Who isnt celebrating today ?

Discussion in 'Military History and Militaria' started by Cutaway, Oct 25, 2005.

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  1. Cutaway

    Cutaway LE Reviewer

    Bograll shows up on a search and it's definitely sundowner time, so why the phuq has no-one mentioned that today is the Feast of Crispian ?

    Just 490 years ago a few of our ancestors were plucking the flower of french 'chivalry,' setting up a fine tradition for the army to win against overwhelming odds.
    That's got to be worth a monster hangover tomorrow.

    Personally I'll be wandering drunk around town, challenging dorii to see my wounds and hurling some sort of missile at anything with a cheese-eating surrender-monkey accent.
    If it was good enough for the old boys it's good enough for me.

    Ladies and Gentlemen, I wish you all the very best for Agincourt Day.

    Here's the battlefield speech to be read aloud down the pub in your best Branagh intonation.

    O that we now had here
    But one ten thousand of those men in England
    That do no work to-day!

    What's he that wishes so?
    My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
    If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
    To do our country loss; and if to live,
    The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
    God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
    By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
    Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
    It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
    Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
    But if it be a sin to covet honour,
    I am the most offending soul alive.
    No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
    God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
    As one man more methinks would share from me
    For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
    Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
    That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
    Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
    And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
    We would not die in that man's company
    That fears his fellowship to die with us.
    This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
    He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
    Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
    And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
    He that shall live this day, and see old age,
    Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
    And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
    Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
    And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
    Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
    But he'll remember, with advantages,
    What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
    Familiar in his mouth as household words-
    Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
    Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
    Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
    This story shall the good man teach his son;
    And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered-
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition;
    And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day !
  2. It had passed me by but, yes, worth a pint or three indeed.

    Agincourt day should be a public holiday, actually.

    A quick Google yields....this.

  3. V - the link is currently unavailable.
  4. It's also Balaclava Day, so maybe another pint or two.

    Half a league, half a league,
    Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    'Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns!' he said:
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
    Was there a man dismay'd ?
    Not tho' the soldier knew
    Some one had blunder'd:
    Their's not to make reply,
    Their's not to reason why,
    Their's but to do and die:
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
    Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of Hell
    Rode the six hundred.

    Flash'd all their sabres bare,
    Flash'd as they turn'd in air
    Sabring the gunners there,
    Charging an army, while
    All the world wonder'd:
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
    Right thro' the line they broke;
    Cossack and Russian
    Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
    Shatter'd and sunder'd.
    Then they rode back, but not
    Not the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon behind them
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
    Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    While horse and hero fell,
    They that had fought so well
    Came thro' the jaws of Death,
    Back from the mouth of Hell,
    All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.

    When can their glory fade?
    O the wild charge they made!
    All the world wonder'd.
    Honour the charge they made!
    Honour the Light Brigade,
    Noble six hundred!
  5. Preffered the 1944 version myself...and death to all frenchmen..
  6. Stonker

    Stonker On ROPs

    Saw this place this evening - holding an Agincourt night


    Same bunting as on Trafalgar Day. Landlord's a Stalwart of the Legion. Bless him; two digs at the cheese-eating surrender monkeys in less than a week.
  7. Never notice before Agincourt and Balaclava on same day Day.
    Ah Stuffing the frog, HEVEN, suppose NKVD man will surface will some quip.
  8. From the web site about Agincourt:

    :lol: :lol:
  9. Celebrated 'Balaklava' as ever, but missed 'Agincourt Day' unfortunately.

    I'll have to make a note for next year...
  10. Cutaway

    Cutaway LE Reviewer

    The frog army continues the tradition to this day.
  11. Brittania victorious - again!
  12. Indeed we had our annual celebration last night, were beers were drunk and all had much merriment!

    Head hurts this morning!
  13. Also let not forget the charge of the Noble Heavy Brigade in the morning at Balaclava
  14. The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy
    Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of Russians,
    Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley ? and
    For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were riding by
    When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky;
    And he called ?Left wheel into line!? and they wheeled
    and obeyed.
    Then he looked at the host that had halted he knew
    not why,
    And he turned half round and he bad his trumpeter
    To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved
    his blade
    To the gallant three hundred those glory will never
    ?Follow,? and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill,
    Followed the Heavy Brigade.


    The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might
    of the fight!
    Thousands of horsemen had gathered there on the
    With a wing pushed out to the left, and a wing to the
    And who shall escape if they close? but he dashed up
    Through the great gray slope of men,
    Swayed his sabre, and held his own
    Like an Englishman there and then;
    All in a moment followed with force
    Three that were next in their fiery course,
    Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they had made?
    Four amid thousands! and up the hill, up the hill,
    Galloped the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade.


    Fell like a cannonshot,
    Burst like a thunderbolt,
    Crashed like a hurricane .
    Broke through the mass from below,
    Drove through the midst of the foe,
    Plunged up and down, to and foe
    Rode flashing blow upon blow,
    Brave Inniskillens and Greys
    Whirling their sabres in circles of light!
    And some of us, all in amaze,
    Who were held for a while from the fight,
    And were only standing at gaze,
    When the dark-muffled Russian crowd
    Folded its wings from the left and the right,
    And rolled them around like a cloud,?
    O mad for the charge and the battle were we,
    When our own good redcoats sank from sight,
    Like drops of blood in a dark-gray sea,
    And we turned to each other, whispering, whispering,
    all dismayed,
    ?Lost are the gallant three hundred of Scarlett?s


    ?Lost one and all? were the words
    Muttered in our dismay;
    But they rode like Victors and Lords
    Through the forest of lances and swords
    In the heart of the Russian hordes,
    They rode or they stood at bay?
    Struck with the sword-hand and slew,
    Down with the bridle-hand drew
    The foe from the saddle and threw
    Underfoot there in the fray?
    Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock
    In the wave of a stormy day;
    Till suddenly shock upon shock
    Staggered the mass from without,
    Drove it in wild disarray,
    For our men gallopt up with a cheer and a shout,
    And the foeman surged, and wavered, and reeled
    Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out of the field,
    And over the brow and away.


    Glory to each and to all, and the charge that they made!
    Glory to all the three hundred, and to all the Brigade!
  15. Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remembered

    Fine work by Billy Shakespeare and an outstanding job by Henry V, sick and out numbered still managed to smack Le Frog. Raise a glass to 4 nobles and 25 commoners and two fingers to the French archer!

    But if it be a sin to covet honour,
    I am the most offending soul alive.