: The Song of Tiadatha by Rutter Owen Owen H Collinson Harry Collinson Author Of Introduction Etc - World War 1914-1918 Poetry; Longfellow Henry Wadsworth 1807-1882 Parodies imitations etc.

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INTRODUCTION 7

THE SONG OF TIADATHA

THE JOINING OF TIADATHA

Should you question, should you ask me Whence this song of Tiadatha? Who on earth was Tiadatha? I should answer, I should tell you, He was what we call a filbert, Youth of two and twenty summers. You could see him any morning In July of 1914, Strolling slowly down St. James's From his comfy flat in Duke Street. Little recked he of in those days, Save of socks and ties and hair-wash, Girls and motor-cars and suppers; Little suppers at the Carlton, Little teas at Rumpelmeyer's, Little week-ends down at Skindle's; Troc and Cri and Murray's knew him, And the Piccadilly grill-room, And he used to dance at Ciro's With the fairies from the chorus. There were many Tired Arthurs In July of 1914.

Then came war, and Tiadatha Read his papers every morning, Read the posters on the hoardings, Read "Your King and Country want you." "I must go," said Tiadatha, Toying with his devilled kidneys, "Do my bit and join the Army." So he hunted up a great-aunt, Who knew someone in the Service, Found himself in time gazetted To a temporary commission In the 14th Royal Dudshires.

Many pounds spent Tiadatha On valises, baths and camp beds, Spent on wash-hand stands and kit bags. Macs and British warms and great-coats, And a gent's complete revolver. Then he went to Piccadilly, Mr. Wing, of Piccadilly, Where he ordered ties and shirtings, Cream and coffee ties and shirtings, Ordered socks and underclothing, Putting down the lot to Father. Compass, torch and boots and glasses All of these sought Tiadatha; All day boys with loads were streaming To and from the flat in Duke Street, Like a chain of ants hard at it Storing rations for the winter.

"One thing more," cried Tiadatha, "One thing more ere I am perfect. I must have a sword to carry In a jolly leather scabbard." So he called the son of Wilkin, Wilkin's son who dwelt in Pall Mall, Bade him make a sword and scabbard. And the mighty son of Wilkin Made a sword for Tiadatha, From the truest steel he made it, Slim and slender as a maiden, Sharper than a safety razor, Sighed a little as he made it, Knowing well that Tiadatha Probably would never use it.

Then at last my Tiadatha Sallied forth to join the Dudshires, Dressed in khaki, quite a soldier, Floppy cap and baggy breeches, Round his waist the supple Sam Browne, At his side the sword and scabbard, Took salutes from private soldiers And saluted Sergeant-Majors , And reported at Headquarters Of the 14th Royal Dudshires. Shady waters of a river, Feels when by some turn of fortune He gets plopped into a cistern At a comic dime museum, Finds himself among strange fishes, Finds his happy freedom vanished, Even so felt Tiadatha On the day he joined the Dudshires. But he pulled himself together, Found the Adjutant, saluted, Saying briefly, "Please I've come, sir." Such was Tiadatha's joining.

THE TRAINING OF TIADATHA

Two long months spent Tiadatha On a Barrack Square in Dudshire Learning how to be a soldier. Laid aside the sword and scabbard Fashioned by the son of Wilkin, Only routed out on Sundays, For the Church Parades on Sundays. In their stead he bore a rifle, Just a rifle and a bayonet, Learnt to slope his arms by numbers Learnt to order arms by numbers, Learnt the rite of fixing bayonets, Harkening to the Sergeant-Major, Very gruff and fierce and warlike.

Then came P.T. with its press-ups, Stretching slowly , Slowly, slowly bending downwards; After seven Tiadatha Lay and gasped upon his tummy. Then the muscle exercises, Ghastly muscle exercises, Standing with the blinking rifle Two full minutes at the shoulder.

In those days too Tiadatha Learnt the mysteries of "Form Fours," And evolved a simpler method, Which he showed the Sergeant-Major. "No, sir," said the Sergeant-Major, Looking very fierce and warlike, "Mine's the only way it's done, sir, Mine's the way the Colonel wants it." "Narrow minds," cried Tiadatha, "Hidebound hearts," he cried in dudgeon, "Mine's as good a way as his is, Mine is better than the Colonel's. I shall tell him so to-morrow, Tell him on parade to-morrow."

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