Kipling poem, "Ubique"

Discussion in 'Poetry Corner' started by FluffyBunny, Sep 16, 2007.

Welcome to the Army Rumour Service, ARRSE

The UK's largest and busiest UNofficial military website.

The heart of the site is the forum area, including:

  1. How have I never seen this poem before?


    by Rudyard Kipling[/align]

    [align=center]THERE is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may
    “You bike,” “you bykwee,” “ubbikwe “—alludin’ to R.A.
    It serves ’Orse, Field, an’ Garrison as motto for a crest,
    An’ when you’ve found out all it means I’ll tell you ’alf the rest.
    Ubique means the long-range Krupp be’ind the low-range ’ill—
    Ubique means you’ll pick it up an’, while you do, stand still.
    Ubique means you’ve caught the flash an’ timed it by the sound.
    Ubique means five gunners’ ’ash before you’ve loosed a round.

    Ubique means Blue Fuse an’ make the ’ole to sink the trail.
    Ubique means stand up an’ take the Mauser’s ’alf-mile ’ail.
    Ubique means the crazy team not God nor man can ’old.
    Ubique means that ’orse’s scream which turns your innards cold!

    Ubique means “Bank, ’Olborn, Bank—a penny all the way—
    The soothin’, jingle-bump-an’-clank from day to peaceful day.
    Ubique means “They’ve caught De Wet, an’ now we sha’n t be long.”
    Ubique means “I much regret, the beggar’s goin’ strong!”

    Ubique means the tearin’ drift where, breech-blocks jammed with mud,
    The khaki muzzles duck an’ lift across the khaki flood.
    Ubique means the dancing plain that changes rocks to Boers.
    Ubique means the mirage again an’ shellin’ all outdoors.

    Ubique means “Entrain at once for Grootdefeatfontein”!
    Ubique means “Off-load your guns”—at midnight in the rain!
    Ubique means “More mounted men. Return all guns to store.”
    Ubique means the R. A. M. R. Infantillery Corps!

    Ubique means that warnin’ grunt the perished linesman knows,
    When o’er ’is strung an’ sufferin’ front the shrapnel sprays ’is foes;
    An’ as their firin’ dies away the ’usky whisper runs
    From lips that ’ave n’t drunk all day: “The Guns! Thank Gawd, the Guns!”

    Extreme, depressed, point-blank or short, end-first or any’ow,
    From Colesberg Kop to Quagga’s Poort—from Ninety-Nine till now—
    By what I’ve ’eard the others tell an’ I in spots ’ave seen,
    There’s nothin’ this side ’Eaven or ’Ell Ubique does n’t mean! [/align]
  2. msr

    msr LE

    Because you spend too much time on arrse and not enough in the library?
  3. Sorry couldn’t resist, far to tempting

    Royal Engineers, Ubique – Everywhere :D

    Royal Artillery, Ubique – All over the F*cking place :p

    The old ones are still the best :D :D
  4. I much prefer

    Royal Engineers, Ubique – motto

    Royal Artillery, Ubique – Battle Honour

    :twisted: :twisted: :twisted: :twisted: :twisted:
  5. Gremlin

    Gremlin LE Good Egg (charities)

    Two more for you Fluffy.

    First, Snarleyow:

    Rudyard Kipling

    THIS ’appened in a battle to a batt’ry of the corps
    Which is first among the women an’ amazin’ first in war;
    An’ what the bloomin’ battle was I don’t remember now,
    But Two’s off-lead ’e answered to the name o’ Snarleyow.
    Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
    Down in the Cavalry, Colonel ’e swears;
    But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
    Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog!

    They was movin’ into action, they was needed very sore,
    To learn a little schoolin’ to a native army corps,
    They ’ad nipped against an uphill, they was tuckin’ down the brow,
    When a tricky, trundlin’ roundshot give the knock to Snarleyow.

    They cut ’im loose an’ left ’im—’e was almost tore in two—
    But he tried to follow after as a well-trained ’orse should do;
    ’E went an’ fouled the limber, an’ the Driver’s Brother squeals:
    “Pull up, pull up for Snarleyow—’is head’s between ’is ’eels!”

    The Driver ’umped ’is shoulder, for the wheels was goin’ round,
    An’ there ain’t no “Stop, conductor!” when a batt’ry’s changin’ ground;
    Sez ’e: “I broke the beggar in, an’ very sad I feels,
    But I couldn’t pull up, not for you—your ’ead between your ’eels!”

    ’E ’adn’t ’ardly spoke the word, before a droppin’ shell
    A little right the batt’ry an’ between the sections fell;
    An’ when the smoke ’ad cleared away, before the limber wheels,
    There lay the Driver’s Brother with ’is ’ead between ’is ’eels.

    Then sez the Driver’s Brother, an’ ’is words was very plain,
    “For Gawd’s own sake get over me, an’ put me out o’ pain.”
    They saw ’is wounds was mortial, an’ they judged that it was best,
    So they took an’ drove the limber straight across ’is back an’ chest.

    The Driver ’e give nothin’ ’cept a little coughin’ grunt,
    But ’e swung ’is ’orses ’andsome when it came to “Action Front!”
    An’ if one wheel was juicy, you may lay your Monday head
    ’Twas juicier for the niggers when the case begun to spread.

