Mothers untied their apron-strings, lovers unloosed their arms—All Europe was a wedding and the bells were war's alarms!
"The chime had changed—You took a pull—the old wild peal rings on
With the clamour and the glamour of a Generation gone.
Their fun — their fire—their hearts' desire—are born again in You!"
"That the big thing we're doin'?" " It's as big as Man can do!"
Forerunners1
(1900)
When I lie dying in my bed,
A grief to wife, and child, and friend,—
How I shall grudge you gallant dead
Your sudden, swift, heroic end!
Dear hands will minister to me,
Dear eyes deplore each shallower breath:
You had your battle-cries, you three,
To cheer and charm you to your death.
You did not wane from worse to worst,
Under coarse drug or futile knife,
But in one grand mad moment burst
From glorious life to glorious Life. . . .
These twenty years ago and more,
'Mid purple heather and brown crag,
Our whole school numbered scarce a score,
And three have fallen for the Flag.
You two have finished on one side,
You who were friend and foe at play;
Together you have done and died;
But that was where you learnt the way.
And the third face! I see it now,
So delicate and pale and brave.
The clear grey eye, the unruffled brow,
Were ripening for a soldier's grave.
Ah! gallant three, too young to die!
The pity of it all endures. Yet, in my own poor passing, I
Shall lie and long for such as yours.
FOOTNOTES
1. H. P. P.—F. M.—J. W. A. C. St. Ninian's, Moffat, 1879-1880; South Africa, 1899-1900.
Uppingham Song
(1913)
Ages ago (as to-day they are reckoned)
I was a lone little, blown little fag:
Panting to heel when Authority beckoned,
Spoiling to write for the Uppingham Mag! Thirty years on seemed a terrible time then — Thirty years back seems a twelvemonth or so. Little I saw myself spinning this rhyme then — Less do I feel that it's ages ago!
Ages ago that was Somebody's study;
Somebody Else had the study next door.
O their long walks in the fields dry or muddy!
O their long talks in the evenings of yore!
Still, when they meet, the old evergreen fellows
Jaw in the jolly old jargon as though
Both were as slender and sound in the bellows
As they were ages and ages ago!
O but the ghosts at each turn I could show you! —
Ghosts in low collars and little cloth caps—
Each of 'em now quite an elderly O.U.—
Wiser, no doubt, and as pleasant—perhaps!
That's where poor Jack lit the slide up with tollies,
Once when the quad was a foot deep in snow—
When a live Bishop was one of the Follies1 — Ages and ages and ages ago!
Things that were Decent and things that were Rotten,
How I remember them year after year!
Some—it may be—that were better forgotten:
Some that—it may be—should still draw a tear . . .
More, many more, that are good to remember:
Yarns that grow richer, the older they grow:
Deeds that would make a man's ultimate ember
Glow with the fervour of ages ago!
Did we play footer in funny long flannels?
Had we no Corps to give zest to our drill?
Never a Gym lined throughout with pine panels?
Half of your best buildings were quarry-stone still?
Ah! but it's not for their looks that you love them,
Not for the craft of the builder below,
But for the spirit behind and above them—
But for the Spirit of Ages Ago!
Eton may rest on her Field and her River.
Harrow has songs that she knows how to sing.
Winchester slang makes the sensitive shiver.
Rugby had Arnold, but never had Thring!
Repton can put up as good an Eleven.
Marlborough men are the fear of the foe.
