A national disgrace
Gulf war hero Colonel Tim Collins has resigned from the Army.
The Mail on Sunday quoted Collins' wife Caroline as saying he was disillusioned with changes in the armed forces.
"He's worried it is being crippled by political correctness, petty bureaucracy and the refusal of politicians who send British soldiers to war to give them enough money to do their job."
Mrs Collins told the newspaper a major factor in her husband's decision to resign was the Army's failure to support him when he was wrongly accused of mistreating Iraqi prisoners.
I don't blame him at all - but what an appalling indictment on our political masters this is.
As the excellent Mr Free Market said
It is Tommy updated for the 21st Century - and simply because I want to spread it as widely as I can I am reproducing his article in the extended section - I'll buy you a beer for it!
In The Daily Telegraph, Peter Pindar penned the following updated poem;
We aren’t made for cool Britannia; we leave boot marks on the floor.
We don’t walk like Peter Mandelson or talk like Jack Straw.
Call us “forces of conservatism” if it suits your turn
But we’re off like some world fire brigade when the flash-points start to burn.
Yes it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that that, an’spend less on defence,
But who walks the streets of Basra when the air is getting tense?
When the air is getting tense, boys, from Kabul to Kosovo
Who’ll say goodbye to wife and kids, and shoulder pack and go?
The Queen, she’s sat in Windsor now for 50 years or more.
She’ll see this government depart like the other one before.
And Blair & Bush & Chirac make their plans to no avail
But who remains to serve the Crown when politicians fail?
O it’s Tommy change your values - now diversity’s the game;
But when Christmas leave is cancelled, then whose tyrants are to blame?
There’s tyrants in the mountains, boys, and tyrants in the sands,
So farewell to wives & risk your lives for them in foreign lands.
You will be delighted to know that I have little to add to that, save to say it has in my humble opinion, it has the right “line & length” on it. For those of you that are interested, the full version of the original poem is in the extended entry.
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extra rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!