E A Mackintosh.
"Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know
Through the world we safely go" Blake
i have a copy!!! i'll copy and paste it into this reply!!! YAY!! Hatso Pazzo
Recruiting
‘Lads, you’re wanted, go and help,’
On the railway carriage wall
Stuck the poster, and I thought
Of the hands that penned the call.
Fat civilians wishing they
‘Could go and fight the Hun’.
Can’t you see them thanking God
That they’re over forty-one?
Girls with feathers, vulgar songs –
Washy verse on England’s need –
God – and don’t we damned well know
How the message ought to read.
‘Lads, you’re wanted! Over there,
Shiver in the morning dew,
More poor devils like yourselves
Waiting to be killed by you.
Go and help to swell the names
In the casualty lists.
Help to make the column’s stuff
For the blasted journalists.
Help to keep them nice and safe
From the wicked German foe.
Don’t let him come over here!
Lads, you’re wanted – out you go.’
There’s a better word than that,
Lads, and can’t you hear it come
From a million men that call
You to share their martyrdom?
Leave the harlots still to sing
Comic songs about the Hun,
Leave the fat old men to say
Now we’ve got them on the run.
Better twenty honest years
Than their dull three score and ten.
Lads you’re wanted. Come and learn
To live and die with honest men.
You shall learn what men can do
If you will but pay the price,
Learn the gaiety and strength
In the gallant sacrifice.
Take your risk of life and death
Underneath the open sky.
Live clean or go out quick –
Lads, you’re wanted. Come and die.
Haha the missing verses
There once was a scotsman named Drew
Who put too much wine in his stew
He felt a bit drunk
And fell off his bunk
And landed smack into his shoe ~(C) Ms Niamh Anne King
Anyone have issues with the misogyny and class hatred implied here? I do... I've placed particular instances in bold. This is typical of the so-called soldier poets of WW1, especially the officer-poets... who seem to despise pretty much everything about the home front and make it quite clear they'd rather be fighting, killing and dying in war... odd that so many are considered pacifist. Of course they do like to project their own obvious preference for war over peace on to others by accusing the noncombatants at the home front of being the real blood thirsty ones... they seem especially fond of projecting this on to women... who they clearly hate with a passion, seeing them as rivals for their "men's" love...Originally Posted by Hatso Pazzo
Ok, I think you are completely misreading those lines, and attributing feelings to Mackintosh that he did not believe - there is absolutely no glorification of war anywhere in this poem. Mackintosh is scathing in his sarcasm regarding what the image being portrayed by the establishment about the war is.
Also the lines you highlighted - Do you know what they girls with feathers refers to?
From your post it seems not so I'll explain it incase anyone else has a similar misconception:
In the UK during the first world war many women used to follow around young men who were concientious objectors and sing songs about them being cowards and stick white feathers in the young mens jackets to embarass them - it is this that Mackintosh dislikes, not the concientous objectors.
Also he felt strongly about the way propoganda was used to create hatred of germans in the way of songs sung by dancing girls - he did not hate Germans he saw the german soldier as someone who was being used just like the british by the government.
There once was a scotsman named Drew
Who put too much wine in his stew
He felt a bit drunk
And fell off his bunk
And landed smack into his shoe ~(C) Ms Niamh Anne King
I am aware of the feather reference. I'm also aware of the massive propaganda which went on to convince women they did not love their country or their men or family if they did not comply to the concept of white feathers. This does not however address issues I mentioned which refer to an obvious misogyny and class distate. Terms like "fat" "vulgar" and "harlots" are to my mind highly dubious and much of Mackintosh's other work makes it at least a matter of personal judgement as to just how sarcastic he is actually being, both in his use of these terms and his attitude towards violence and war. I never said he hated the Germans indeed many of these officer-poets clearly felt an affinity with fellow combatants - including the enemy - rather than any understanding of how people on the home front who had to deal with their own experiences of their country and their loved-ones being at war in their own way.
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Yes, there was that propoganda - which is a terrible thing however it does not mean Mackintosh should not be critical of the women who carried out the practice.
Now addressing the terms. I'll start first with the "vulgar" & "harlot". A lot of the songs were vulgar regarding their lyrics questioning the manhood of the objectors & their dislike of the germans so why there is a problem with this word I do not know. As far as "harlot" goes it should be takne in account of the way society was at the time where dances like the charleston (I know the charleston is more 1920's but you get the idea I'm sure) were considered as objectionable as strippers & prostitutes are now.
Finally the term fat. This refers to the middle aged men who by virtue of being over 41 escaped conscription and despite all of their hard talk about how we were going to give jerry a damn good thrashing were all very pleased that they didnt have to fight and despite still being able to volunteer would never even consider it. These are hypocrites and Mackintosh is rightly scathing in his attitude towards them. It also works for the imagery - think of an image of a normal middle aged desk worker, is he in good shape?
There once was a scotsman named Drew
Who put too much wine in his stew
He felt a bit drunk
And fell off his bunk
And landed smack into his shoe ~(C) Ms Niamh Anne King
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