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Array
(
[sid] => 42587
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => An Ode To The Green Jackets
[time] => 2004-04-10 09:52:26
[hometext] => Inspired by Bernard Cornwell's tales of Sharpe. More in accordance with the Green Jackets of yore than to the RGJ(Royal Green Jackets) of modern Britain for I did know enough of their traditions to incorporate in this my tribute's rendition.
[bodytext] => Hurrah! Hurrah! Cheers for the rifles, Loyal Green Jackets. Hurrah! Hurrah! Cheers for the rifles, Royal Green Jackets. First in the field, and the last ones off! "Fix Swords!" Their fabled cry, "Charge!" into the mealstrom where Dante dwells. "Form Ranks!" The lads complied, "Fire!" Letting loose their hell. Spiral-grooved Bakers, lightning bolts of death. The long-armed rifles, whose touch the ultimate test. Of one shot kills, and long-ranged hits. Snipers at will, and marksmen to wit. With their deadly rifles, and their long sword-bayonets. Marching into parables, upon legends and martial tenets. Serving in ranks, and in commission. All those lads, who served with distinction. British toffs, upscale gentlement. Country esquires, the gentry of England. Cockney gents, Portobello twits. Wild eyed urchins, from guttered city streets. Farm bred lads, from shire comes. Cityslicking men, from factory towns. Scottish men, highland and low. grandsons of warriors, with blue painted brow. The fiery Irish, their tempers true. Never get between, an Irishman and his brew. Welshman born, from hardy Wales. descendents of bowmen, the longbows of tales. American loyalist, from troubled colonies. divided in loyalties, to empire or dignities. Different brouges, of different tounges. the quarrels they had, when they get really drunk. Different breeds, of different kinds. Different in creed, but in one regiment they stand. Rifles they are, brothers as one. their jackets green, a mark divine. Upon the slopes, in Portugal, Spain and France. Beating back the tides, of Bonaparte's advance. The match and the scourge, for the Vortiguers of France. the light infantry, in skirmishes and advance. Upon any grounds, contested by France. There's a gravestone that marks, the grave of a Rifles man. To Denmark, to India, the Americas and hence. The stern whip of a monarch, against rebellious intent. Their ranks a bulwark, their shots just punishment. Traitors and oath breakers, they punish with impudence. Upon nearby neighbours, or distant frontier. The creed of the Rifles, for the glory of Empire! Hurrah! Hurrah! Cheers for the Rifles, Loyal Green Jackets. Hurrah! Hurrah! Cheers for the Rifles, Royal Green Jackets. First in the field, and the last ones off! [comments] => 4 [counter] => 767 [topic] => 43 [informant] => baronhawk [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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