No Princes In The Line

I came across this the other day. It seems a fair observation...

Princes in the Line

Words and Music: Tom Lewis ©2006
(Available for free download here.)

The heir to England's throne stood proud, before a wall in France,
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends!”; he bid the troops advance,
His armour, and his honour, bright; all men could see them shine,
So they followed to the battle for their prince was in the line.

When Charles's cavaliers were called to muster for the king,
The monarch's only nephew heard the call to duty ring,
Foremost in the fighting rode Rupert Of The Rhine,
There was honour in the battle when a prince was in the line.

Chorus:
(But/For) the children of our rulers will not join the fight today,
(and) Kings of Commerce never send their sons into the fray,
The children of the poor will fight the wars that they design,
But what honour's in the battle with no princes in the line?

The South Pacific blazed, and rang with Freedom's fire-alarm,
The name of 'old Joe' Kennedy could keep his sons from harm,
But the Navy needed brave young men; this was the place and time,
So a Once-And-Future President stepped up into the line.

Chorus

A bitter South Atlantic wind blew over icy sea,
The Queen of England's son flew out to face the enemy,
As target for the missiles, to protect the fleet so fine.
This argument's not: 'Right or wrong?' - but: 'Princes in the line?'

Chorus

Prime Ministers and Presidents take us to war with lies,
In parliament and congress they wear flags for their disguise,
Their kids wear trendy camouflage while sipping vintage wine,
But they will not wear the uniform, and step into the line.

Chorus:
For the children of our rulers will not join the fight today,
(and) Kings of Commerce never send their sons into the fray,
The children of the poor will fight the wars that they design,
But what honour's in the battle with no princes in the line?
But what honour's in the battle with no princes in the line?
If there was honour in the battle... there'd be princes in the line.

Return to Tom Lewis: Index to Song Lyrics

Thoughts From Remembrance Day 2013

Just as we finished Piping the Still this morning and after the salute from from Fort Blockhouse, we could hear the Last Post being sounded on a bugle in the distance. The contrast of the simple shrillness of the Bosun's Call with the the faint but tuneful bugle was striking and poignant.

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I am watching my HD recording of the Remembrance Parade from this morning. The various dress uniforms of  the various units look so vivid. Now, I'm obviously biased but there is something simply but supremely elegant and timeless in the way the Royal Navy platoons look in their simple black greatcoats, white caps, belts and gaiters.

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At RNSM today, I paused for a moment to think of a distinguished gentleman and father of an old friend who had been with us in the same place last year but is no longer with us.

No Need For Religion

Sunday 10th November 2013 will see the assembly of a small number of ex servicemen remembering their dead . In previous years, this has been an informal, brief but poignant act of remembrance held in the shadow of the complete list of those several thousand lost, many of which have no known grave.

This is now been formalised and is to have a vicar participating. Why such a simple and perfect ceremony needs the mumbo jumbo of religion inflicted upon it, I don't understand.

Harold Jellicoe Percival

Another ex-serviceman has died alone and without friends or family. The report of his death, and the notice of his funeral have gone viral across the UK and there is no doubt that his funeral will now be well attended by well wishers.

One can't help wondering that 'Coe' and the other lonely veterans who have died in similar circumstances would have been much more appreciative of  this company, and friendship when he was alive.

That's not a blog, it's a scrapbook

When is a blog not a blog, but rather a giant slap in the face for the true authors who have spent time and effort only to see their work being blatantly ripped off?

There are blogs and there are blogs. A good blog contains the original thoughts and work of a writer or a group of writers. It can be observations on pressing current matters, on a particular interest or pursuit, it could be a diary (or log hence web blog and then blog) or it can be rather more philosophical.

Other blogs are just scrapbooks of other people's work, sometimes just blatantly lifted from other blogs. Not to comment or to include a large amount of original work just makes that plagiarism. And it's wrong to take any credit for it, especially if the original work isn't credited.

Discuss

I Love My Job.

I had a great day at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum today. Of the visitors today I met an X-craft submariner who served on X20 and X22 

as well as the training boats, an officer who served on the pre-World War 2 era S class submarine HMS Sleuth,

an anglicised American Supply Officer who had served on the NR-1 and worked in the Nautilus museum, and a retired ex pat British A class veteran who joined the RAN.

NR-1

You know? I can really love this job sometimes.

The Yomp For Steve

Saturday, 18 May 2013 saw the Yomp For Steve*. A group of Steve Sharpe's friends have gotten together and for the past 2 years, they've walked from one of his favourite places at Titchfield Haven to Shore Leave Haslar, a walk of about 8 miles along the Hampshire coastline.


The assembled throng, included friends from Gosport with whom he grew up, ex field gunners, fellow Commandos, a lab tech, an RAF air traffic controller, an ex naval Medical Assistant and assorted spouses and dogs. And last but not least, his lifelong friend Brian (or Bj).

