General Chat

As a one off.......... I once plaguerised a great man's work and related it to that which so many of us are so familiar with. Perhaps, with Dee's permission, I might air it again....... If you can keep your head while some about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on those new If you can trust yourself when records doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too If you can wait on others and not be tired by waiting Or, being lied to, don't deal with lies Or on being baited, don't be deterred by baiting And yet don't sound too smug nor talk too wise If you can dream a lineage back to Adam, and not make dreams your Master If you can think all through, but not make thoughts your aim If you can sit fruitlessly for days with 1837 and Ancestry And treat those two supporters with more of the same If you can bear to search on behalf of ungrateful beseechers And receive no credit from such fools Or watch the things you gave your time for vanish But carry on, and help others with the same and trusty tools If you can make one heap of all your searchings And risk it all on a certificate of £7 cost And lose, and start again at your beginnings And complain to none about your loss f you can share your tree with those unknown And their reply is to thumb their nose But not be deterred by the manners they have shown And when asked again by others, say ' sure, here goes ' If you can languish in ROs and keep your virtue Or dream of finding Kings, but remain proud of your common touch If neither blind alleys or brick walls can hurt you If you respect all leads........but none too much If you can fill each unforgiving minute With every scrap of knowledge to achieve your end Then yours will be contentment, and all that there goes with it And, which is more....................you'll be admired my friend K ( with some help from RK )

I remember being forced to learn that poem, Dee, at school in the 1950s. I left school in 1967 and, like Len, I never enjoyed poetry or Shakespeare, which is probably why I don't remember much of it. I did like Chaucer, Thomas Hardy and D H Lawrence, but I found Jane Austen irritating. When I was younger, I couldn't see the relevance of most of those books to my own life or how memorising chunks of them would be of use to me later. I'd have been far happier reading factual texts to help me learn about other subjects in depth and reading less fiction. CB >|<

I had to do Latin O level and as I had no hope of translating anything in the exam I learned 450 lines of Virgils 'The Aenead' in Latin and in English and just scraped through. It began 'Conticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebant Inde toro pater Aeneas sic altus ad alto Infandum regina iubes renovare dolorum....' or something like that and that's all I remember now.

Dirty British coaster with a salt caked smoke stack Chugging down the channel on mad March days With a cargo of.................? And cheap tin trays. That's all I can remember. We learnt that at Junior School in the 1950s. Is it by John Masefield? It's so strange how some things are so embedded in your memory, but others (probably more important) are completely forgotten! LOL Sue xx

The only one I can remember is 'the Daffodil' one. I loved ppetry, but didn't enjoy it at school because I was terrified that I wouldn't remember it, word perfect and I was also embarrassed at standing up in front of the class and reciting it.. Its a shame really that 'the punishment' spoilt the enjoyment. June xx

LOL Helen! All I can remember of quotes from my Latin 'O' Level was from Julius Caesar's 'Conquest of Gaul'. I think it was the very first line, which began - Prima luce, .... and that's about it! Very useful subject for deciphering English spelling, inscriptions and medical and legal terms. CB >|<

I remember a lot of those poems Dee but what I remember more about school is having to sing this nearly everyday lol! Davex THE BRITISH GRENADIERS Some talk of Alexander And some of Hercules Of Hector and Lysander And such great names as these. But of all the world's brave heroes There's none that can compare With a tow row row, row row row row For the British Grenadiers. Whene'er we are commanded To storm the pallisades Our leaders march with fuses And we with hand grenades. We throw them from the glacis About the enemy's ears Sing tow row row, row row row row For the British Grenadiers. Then let us fill a bumper And drink a health to those Who carry caps and pouches And wear the louped clothes. May they and their commanders Live happily all their years With a tow row row, row row row row For the British Grenadiers.

Mau I found it amazing what my Dad could remember from the past when he had dementia. He didn’t remember poetry but all the old songs Valium That’s an amusing little ditty, one of those that stick in your mind and can always be counted on to make the children realise that adults have a sense of humour Mandy I can vaguely remember There’s a one eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, is that the one you are thinking of, or is it another one? I keep thinking it might be Kipling, but am probably wrong Beryl I love that poem, and have had it on the wall when I worked in a playgroup. Keith Well done with plagiarism, I must see if I can come up with something to outdo you ;-)) CB We were at school at the same time then. I think I would rather have read less fiction as well, although some of it does give a taste of the period it was written in We learnt another poem about gypsies, it was My mother said, I never should, play with the gypsies in the wood Wonder why the fascination with gypsies in those days Helen Not sure I could have remembered any Latin poetry. My OH and my son both did Latin, but it was something I have always steered clear of. Mind you I find I can often work out what a foreign word means simply because it came from Latin origins Sue That’s another very evocative poem isn’t it? Cargoes QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine. Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores, With a cargo of diamonds, Emeralds, amythysts, Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores. Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, With a cargo of Tyne coal, Road-rails, pig-lead, Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays. John Masefield Vonny Is that one Robert Louis Stevenson? I really should be getting ready for college so will look it up later June I know just how you feel, there was always that niggling doubt that you would make a fool of yourself. Dave Thanks for adding that. It's amazing, isn't it, what we remember. Wish we could remember all those bits of inforamtion we were told about our familes as easily Dee xx

Hi Dee My dad and grandmother could remember loads of poetry from school but I only ever had to learn one thing which was the speech Macbeth makes after hearing Lady Macbeth has died. Can still remember it all ( I think) She should have died hereafter There would have been a time for such a word Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow Creeps on this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death Out out brief candle Life is but a walking shadow that struts and frets its last hour upon the stage And then is heard no more It is a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury Signifying nothing I think that's right lol Hope yr suitably impressed:)) I love literature and poetry and try and remember bits that I really like - especially like some of the ends of novels. Can remember other bits of Shakespeare that I've read or studied since school but most of my favourite poems are too long for me to remember them all:)

