As I was a-walkin' down by the Royal Arsenal,
Early the morning though 'warm was the day,
When who should I see but one of my comrades,
All wrapped up in flannel, and cold as the clay.
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
The bugles were playin'; his mates were a-prayin',
The chaplain was kneelin' down by his bed;
His poor head was achin', his poor heart was breakin',
This poor young trooper cut down in his prime.
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
Get six of my comrades to carry my coffin,
Six of my comrades to carry me on high;
And six young maidens to carry white roses,
So they won't smell me as they pass me by.
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
Outside of the barracks you will find two girls standin',
And one to the other she whispered and said:
"Here comes the young swaddy** Whose money we squandered,
Here comes the young trooper cut down in his prime."
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
On the cross by his grave you will find these words written:
"All you young troopers take warnin' by me;
Keep away from them flash-girls*** who walk in the city;
Flash-girls of the city have quite ruined me."
Early the morning though 'warm was the day,
When who should I see but one of my comrades,
All wrapped up in flannel, and cold as the clay.
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
The bugles were playin'; his mates were a-prayin',
The chaplain was kneelin' down by his bed;
His poor head was achin', his poor heart was breakin',
This poor young trooper cut down in his prime.
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
Get six of my comrades to carry my coffin,
Six of my comrades to carry me on high;
And six young maidens to carry white roses,
So they won't smell me as they pass me by.
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
Outside of the barracks you will find two girls standin',
And one to the other she whispered and said:
"Here comes the young swaddy** Whose money we squandered,
Here comes the young trooper cut down in his prime."
Then beat the drum slowly and play your fife slowly,
And sound the dead march as you carry me along;
And fire your bundooks* right over my coffin,
For I'm a young trooper cut down in my prime.
On the cross by his grave you will find these words written:
"All you young troopers take warnin' by me;
Keep away from them flash-girls*** who walk in the city;
Flash-girls of the city have quite ruined me."
Contributed by Alessandro - 2009/9/24 - 13:14
NOTE:
* bundooks: tipo di fucile, dall'hindi बन्दूक (bandūk) così come dall'arabo بندقية (bunduqíiya)
** swaddy: soldato, in slang militare (da squad)
*** flash-girls: beh, si capisce, no?!?
* bundooks: tipo di fucile, dall'hindi बन्दूक (bandūk) così come dall'arabo بندقية (bunduqíiya)
** swaddy: soldato, in slang militare (da squad)
*** flash-girls: beh, si capisce, no?!?
Alessandro - 2009/9/24 - 13:20
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In "Barrack Room Ballads", con Peggy Seeger, in "Bundook Ballads" e nell'album collettivo "The Unfortunate Rake" (Folkways Records) del 1960.
Quando mi sono imbattuto in questo brano mi son detto, ecco l'ennesima canzone strappalacrime sul poverro marmittone, mascotte della compagnia, che alla sua prima azione di guerra viene spazzato via da una raffica di mitragliatrice nemica, destino purtroppo occorso a chissà quante decine di migliaia di ragazzini nel corso delle guerre in epoca contemporanea...
Invece no. Questa è una "rake song", una canzone da caserma, da taverna, da bordello, che racconta cioè di un soldato dalla dubbia condotta morale (come se invece ammazzare il prossimo sia segno di condotta irreprensibile) e della sua per ciò stesso inevitabile, sfortunata fine.
Questa "rake ballad" potrebbe risalire alla prima guerra mondiale ma, forse, anche alle guerre boere nel Sudafrica della fine del XIX secolo.
Inizia con una tristissima marcia funebre per il soldatino "cut down in his prime", ma poi si capisce che "his prime" è la prima volta che è andato a mignotte e, colmo della sfiga, per quella volta sola s'è beccato lo scolo che l'ha portato alla tomba...
Beh, mi pare che 'sta "rake song" ci stia bene sulle CCG, visto che - come diceva una mia amica da bambina, non riuscendo a pronunciare bene la c - "siamo tutti pettatori, chi petta di più, chi petta di meno, ma pettiamo tutti quanti!"