We chat, some bring their dogs, we amble, some stop for a beer, some stop for a New Forest ice cream (I recommend the rhubarb crumble and custard one) and others stop for a cuppa. We each chip in £10 and all the proceeds go to Shore Leave Haslar. This year we raised £280. They in their turn provide us with a simple but tasty barbecue, drinks and cake in the wonderful gardens they've recovered.

Last year Steve's mum and dad were there to see us off, but earlier this year Steve's mum died suddenly and his dad needed his time to grieve and to get over her death and so didn't attend.There was one person missing and I hope she can join us next year after all that she has gone through, and continues to do so.

You, too, should join us next year.

*Yomp has two meanings in the Royal Navy it can (and used to mean) to eat, but once the Royal Marines landed on the Falkland Islands in 1982, it's other meaning took precedence and entered popular culture. It means to walk across country, usually burdened with a small house, no sleep, and a pair of underpants that passeth all understanding.

People Just Want to Know

There's a great deal of fun and of satisfaction being a Submarine Guide on HMS ALLIANCE. I suspect these feelings are also felt by enthusiastic guides at either attractions and sites. Today was no exception. I took two tours through the submarine, both of which were really well received. People find the experience a real eye-opener as they (probably for the only time in their life) get to walk through a submarine and witness the conditions in which submariners used to live. They enjoy both hearing about the way submariners would live and of some of their experiences.

But it's also a pleasure for us guides because of the people we meet. As an example, today I had people who went out of their way to come and say 'thank you' after their tour. There was a American engineer working here in the UK with whom a colleague and I had a pleasant conversation that ranged from gun control to US submarine museums. Another couple were directly related to one of the casualties on HMS THETIS. Others today would have spent ages talking about aspects of submarine life revealed to them.

If you're a submariner reading this then come and become a guide at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. If your someone with a keen interest or experience in a particular field and not already involved, get involved! People just want to know.

When One Door Closes

When one door closes, the draught blows the light at the end of the tunnel out, and you have to spend time fumbling for the matches before you can start your journey again

Nurse Training

It's good news that trainee nurses are to spend more time on 'Basic Nusring Care'. I've said many times that there should be less emphasis on the academic and more on the practical. After all, it's much more useful to a patient for a nurse to be able to stop a patient's pressure area breaking down, than for them to read about that nurse's reaction to the necrosing tissue.

Unfortunately......

It's gotten to the point now that when I receive a reply from a potential employer, the first thing I do is I scan it for the word 'unfortunately' rather than actually read the response.

Now that's not good is it? But do any of my similarly long time job seeking readers do the same?

Christmas In Basra

After 27 years in the Navy I had finally got to deploy on an operational tour (not including my time on 'bombers'. I had been given desert combats, ID tags, a gun and everything. All the Booties and modern day MAs will be giving a big yawn at this but I had missed every scrap since 1973 through no fault of my own and I really wanted to do this; Mrs C less so.

We landed at Basra airport late at night on 11 December in a charter aircraft and with the aircraft being only about a third full we could all have a second (a third for some) in-flight meal and stretch out over 3 seats. As we walked across the apron in the 'a-lot-warmer-than-Brize-Norton' night air, I could see that this was a modern airport which had been abandoned by the builders at the 65% complete point. After we received an induction on some dos and don'ts, I was met by a TA RAMC MSO Captain, who got me into the Headquarters and showed me where I was to sleep for the first night - an inner office with no air conditioning and holes beaten into the walls to the next offices.

After a sweaty few hours sleep, it was through the swing doors into the headquarters of HQ Multinational Division (South East) (HQ MND (SE)). What I actually walked into was a very large, windowless airport terminal with subdued lighting. The place was full of PCs, desks, wiring looms, desert DPM, carpet and pongoes of many nationalities. Admittedly there was a good handful of Crabs, but my presence increased the RN presence by a staggering 33%, and the Submarine Service presence by 100%.I was shown where everything was and promptly forgot, and met the J4 Med bunch with which I would be working, including a great Dutch Major Theo van der Zanden, and Commander Medical, Colonel Ewan Carmichael, an Army dentist and now Director General Army Medical Services as a Major General. I was allocated my tent which I shared with 3 Crabs..er..RAF officers, 2 Italians and a US Army officer, and made myself at home.

Two days into the tour and I was extended an invitation to go into Basra city with Theo and I duly accepted. With body armour and weapon in place, I walked up to the left hand side of the Land Rover Discovery, realised that it was left-hand drive and moved to the right hand side. Theo stopped that and told me I was driving. So on my first ever trip to Basra I'm driving a left-hand drive automatic 4x4, mostly on the left hand side of the road (Iraqi lorry drivers drive their lorries using a random number generator to determine which side of the road to to drive on any particular day), with a pistol under my left thigh, and learning the drills for driving under bridges or when slowing down in the city.