This is a lovely thread, Dee, thank you:-) Mandy, that poem was The Green Eye of The Little Yellow God and whenever we had parties in our house, my mother, who did not sing, would recite every verse of this poem. To a hushed and totally appreciate audience! Happy memories...XX BC

Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome wraths outgrabe Beware the Jabberwock my son. The teeth that bite, the claws that snatch. Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the fruminous Bandersnatch. Jaberwocky. by Lewis Carrol There are more verses but I can't remember them all now. Claire xx

Mandy Just for you Mau :O))) The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God 1911 J. Milton Hayes -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THERE’S a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There’s a little marble cross below the town; There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down. He was known as “Mad Carew” by the subs at Khatmandu, He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell; But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks, And the Colonel’s daughter smiled on him as well. He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong, The fact that she loved him was plain to all. She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun To celebrate her birthday with a ball. He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew; They met next day as he dismissed a squad; And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do But the green eye of the little Yellow God. On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance, And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars: But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile, Then went out into the night beneath the stars. He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn, And a gash across his temple dripping red; He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day, And the Colonel’s daughter watched beside his bed. He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through; She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod; He bade her search the pocket saying “That’s from Mad Carew,” And she found the little green eye of the god. She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do, Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet; But she wouldn’t take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone With the jewel that he’d chanced his life to get. When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night, She thought of him and hurried to his room; As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro’ the gloom. His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through; The place was wet and slipp’ry where she trod; An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew, ‘Twas the “Vengeance of the Little Yellow God.” There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu, There’s a little marble cross below the town; There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew, And the Yellow God forever gazes down. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi David I can almost see you standing there quoting that passage. If someone enjoys literature/poetry they can really make a piece of prose or poetry come to life when it is read aloud, can’t they? BC It seems to have gone out of fashion now, the art of recitation. I shall never forget our first trip to Ireland . We were guests of a professional body out there, and after the big dinner/dance a group of us were sat round in the bar. One by one the Irish hosts got up and did a song, or poem, and then of course we were expected to as well. I was so embarrassed. The next time we went I made sure I had perfected a piece that I could recite Claire Jabberwocky is another one of those that is magical to listen to, but is not easy to read. I often think poetry needs to be listened to, rather than read. Mind you I often read poetry aloud (when I am on my own- I hasten to add) ;-)) Mau Thank you for adding that. Vonny Think I was wrong about it being Stevenson, seems it was by Eleanor Farjeon Dee ;-))

Mandy Was this what you are thinking of? From the web site www.monologues(.)co(.)uk/Pukka_Sahib.htm Based on the Milton Hayes poem 'THE GREEN EYE OF THE LITTLE YELLOW GOD', this sketch involved Stanley Holloway as a serious monologuist in full evening dress, hounded to distraction by Leslie Henson and Cyril Ritchard as two Indian army officers. From their vantage point in the stage box, they interrupted throughout and constantly sought to make Holloway 'dry' or smile. As Holloway recalled, 'If they had succeeded, the monologue would have lost all credibility and it was one of the hardest jobs of my life to resist the leg-pulling of that sophisticated artist Cyril Ritchard and my beloved, gravelly-voiced friend, Leslie Henson.' Dee ;-))

Mandy, The sketch is on the website if you want to have a look at it to see if you recognise it at all Dee xx

Hi Jill I think this is the one. If so it is Kipling, and probably written about the Sussex coast as he lived in Sussex for a while Dee ;-)) A Smuggler's Song If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet, Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street. Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie. Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark -- Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk; Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Running round the woodlump if you chance to find Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine, Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play. Put the brishwood back again -- and they'll be gone next day! If you see the stable-door setting open wide; If you see a tired horse lying down inside; If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore; If the lining's wet and warm -- don't you ask no more! If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red, You be carefull what you say, and mindful what is said. If they call you 'pretty maid,' and chuck you 'neath the chin, Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been! Knocks and footsteps round the house -- whistles after dark -- You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark. Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie -- They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by! If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance, You'll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France, With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood -- A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark -- Brandy for the Parson, 'Baccy for the Clerk; Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie -- Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Rudyard Kipling

I love poetry, Dee, and have visited the house where Kipling used to live in Sussex. :-) Joy

Glad you found it interesting Mandy, I love the Stanley Holloway stuff, have a CD of his btw Jill, I like Stevenson's work, and have an anthology of his that I have had since I was a child He seemed taken with railways and did Faster than fairies, faster than witches Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches And charging along like troops in a battle All through the meadows the horses and cattle Dee ;-)) Joy, Bateman's in Sussex, where Kipling once lived, is owned and run by the National Trust. I'd love to be a volunteer there, it must be fascinating

It is indeed a fascinating place to visit, Dee. My grandparents used to live not far from there, and I visited Kipling's home when in my teens. :-) Joy

I haven't got it quite right but I remember a wonderful evocative poem by Thomas Hardy. He always seemed to choose sad subjects. This is about a local boy who was killed in the Boer war. Young Hodge the drummer never Knew Straight from his Wessex home The meaning of the broad Karoo The Veldt the dusty loam Yet part of that strange southern Plain will Hodge for ever be his homely northern brain and brawn grown to some southern tree and foreign constellations west each night above his mound. I don't think I have heard or seen it for nearly forty years. I remember my mother reciting quinquereme of Ninevah. I loved all the exotic words and we used to have a clapping game to My mother said I never should play with the gypsies in the wood If I did my hair wouldn't curl and my shoes wouldn't shine very politically incorrect Dea I like feeling my age when I can indulge in nostalgia.