What the Officers Sang

[ChrisBryett]

Cannot let this go unchallenged: 2nd RWF had at least [off the top of my head] five SNCO/WO who were commissioned into the battalion. All were successful, several hugely so. I can probably double that number if I scratch around. There is, however, a good argument against promotion in situ and it has nothing to do with class. In all walks of life, it can be difficult [perhaps only temporarily] to have one's erstwhile equal [or even junior] suddenly made senior ....awkward for both. It was for this very reason that the lowest of the NCOs, who were unpaid LCpl [substantive rank Private] were forbidden to associate with Privates except on official business. In fact, it helped both the LCpl and the Private.

I am here describing the British Army, where the above worked. I do not advocate it for universal adoption!

Like all generalisations there are exceptions. If the reason you give holds water then so does the generalisation? An example only tht I seem to recall reading about is Roland Bradford being the youngest general and being transferred from his battaliion to receive promotion?

Chris

[ianw]

A good marching is a good marching song and a battalion might well have several personalised versions of it.

I have read that senior battalion officers might well tell the subalterns to take popular records off the gramophone. Songs from the shows were indeed very popular across the whole of society and seat prices were set to allow the whole social spectrum access - but you would know your place.

"Do your b*lls hang low" was sung to the tune of "Do you ken John Peel" by the way.

[BeppoSapone]

.....for every soldier singing: "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" there were two singing: "For He's a Rotten Old *******".

Bar Steward.

[Kate Wills]

extracted from The Amateur Army, by Patrick MacGill (London Irish)

"...Marching at the rear, I could see the long brown line

curving round a corner ahead, the butt-plates of the rifles sparkling

brightly, the white trenching-tool handles shaking backward and

forward at every move of the men.

"March easy!"

Half an hour had passed, and we were now in the open country. At

the word of command rifles were slung over the shoulders, and the

battalion found voice, first in brisk conversation and exchange

of witticisms, then in shouting and song. We have escaped from the

tyranny of "Tipperary," none of us sing it now, but that doggerel is

replaced by other music-hall abominations which are at present in the

full glory of their rocket-reign. A parody of a hymn, "Toiling on," is

also popular, and my Jersey mate gave it full vent on the left.

"Lager beer! lager beer!

There's a lager beer saloon across the way.

Lager bee-ee-eer!

Is there any lager beer to give away."

Although the goddess of music forgot me in the making, I found myself

roaring out the chorus for all I was worth along with my Jersey

friend.

"You're singing some!" he remarked, sarcastically, when the chorus

came to an end. "But, no wonder! This night would make a brass monkey

sing. It's grand to be alive!"

Every battalion has its marching songs. One of the favourites with us

was written by a certain rifleman in "C" Company, sung to the air of

"Off to Philadelphia in the Morning." It runs:

"It is said by our commanders that in trenches out by Flanders

There is work to do both trying and exciting,

And the men who man the trenches, they are England's men and

French's

Where the legions of the khaki-clad are fighting.

Though bearing up so gaily they are waiting for us daily,

For the fury of the foemen makes them nervous,

But the foe may look for trouble when we charge them at the double,

We, the London Irish out on active service.

_Chorus._

"With our rifles on our shoulder, sure there's no one could be

bolder,

And we'll double out to France when we get warnin'

And we'll not stop long for trifles, we're the London Irish

Rifles,

When we go to fight the Germans in the mornin'.

"An' the girls: oh it will grieve them when we take the train and

leave them,

Oh! what tears the dears will weep when we are moving,

But it's just the old, old story, on the path that leads to Glory,

Sure we cannot halt for long to do our loving.

They'll see us with emotion all departing o'er the ocean,

And every maid a-weepin' for her lover;

'Good-bye' we'll hear them callin', while so many tears are fallin'

That they'd almost swamp the boat that takes us over.

_Chorus._

"With our rifles," etc.

Our colonel sang this song at a concert, thus showing the democratic

nature of the New Army, where a colonel sings the songs written in the

ranks of his own battalion."

I don't doubt that McGill heard many songs and witticisms that were too smutty for publication; but neither do I doubt the veracity of his memoir, or the conclusion he draws at the end of the extract quoted here.

[truthergw]

extracted from The Amateur Army, by Patrick MacGill (London Irish)

Our colonel sang this song at a concert, thus showing the democratic

nature of the New Army, where a colonel sings the songs written in the

ranks of his own battalion."

I don't doubt that McGill heard many songs and witticisms that were too smutty for publication; but neither do I doubt the veracity of his memoir, or the conclusion he draws at the end of the extract quoted here.

If you have read all of McGill's work, The Rat Pit etc. you might agree with me that there is possibly a degree of irony in his statement.

[Kate Wills]

I have read very little of McGill's work, so perhaps you can enlighten me as to the irony you detect here.

[PhilB]

I think McGill is implying that the army is not actually a democratic institution and that the colonel singing a soldiers` ditty at a concert should not be taken as indicating so. My wife doesn`t notice irony either! Phil B