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Written by Mike Steele
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11th August 2008
Just a light hearted film today...
This makes me laugh every time I watch this..
Sheer genius...
7th April 2008
I watched open mouthed yesterday as the British Government allowed "Chinese Officials" (insert Secret Service!) to manhandle demonstrators on the streets of our capital city during the Olympic torch relay.
The complicity of the Metropolitan Police was shocking, giving credence to the country with arguably the worst human rights record in the world and allowing the Chinese State to dictate what happens on our streets.. Almost unbelievable.
It can't have been about income from 2012 can it?
Those who carried the torch should hang their heads in shame.
Is Konnie Huq unbelievably stupid?
Gunga Din - The Second
After the battle of Shaikh Sa'Ad in Mesopotamia, in January 1916, more than 300 wounded were being transported down the Tigris to Basra in a steamer and on open barges lashed on either side of it.
Many suffered from dysentery as well as wounds - and it was raining.
There appeared to be only one Indian bhisti (water-carrier), an old man over 60 years of age, to attend to all.
He was nearly demented in trying to serve everyone at once. When my severely wounded neighbour - from Camberwell, - saw the bhisti, his welcome made us smile through our miseries.
"Coo! If it ain't old Gunga Din! Wherever 'ave yer bin, me old brown son? Does yer muvver know yer aht?"
A. S. Edwardes (late C.S.M., 1st Seaforth Highlanders), West Gate, Royal Hospital, Chelsea, S.W.3
Found at www.firstworldwar.com
3rd January 2008
Sad news indeed this morning. The author of the Flashman (the cad to end all cads) series of books, George MacDonald Fraser , died yesterday at the age of 82. Sir Harry Flashman V.C., K.C.B., K.C.I.E, a character to be grudgingly admired but never to be emulated. George MacDonald Fraser obituary
The Royal British Legion is calling on the British Government to honour its life-long duty of care to those making a unique commitment to their country.
The British Government is failing in it's duty to our servicemen and women. Please click on the links above and below to see how you can help.
Campaign documentation
More from the UK Press - The Daily Telegraph
Recommended daily reading - Rogue Gunner
To access the downloads, or add articles,please create an account
, it should only take a few minutes and is free...
Why not visit myspace and add yourself as a friend?
For anyone interested in my past specialised security work, please have a look at the photographs training Russian bodyguards with Peter McAleese, in the "photo galleries" - "bodyguard instruction" section.
There are photos of Joanne Geraghty in the photo galleries, for those who want to remember her, and on a lighter note there is plenty of Rudyard Kipling, Bernie Tormé, Deep Purple, Tom Lehrer, and other "rock stuff". There is a newish section "the war poets" featuring, at the moment, poets from the First World War. There is also a section with poetry/monologues by Marriott Edgar, the man who wrote "Albert and the Lion".
- Rudyard Kipling and also zipped downloads - (in "file downloads")
- Bernie Tormé, Budgie, Stuart Smith, Deep Purple,
Robin Trower, Jon Lord, Terrorvision - gig photos and reviews
- War poets section, including, Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brooke, Robert Graves, John McCrae, Isaac Rosenberg, Robert Service and Edmund Blunden.
- Tom Lehrer lyrics, and cartoons (coming perhaps.)
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Written by Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
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With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
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Written by Rudyard Kipling
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You may talk o' gin and beer When you're quartered safe out 'ere, An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it; But when it comes to slaughter You will do your work on water, An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it. Now in Injia's sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen, Of all them blackfaced crew The finest man I knew Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. He was "Din! Din! Din! You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din! Hi! slippery hitherao! Water, get it! Panee lao! [Bring water swiftly.] You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din." The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind, For a piece o' twisty rag An' a goatskin water-bag Was all the field-equipment 'e could find. When the sweatin' troop-train lay In a sidin' through the day, Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl, We shouted "Harry By!" ["O Brother."] Till our throats were bricky-dry, Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all. It was "Din! Din! Din! You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been? You put some juldee in it [Be quick.] Or I'll marrow you this minute [Hit you.] If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!" 'E would dot an' carry one Till the longest day was done; An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear. If we charged or broke or cut, You could bet your bloomin' nut, 'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear. With 'is mussick on 'is back, [Water-skin.] 'E would skip with our attack, An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire", An' for all 'is dirty 'ide 'E was white, clear white, inside When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire! It was "Din! Din! Din!" With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green. When the cartridges ran out, You could hear the front-files shout, "Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!" I shan't forgit the night When I dropped be'ind the fight With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been. I was chokin' mad with thirst, An' the man that spied me first Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din. 'E lifted up my 'ead, An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: It was crawlin' and it stunk, But of all the drinks I've drunk, I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din. It was "Din! Din! Din! 'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen; 'E's chawin' up the ground, An' 'e's kickin' all around: For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!" 'E carried me away To where a dooli lay, An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean. 'E put me safe inside, An' just before 'e died, "I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din. So I'll meet 'im later on At the place where 'e is gone— Where it's always double drill and no canteen; 'E'll be squattin' on the coals Givin' drink to poor damned souls, An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din! Yes, Din! Din! Din! You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din! Though I've belted you and flayed you, By the livin' Gawd that made you, You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din! |
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Uk Casualties Iraq 2003-Present - 176 |
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