doublegunshop.com - home Forums General Discussion DoubleGun BBS @ doublegunshop.com OT: Gunga Din

My 88 year old Dad, who served in the Eighth Air Force in England during WW II as a mechanic, was always one to take part in any off-base entertainment that might be available. A local pub was sponsoring a small talent show and invited American servicemen stationed nearby to take part. My Dad memorized this famous poem by Rudyard Kipling and stood up and recited it in a limey accent he had made a point to acquire while there. He's now in his last few days at a local nursing home.
Enjoy:
http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_gunga.htm
JR

John, that's so cool. Can you read it to him ?

Thanks Daryl. I would if I thought I could make it through, but I would be a blubbering mess after a few lines...
JR

John:
Very touching. I especially respect the men of the Mighty Eighth. I knew a few.

And they were all "better men" than most of us these days. Myself included.

My very best to your father... and you.

There was a terrible tragedy during my Dad's time at Base Air Depot #2. He has related this story to me many times over the years and it obviously affected him deeply:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freckleton_Air_Disaster

John, it took us another 40 years and many hundreds of lives to fully appreciate the 'microburst' part of a thunderstorm.

This is one area where we have learned, but only slowly.

Good luck with your dad. Mine is 86, and also part of that generation and that conflict.

If I could only freeze the clock...

That's very cool! I can certainly understand how difficult it would be to read it to your father. I know if it were I in the same situation, I wouldn't be able to either. A father to be very proud of.

A good friend of mine's father was a B-17 pilot in the 8th. He passed a number of years ago, but I can still see in my minds eye his big waxed handle bar mustache, hear his gravelly voice and chuckle at his sense of humor.

I don't typically advocate chemical alterations, but considering I start choking up over a sad movie, I can tell you lorazepam has worked wonders in situations where you need to keep a stiff upper lip - where you'd typically be on your knees sobbing.

John, you can do it. He'll wait for you. I had a similar thing with my dad, and although he could not speak, he grabbed my hand . He could let go, then.

I was out driving my car and got caught in a thunderstorms micro-burst. I'd pulled off the road and the horizontal winds blew the rain against my side windows with such force water began pouring in around the side window jams.

Steve

Don't worry about that "keep a stiff upper lip" BS where someone you love is concerned, it's not the time for it. Almost 42 years of knowing my wife, a mentally strong person who wasn't afraid to reveal her feelings, taught me that.

The late Limey poet/author/statesman? Rudyard Kipling was no stranger to the need for the British "stiffie-upper-- lip wise", as his only son, a First Leftenant in the Coldstream Guards, was one of the 60K Brit casualties at the 1916 Battle at the river Somme- where Brit General Haig apparently thought that if he kept hurdling his troops into the heavy German MG fire, eventually what was left of his manpower would overwhelm the dug-in Kraut positions after they either (1) Ran out of ammo for their 8mm Maxim MG's- or (2) the barrels of same overheated--

He had written the epic poem "Gunga Din", about a WOG water boy in India, some years prior to this- after the tragic death of his son (and thousands of his sons' brothers-in-arms) he became a recluse--

Two of his best poems or pieces of writing, IMO- as a confirmed lover of the dog, and a die-hard chauvinist, deal with dogs "The Power of the Dog" and what happens to a man's heart when he gives it freely to God's best four-legged piece of work, and also the line from "The Wedding" in which he so astutely says- "A thousand women like Maggie, are willing to bear the yoke- But- a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke"-- That was written in the aprox same era when Vienna's Number One Boy- Ziggy Freud was also discussing "cigars"--and Mark Twain was trying to give up smokin' them, for the thousandth time- Ah yes, the good olde days indeed-

IMO, and judged with the 20-20 hindsight through History's dark glass, had Britain had a man like Kipling for PM instead of that "Henry Tremblechinned" Neville Chamberlain in 1938, he would have told Adolph Hitler to "upstick it, arse-wise" when Der Feuhrer demanded his "elbow room" in the German speaking part of Chezkoslovakia--

I had also read that our beloved and now deceased gun guru Mike McIntosh could recite both "Gunga Din" and "The Crematyion of Sam McGee" darn near letter perfect, even after a test tasting evening involving some single malts!!

That Poem, and all of Kipling, for that matter brings back memories...MY Grandpa Ferguson was a Brigadier, Canadian army (Retd) and also a stampeder...Fond memories of time spent on the porch with him....Miss him and my Dad both...

RWTF, Irish Guards, not Coldstream. Battle of Loos, not Somme.
1915 not 1916. I am sure the rest of your drivel is up to your usual standard of accuracy.

To add to Run With The Fox try Kipling's 'Tommy' and also 'Fuzzy-Wuzzy'. Both great works. The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service; another English poet, even though he was called The Bard of the Yukon, was from Preston in Lancashire, try looking up some of his war poems about the First world War; powerful stuff. Lagopus.....

OK Dude- you are right and I am wrong- Irish Guards, that's a shock- I know Rudyard had to pull some strings to get his son Jack into the Army and into OCS- or whatever the Limeys called their Officer Training School- Sandhurst?? he was a blind as a bat, 20-200 or even worse vision, and could barely read a medical eye chart even with glasses. Why they let him into a combat situation is beyond my understanding- he should have been rear echelon- his poor vision may well have cost him his life, as well as that of many enlisted men- But at least you didn't disagree with me about the "Butcher's Bill" Limey Gen. Haig racked up at the Somme in 1916--Makes me think of my favorite dead American writer- Ernest Hemingway-- his Grandfather was a decorated Union Officer in our War of Northern Aggression- his father was a pacifist, Hemingway couldn't pass the Army physical due to defective eyesight in his right eye, and he lied about his age (he was born on July 21 1899, he moved that back to 1898- and got the American Red Cross to accept him as an ambulance driver in Italy--

I understand that Rudyard pulled a lot of strings to get his son in the Army and through the medical and then spent the rest of his life with the guilt. The First World War was seen as a great adventure and many slipped the net. My own Grandfather lied about his age to get there and was there for a while before he got rumbled and sent back home. Things didn't improve by the next war either. I was reading of one lad that joined the RAF and at 15 had flown four bombing missions as a pilot before he got rumbled.