Christmas decorations were already being put up
when I arrived and it wasn't long before the whole of the terminal..--.the headquarters was festooned with the usual garlands baubles, cards and figurines. The joy of having the Italians with us was that they provided panetonne. Big ones. Always nice to grab a chunk when getting coffee (Douwe Egberts courtesy of our Dutch chums). Daily working routine was 0800 - 2000, except for Sundays when it was brunch and a 1000 start and we would be working Sunday routine on Christmas day; otherwise, all other activities such as patrols in the city or of the airfield perimeter didn't change. As Christmas day approached our gift boxes from major companies back home arrived, and the usual surge in cards and personal gift boxes happened in Iraq as well. On Christmas Eve, there was to be a Midnight mass in the main hall of the airport. Many attended, and so did the press. It all seemed a little unusual but went well. When one of the patrols returned they came into the hall and were photographed in all their kit holding candles by the Christmas tree. I took a picture but my little Nokia 7250 phone wasn't really up to the job.

After the service, it was on with the body armour and a solitary walk back to the tent. As I walked past the overhead road gantries with their bilingual signs and the modern,air traffic control tower with its Christmassy greeting, I briefly pondered on my situation, about my family back home, knowing they would be missing me, and how ever so slightly bizarre the whole thing seemed. Christmas Day with its welcome lie-in arrived and once at work and after the daily routines had been done, it was into the gift boxes and enjoying the Christmas spirit. Each of the corporate boxes contained a red hat of some description and I still have mine.

Cmdr Med had been on a shopping trip and he had bought everyone in the section a shemagh, and after some swift instruction, we all donned them. The day was spent doing not much at all, other than chatting, swapping jokes and messages, and occasionally taking updates from the outlying units. There was a surprisingly good selection of Christmas nibbles, and some....er.. 'blackcurrant juice' had also been obtained. A Christmas film was watched on a laptop; a pirate copy of Finding Nemo, if I recall -$2 in Kuwait. Christmas dinner was pretty damned good although I think the Iraqi kitchen staff and cleaners were all pretty bemused by it all.


And then, it was all over. The panettone lasted  few more days. Life continued to be unpleasant in Al Amarah. The decorations came down. And nothing much had really changed.

This piece originally appeared in 'Doc RN' the magazine of the Royal Naval Medical Branch and Sick Berth Staffs Association

Just To Be Safe

"Saw the onchologist (sic) yesterday, need to have a shot of Carboplatin
Deep joy
Just to be safe"

Seventeen words. Written in a fairly chatty way, via the causal medium of Facebook Messenger. Only the person who wrote that and those that have gone before can have any idea of  the significance  Who can know how they're feeling? I certainly don't nor can I even begin to imagine.

It Made Me Smile

There's a lot of moaning minnies around who complain that our country (and this will be the same in many countries I'm sure) is going to the dogs, lacks manners, doesn't respect this or that blah blah blah. Well. it's the little things that far outweigh what those moaning minnies perceive. As I was out walking this afternoon, there was an elderly couple waiting to cross the road; she was much more infirm, stooped and had a stick. They waited patiently  and the traffic continued to trundle by. Just then a little hatchback came along and the driver stood on the brakes, allowing them to cross. And because he'd stopped on one side of the road, then the traffic on the other side felt obliged to stop and let the couple cross. And off they tottered with a cheery wave.

It made me smile, and I felt reassured there was good in the heart of at least one of my fellow creatures

Funny. Or not.

America. Please stop describing very humourous things as 'too funny'. They are either funny or they are not. I might allow you 'very funny' but that's as far as I'm prepared to go. So please, just stop.

Now go about your business.

Peter's Immutable Law of Opening Tablet Packs

When opening a new pack of tablets. the pack will always be opened at the end that has the instructions folded over the bubble pack.

To Dream The Impossible Dream

I've just spent a little bit of  time making lists under 3 headings - Places To Go, Things To Buy, and Things To Do. These aren't incredibly aspirational or worthy things like climbing Everest, or  buying that dream home in the New Forest but simple more readily achievable things like travelling from Glasgow to Mallaig on the train (reputedly Britain's most beautiful train journey) or undertaking some marine mammal rescue training.

Now then. Having spent many hours listening to speakers talking about aiming for the stars and 'if the dream's big enough the facts don't count', is it so very wrong to have these lowly aspirations? Surely to have SOME dreams is better than not having any at all? Am I doing myself down by not having those astronomically high ambitions or are Susan Jeffers' book and 'The Magic of Thinking Big' (and loads of other books) no better than door stops?

Discuss.

A New Year's Day Walk In Gosport

A New Year's Day Walk In Gosport, a set on Flickr.

Just 3 shots from a breezy, chilly but sunny New Year's Day walk around Gosport