    The moril of this story, it is plainly to be seen:
    You ’avn’t got no families when servin’ of the Queen—
    You ’avn’t got no brothers, fathers, sisters, wives, or sons—
    If you want to win your battles take an’ work your bloomin’ guns!
    Down in the Infantry, nobody cares;
    Down in the Cavalry, Colonel ’e swears;
    But down in the lead with the wheel at the flog
    Turns the bold Bombardier to a little whipped dog![/align]
  6. Gremlin

    Gremlin LE Good Egg (charities)

    And then the Epic Screw Guns, sung to the tune of the Eton Boating Song by YO's at their dine out at Woolwich.

    (Will this still happen at Larkhill anyone?)

    [align=center] Screw Guns
    Rudyard Kipling

    Smoking my pipe on the mountings,
    Sniffing the morning cool,
    I walks in my old brown gaiters,
    Along 'o my own brown mule;
    With seventy odd Gunners behind me,
    An' never a beggar forgets
    That it's only the pick of the Army;
    That handles the dear little pets ....

    _CHORUS_ _ _ _ _ _

    For you all loves the Screw Guns,
    The Screw Guns they all loves you
    So when we calls round with a few guns
    Of cause you will know what to do - hoo
    Just send in your Chief and surrender
    'Tis worse if you fights or you runs,
    You may go where you please;
    You can skid up the trees
    But you don't get away from the guns.

    They sends us along where the roads are,
    But mostly we goes where they 'aint,
    We'd climb up the side of a sign board
    An' trust to the stick 'o the paint;
    We've chivied the Naga and Looshai,
    We've given the Afreedeeman fits,
    For we fancies ourself at two thousand,
    We guns that are built in two bits

    _CHORUS_ _ _ _ _ _

    For you all loves the Screw Guns etc ...

    If a man won't work, why we drills 'im
    An' teaches 'im 'ow to behave,
    If a beggar can't march why we kills him
    And rattles 'im into his grave;
    You've got to stand up to our business,
    An' spring without snatching or fuss,
    D'you say that you sweat with the field guns
    By God you must lather with us.

    _CHORUS_ _ _ _ _ _

    For you all loves the Screw Guns etc ...

    The eagles is screamin' around us
    The river's a moanin' below
    We're clear of the pine an' the oak scrub
    We're out on the rocks an' the snow
    And the wind is as thin as a whiplash
    That carries away to the plains
    The rattle and stamp of the lead mules
    The jinklety-jink 'o the chains

    _CHORUS_ _ _ _ _ _

    For you all loves the Screw Guns etc ...

    Theres a wheel on the Horns 'o the Morning,
    An' a wheel on the edge of the pit,
    An' a drop into nothing beneath you,
    As straight as a beggar can spit,
    Wi' the sweat runnin' out 'o your shirt sleeves
    An' the sun off the snow in your face
    An' 'alf 'o the men on the drag ropes
    To hold the old gun in 'er place

    _CHORUS_ _ _ _ _ _

    For you all loves the Screw Guns etc ...

    Smoking my pipe on the mountings
    Sniffing the morning cool
    I climbs in mi' old brown gaiters
    Along 'o my old brown mule
    The monkey can say what our road was,
    The wild goat 'e knows where we passed,
    Stand Easy, you long eared old Darlin's
    Out drag ropes, wi' shrapnel - Hold fast

    For you all loves the Screw Guns
    The Screw Guns they all love you
    So when we takes tea with a few guns
    Of cause you will know what to do - hoo
    Just send in your Chief and surrender
    'Tis worse if you fights or you runs,
    You may hide in your caves
    They'll be only your graves
    For you CAN'T get away from the GUNS.[/align]
  7. Mint comment wellyhead but will adj fire a little if I may.... :wink:

    Royal Regiment of Artillery,Ubique-Battle Honour!

    Royal Engineers,ubique-motto

    AHH thats better :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
  8. My tem pence worth!
    Rudyard Kiplings son was in the Irish guards during WW1 but died wile serving he wrote a few poems / book about the micks

  9. Watch that you don't 'drop short' with that adjustment of fire :wink:
  10. Ere's some more! In fact this is one of my all time favourites.

    More here:

    A Code of Morals
    Lest you should think this story true
    I merely mention I
    Evolved it lately. 'Tis a most
    Unmitigated misstatement.

    Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order,
    And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border,
    To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he taught
    His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles at naught.

    And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made her fair;
    So Cupid and Apollo linked , per heliograph, the pair.
    At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise --
    At e'en, the dying sunset bore her husband's homilies.

    He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet clad and gold,
    As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the old;
    But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the ditty hangs)
    That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General Bangs.

    'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, who tittupped on the way,
    When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play.
    They thought of Border risings, and of stations sacked and burnt --
    So stopped to take the message down -- and this is whay they learnt --

    "Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot" twice. The General swore.
    "Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' before?
    "'My Love,' i' faith! 'My Duck,' Gadzooks! 'My darling popsy-wop!'
    "Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that mountain top?"

    The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the gilded Staff were still,
    As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message from the hill;
    For clear as summer lightning-flare, the husband's warning ran: --
    "Don't dance or ride with General Bangs -- a most immoral man."

    [At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise --
    But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large hath eyes.]
    With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his wife
    Some interesting details of the General's private life.

    The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the shining Staff were still,
    And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven gill.
    And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter not): --
    "I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threes about there! Trot!"

    All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter know
    By word or act official who read off that helio.
    But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to Mooltan
    They know the worthy General as "that most immoral man."