[John Whitworth]

I heard that poem recited on 'Variety Bandbox' a Saturday Evening show on the BBC Home Service in the 1950s. I wasn't clear at the time whether it was meant to be funny or not. No, wait - it WAS a comedy spot. The reciter was continually interrupted by someone who wanted to make it more PC (though of course that phrase was unknown then). For intance the interrupter insisted that 'Mad Carew' became 'Mentally Deficient Carew'. I ws about ten and found it mildly diverting.

[Ann Drysdale]

Oh, I'm going to hate myself... but I have to be true to my Grandfather who knew these things and my Grandmother, who made me look it up.

The fellow's name must here be pronounced KAROO so as to rhyme with KatMANDU, whereas anyone of officer rank would have pronounced it KAREY to rhyme with FAIRY.

I'm sorry. The devil made me do it.

[John Whitworth]

Quite right, Ann. Now tell the world about Cholmondeley, Mainwaring and Featherstonehaugh. Drysdale is of course correctly pronounce drizzle and Whitworth weewart.

[David Anthony]

Maybe he was in the army of the East India Company, in which case such niceties would not necessarily have been known.

[Gail White]

Hudson the butler recites this piece on an episode of "Upstairs, Downstairs". At least he starts to recite it, but he's interrupted by the news of war with Germany. Apparently the lower classes are willing to say "Mad Caroo". (PS - wonder if the author is American and knows no better?)

[David Anthony]

Here's the poem that I think inspired it:

Gunga Din
By Rudyard Kipling 1865–1936

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,
He was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
‘Hi! Slippy hitherao
‘Water, get it! Panee lao,
‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’


The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
‘You put some juldee in it
‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute
‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’


’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ’is mussick a on ’is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’


I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was 'Din! Din! Din!
‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;
‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,
‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’


’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

[Jerome Betts]

Yes, David, Nepal had a British Resident till the early 1920s. but whether that involved a retinue of regulars I don't know. Still, I imagine Milton Hayes wasn't too concerned with such niceties but simply wanted an exotic location (before the hippies got going) and a rhyme for 'Carew', not having met Ann's grandfather.

The Gurkhas, in reduced numbers, are indeed still with what's left of the British army, as far as I know, and one pleasing legagcy of that connection is a Nepalese restaurant in a former Post Office not far from where I live where you can get curried goat and soup fit to fortify the frozen against a Himalayan winter, or even an English summer. What a good idea - thanks for reminding me. Don't think I'll be reciting 'The Green Eye' to them, though.

[Jerome Betts]

M'dear Gail or gel, Milton Hayes, the author, was a northerner, which from the point of view of those with the extreme RP of Indian Army officers in the old days could be worse than Americans with no yods in words like news and using quaint pseudo-French pronunciations like lootenant instead of leftenant.

Many features of that kind of RP have succumbed to exposure to years of American films, TV series, and satellite news, not to mention Australian soaps and all those damn Continentals who speak English better than we do. Conversely, a lot of Americans (not Bostonians and Southerners) don't seem to sound so American these days. Myself, I'd settle for Canadian. (Love their 'out' pronunciation)

Hudson, in Upstairs, Downstairs, had a rather prissy Scots accent, as far as I remember.

[John Whitworth]

Since he was Gordon Jackson, he would have done, though which Scottish accent is prissy? Jackson, I think, was from the Hebrides, though perhaps that's just a memory of 'Whisky Galore'. Needless to say, I never saw any 'Upstairs, Downstairs', a very Downstairs sort of a thing.

Hebrideans are all natural gentlemen.

[Ann Drysdale]

The Green Eye were better, perhaps, told by Robert Service, and acted out by a good old, unequivocal, McGrue.

No element of doubt there, eh? Dangerous Dan would've soon seen to anyone who called him Mary...