I'm here in my darkened glasses
And my ancient Panama hat
A'drinking hierbas and coffee
And talking of this and that.
To call us all geriatrics
Would be going a bit too far
For we have no need of bath chairs
When we make our dash to the bar.
We always take our siesta
For that is the custom of Spain,
But we rise long before they do
Our status we have to maintain.
We attempt to speak their language,
To the natives we are always polite,
But why must they say buenas notches
When all they mean is Good Night ?
In private we read our Kipling
But know that it would be a sin
To call the waiter 'Char wallah'
And the hall porter ' Gunga Din'.
At night we may dream of Empire
Though the dreams disperse with the day.
The Gentiles see only Majorca
Where the Chosen see Mandalay.
We pay the price for dominion
When our innards begin to ache'
And we bear the curse of King Philip
Which he directed at Drake.
At dusk I take off my glasses
And remove my Panama hat,
And sip hierbas and coffee
While talking of this and that.
An echo of days gone by, written some thirty years ago while on holiday in the beautiful resort of Cala San Vicente before the Empire became a distant memory.
J.A.L.
ReplyDeleteThank you for posting your ballade, and making me smile on a miserable January day, James.
Evocative of a gentle respectful well ordered era J.A.L.
ReplyDeleteProvocative.
Bother! and stronger words tutti quanti...I have just typed six or seven lines in my slow two-fingered way, only to find they have disappeared from the screen and no amount of clicking will resuscitate them. Have to go out now, and will have another shot this evening.Thanks for the verses James - brought back lots of happy Kipling-based memories from my boyhood.
ReplyDeleteCommiserations Eric.
ReplyDeleteI think that our computers must have come from the same shop.
It could not have happened in the past. Remember the poet's words ?
The moving finger writes
And having writ moves on.
Nor all thy piety nor wit
Can lure it back,
Nor all thy tears
Wash out one word of it.
That may have been so in the past, but no longer. Take your eye off the computer, leave it because of a phone call or press the wrong key and all your work disappears apparently beyond recall. Where does it all go ? I have a theory that there exists the equivalent of 'the elephants grave yard' in outer space where all all lost computer scripts whiz round for eternity. Of course we could all summon the aid of our great grandchildren !!!
Well, James, I didn't manage to continue last night as intended, but fell asleep in front of the Television after consuming more Cotes du Rhone than I should have with my supper. It's all the fault of this dismal and cold weather....
ReplyDeleteBack to Kipling. Your poem brought back a memory which concerns two of your erstwhile colleagues, Mr and Mrs Howard, who lived not far from the school, and who invited me to tea one afternoon.This must have been in 1949 or perhaps 50? Mrs H invited me to peruse her bookshelves and borrow whatever poets caught my fancy. Alas, I could see myself falling badly in her estimation, for what I took away was a volume of Kipling,an author I knew chiefly as the author of Kim and the Jungle Book because some of the happiest hours of my young boyhood were spent in the activities of the Wolf Cubs and the Scouts.( Digression - I did not know of the A-Bomb on Hiroshima and the end of the war until 3 days had passed, owing to the fact that the Stainforth Scout troop was camping incommunicado at Carlton Towers near Selby.)
It's amazing how many odds and ends of Kipling stick in one's memory over the years.On reading you I found popping into my mind the lines
"There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays
And every single one of them is right!"
A staple of the male singers' repertoire in the concerts which kept our spirits up in the dark days of the War was The Road to Mandalay(where the old flotilla lay etc).My children used to be subjected to my rendering of it each year as we drove to our holiday destinations,[ together with Drake's Drum when we were on our way to the West Country - not by Kipling (Henry Newbolt?)].Alas, Ifear that my generation will be the last to carry such bastions of Englishness as Gilbert and Sullivan, Kipling and Hymns Ancient and Modern in the recesses of their mind.I suppose some might say "so what?". But I'm glad I had the education I had.
Time for another glass of Cotes du Rhone - here's to you James! And thanks for everything.
Thank you James for stirring up memories for us once again. I too remember a teatime visit to the Howards and being allowed to peruse their bookshelves. My parents were great fans of Kipling and my father,who had spent five years in India in the army in the time of the Raj would supplement our reading with stories of his own experiences.He also taught me a lot of history thro' kiplings verse. His father had fought in Afghanistan in the '90s and then in the Boer War and he would read the poem "M.I." and explain to me how the infantry on arriving in South Africa were not very effective on the Veldt so were put on horses and renamed the mounted infantry! A wonderful introduction to a lifelong love of history which in my teens was further encouraged by lessons from a remarkable teacher........like Eric, may I also say "thankyou for everything, James."
ReplyDeleteTo all those who know their Kipling I am sure that you will have noticed that my my Ballade I am echoing Kipling's style in the poem about the the time -expired soldier, who after a few months in civvy street, re-enlists in the army. ( In the name o' William Parsons who used to be Edward Clay.)
ReplyDelete"I'm 'ere in a ticky ulster and a broken billycock 'at
A-laying it on to the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat.
My shirts's doing duty for jacket, and my sock's sticking out of my boots
An' I'm learnin' the dammed the dammed old goose-step along o' the new recruits "
J.A.L.
Apologies for the for one too many 'dammed'
ReplyDeleteJ.A.L.
`Actually, when I started to read the Ballade I thought you were taking on Betjeman. Must admit I didn't know, or had forgotten, your model.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, what was the curse that King Philip directed at Drake?
I think you left a bit off the Fitzgerald, viz " Can lure it back .+..to cancel half a line /Nor all thy tears etc ( But i could be wrong.)..
Twice recently was reminded of Rudyard Kipling
ReplyDelete'I went into a public 'ouse to get a pint of beer
The publican he ups 'an sez ''We'll serve no red-coats 'ere''....
...Oh it's Tommy this 'an Tommy that an' Tommy go away
But it's thank you Mister Atkins when the band begins to play'
Supermarket refused sale of a pack of lager to uniformed soldier freshly returned from Afghanistan. Management later aplogised.
Returning soldiers diverted to civilian airport told not to wear uniform in the terminal.