Incidently, I drive past Rudyard lake in Staffordshire quite often. Rudyard's parents used to visit the place regularly hence his name. The neighbouring lake is Tittesworth. Somehow I am pleased that they prefered Rudyard. Lagopus.....

Vernon Alvin Roberts, born August 4th, 1923.

Passed into The Bosom of God today, September 23rd, 2013, The Year of Our Lord.

Godspeed Daddy, I loved you so much.
JR

Your family will be in our prayers. God Bless.

This poem has a great deal to say on the subject of parting with a loved one but in so very few words.

Now that I am dead cry for me a little,
Think of me sometimes.
But not too much!
Remember me now and again as I was in life,
at some moment when it is pleasant to recall, but not for long!
Leave me in peace, and I shall leave you in peace.
And while you live let your thoughts be with the living.

John,

It is a curious and wonderful thing how the memories hurt so badly to recall when pains of loss are fresh, but become so precious as time passes. Certainly Our Father made it to be so.

Wish I could be there with you, but know that my prayers are requesting that His Spirit be there in power. He is a much better Comforter than I.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUiqncJE_dI

All my best, Stan

No finer epitaph ever written.

Treasure the memories John.

John, thank you for sharing your thoughts. It lets many of us revisit similar times, times so rich .

John, another of the Greatest Generation has left to be with his brothers and sisters. I am sorry for your loss and you have my condolences. Next time you are over at Stan's, swing south on I-95 near Savannah (where the 8th was founded a half-mile from where I sit) and drop in on the Mighty Eighth Museum in Pooler, Ga. It is a fitting tribute to the men like your dad who gave so much.
Gil Stacy,Savannah, GA

Hey Runs At The Mouth could you maybe ease up on the crazy for a minute? This thread is about the passing of John Roberts father and has nothing to do with you or your inaccurate drivel.

John my father is getting older and I don't even want to think of the world without him. You have my deepest sympathy.....


DLH

One of my all time favorites since I was a wee lad. The same old Kipling book I used to hide in as a child now graces my bookshelf. As I remember it, "You may talk o' gin an beer when you're quartered safe out here..."

And when we all got those small 3" reel to reel tape recorders back in the mid 60's one of the childish goof-offs I recorded was a song version of Gunga Din. Guaranteed to make me cringe on every listening. "Tho I've belted you and flayed you by the living God that made you you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din" or some such resounding finish. No fade-outs on that cut.

Man, what a writer. God Bless him and God bless your Dad.

I just immediately wrote my post after reading John's opener, it hit me so deeply.

Afterwards I read through all the other posts from all the other members.

You know, this website has taken some noxious, slanderous crap thrown at it recently in many of the different forums. It sickened me, because I know that at the heart of this labor of love that Dave Weber put together are good, decent men who share some things even deeper than the ineffable wonders of the vintage guns we love so dearly.

Reading through all the posts in this thread that John started just reaffirmed it.

John, my sympathies.

I lost my mother in March and my father's sister, his last remaining sibling in June. He lives 1300 miles from me, with only one of his five children near.

I just got home after spending four days with him. Out to our hunting property at Delta Marsh to see the results of a $2.5 million DU/Delta Waterfowl/Government project to fix the marsh for ducks that mostly involved building weirs and dikes across our property. Then a few hours east with him to Lake of the Woods to take him to the island cottage he and my mother loved so much. He goes a lot slower now but boy does he sparkle when I get him out to those places. I don't know how much longer I'll have him but it won't be the same when he's gone.

I decided to post because just before I left to return home last night, he gave me a 20 (or more) volume set of the complete writings of RK, given to his mother by my great grandfather in the years 1910 -1912, according to the inscriptions. A real treasure!

You guys are the greatest, thank you all for the many loving, kind, and thoughtful posts. I do appreciate them all, and thank you for allowing me to share my Dad's passing with you.
JVR

John: My condolences. If close, it is very tough to lose a parent. My Dad was 66 and I was 35 yo when he died of cancer twenty years ago. It really knocked the wind out of me and took a long, long time for me to get over. 20 yrs later I think of him at times but it doesn't hurt anymore. Time gets your life back to order, I guess. At least time was the only thing that helped me. Take care, Buzz

Life's flat for you now, John. Being a dutiful son will lift you up in the short term. As years pass healing comes from realization that all your father and mother wanted for you was to be well and happy.

When my father died 20 years ago, many said there was a momentary feeling that he had just gone on to do something else, his life had been so diversified, useful and happy. Your father burnished your life as my father did mine.

While we often feel we are beyond reach of consolation at these times, your road to happiness has already been illuminated by being a dutiful son. It becomes smoother knowing all your father wanted was for you to be well and happy.

Warm regards, King

Beautifully expressed, Mr Brown. I will only add to this by saying;
John, you'll now find yourself thinking of and talking to your father every single day for the rest of your life. Ultimately, you'll find great comfort in this. God bless you.

One of the best gifts our fathers gave us was to help calibrate our moral compasses by their example and life's choices. You will always know what your father would do in difficult times that you will face. You might not make the same choice or agree with what you think he'd do, but you'll know what he would have done. He will always be there looking over your shoulder, and that is a comfort.