THE SONG OF TIADATHA
RHYMES OF A RED-CROSS MAN
BY ROBERT W. SERVICE
_Cloth._ =4/6= _net_.
“It is the great merit of Mr. Service’s verses that they
are literally alive with the stress and joy and agony and
hardship that make up life out in the battle zone. He has
never written better than in this book, and that is saying
a great deal.”—BOOKMAN.
T. FISHER UNWIN LD. LONDON
THE SONG OF
TIADATHA
By CAPTAIN
OWEN RUTTER (‘KLIP-KLIP’)
T. FISHER UNWIN LTD.
LONDON: ADELPHI TERRACE
_First impression published in Salonica,_ _January 20, 1919_
_Second impression published in Salonica,_ _February 4, 1919_
_First issue in Great Britain_ _1920_
_Second Impression_ _1920_
_Third Impression_ _1920_
(_All rights reserved_)
TO
COLONEL “BONNY” ROCKE, C.M.G.
WHO HAS TURNED MORE THAN ONE
TIRED ARTHUR INTO A SOLDIER
THIS SLIGHT RECORD OF ADVENTURE IS DEDICATED
IN MEMORY OF MANY DAYS (PLEASANT AND UNPLEASANT)
SPENT UNDER HIS COMMAND IN WILTSHIRE AND
IN FRANCE, AND UPON THE BARREN
HILLS OF MACEDONIA
INTRODUCTION
THE SONG OF TIADATHA first made its appearance in the columns of _The
Orient Weekly_, and by the time two or three instalments had appeared
requests came from every quarter asking that the fascinating story of
“Tired Arthur” should be completed as soon as possible, and issued in
book form for the further delight of its many admirers. This was easier
asked for than complied with. All sorts of urgent messages were sent
to the Author, insisting on the fame that was awaiting him, but he was
extremely busy with his military duties up on the Doiran Front, and
in the intervals of raiding the Bulgars his serio-comic muse did not
flourish too easily.
But bit by bit the pleasing fabric of THE SONG OF TIADATHA was built up,
and we are happy to be able to present it at last in complete form. THE
SONG OF TIADATHA is unique in war literature. It tells a story which
is common to very many members of the Salonica Army, and tells it in
a fashion which is a most happy blend of descriptive realism, humour
and sentiment. Longfellow’s metre has often been copied before, but I
think never so well as this and certainly never with such happy results.
Floating as gently along as Hiawatha in his canoe, we follow Tiadatha’s
adventures from the day when he ceases to be a “nut” in St. James’s
Street, joins up, and goes to France; we come with him to Macedonia,
and accompany him as he does the hectic round of Salonica’s dubious
amusements; watch him building his dug-out up on the Doiran Front; share
his feverish activities during the nightmare experience of the Great
Fire; attack the frowning Bulgar mountains in his company; and finally,
with much good work well done, go back to England with him on leave—and
look enviously on as he takes to his arms again his green-eyed Phyllis.
There is something in THE SONG OF TIADATHA that all of us have
experienced. That is one reason why it appeals so strongly to the B.S.F.
But another reason is that THE SONG OF TIADATHA is something absolutely
our own. Nobody can appreciate it to the full who has not belonged to the
great family of the B.S.F. And as you men of that Army have had trials
which have been peculiarly your own, so it is right that you should have
a pleasure in which nobody outside the family can fully participate.
H. C. OWEN.
SALONICA,
_January 1, 1919_.
PUBLISHERS’ NOTE TO THE FIRST BRITISH EDITION
As Mr. H. C. Owen (the Editor of the _Balkan News_) says above, THE
SONG OF TIADATHA tells a story which is common to very many members of
the Salonica Army; he says further that “nobody can appreciate it to
the full who has not belonged to the great family of the B.S.F.” But we
venture to think that it is a story which cannot properly be regarded
as of local significance and interest merely. It typifies experiences
which innumerable soldiers must, in their various ways, have undergone
throughout the various theatres of the war. Thus THE SONG OF TIADATHA may
be regarded in a sense as a little epic of the Great War, and, though it
may find special appreciation among the great family of the B.S.F., its
qualities are such that it may be expected to find appreciation among the
great family of readers generally, soldiers and civilians alike.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. THE JOINING OF TIADATHA 13
II. THE TRAINING OF TIADATHA 18
III. TIADATHA’S WOOING 23
IV. TIADATHA’S DEPARTURE 29
V. TIADATHA IN FRANCE 35
VI. TIADATHA’S JOURNEY 42
VII. TIADATHA AT SALONICA 47
VIII. A DAY IN SALONIQUE 53
IX. UP THE LINE 60
X. CARRYING ON 66
XI. TIADATHA’S DUG-OUT 73
XII. TIADATHA’S BATTLE 80
XIII. TIADATHA IN HOSPITAL 88
XIV. THE FIRE 96
XV. SNEVCE WAY 108
XVI. A STUNT AT DAWN 116
XVII. LEAVE TO ENGLAND 123
XVIII. HOME AT LAST 132
THE SONG OF TIADATHA
CHAPTER I
THE JOINING OF TIADATHA
Should you question, should you ask me
Whence this song of Tiadatha?
Who on earth was Tiadatha?
I should answer, I should tell you,
He was what we call a filbert,
Youth of two and twenty summers.
You could see him any morning
In July of 1914,
Strolling slowly down St. James’s
From his comfy flat in Duke Street.
Little recked he of in those days,
Save of socks and ties and hair-wash,
Girls and motor-cars and suppers;
Little suppers at the Carlton,
Little teas at Rumpelmeyer’s,
Little week-ends down at Skindle’s;
Troc and Cri and Murray’s knew him,
And the Piccadilly grill-room,
And he used to dance at Ciro’s
With the fairies from the chorus.
There were many Tired Arthurs
In July of 1914.
Then came war, and Tiadatha
Read his papers every morning,
Read the posters on the hoardings,
Read “Your King and Country want you.”
“I must go,” said Tiadatha,
Toying with his devilled kidneys,
“Do my bit and join the Army.”
So he hunted up a great-aunt,
Who knew someone in the Service,
Found himself in time gazetted
To a temporary commission
In the 14th Royal Dudshires.
Straightway Tiadatha hied him
To the shop of Bope and Pradley,
Having seen their thrilling adverts.
In the Tube and in the _Tatler_.
Pradley sold him all he needed,
Bope a lot of things he didn’t,
Pressed upon him socks and puttees,
Haversacks and water-bottles.
Made him tunics for the winter,
Made him tunics for the summer,
And some very baggy breeches.
There he chose his cap of khaki,
Very light and very floppy
(Rather like a tam-o’-shanter),
And a supple chestnut Sam Browne,
Quite a pleasant thing in Sam Brownes,
Rather new but very supple.
Many pounds spent Tiadatha
On valises, baths and camp beds,
Spent on wash-hand stands and kit bags.
Macs and British warms and great-coats,
And a gent’s complete revolver.
Then he went to Piccadilly,
Mr. Wing, of Piccadilly,
Where he ordered ties and shirtings,
Cream and coffee ties and shirtings,
Ordered socks and underclothing,
Putting down the lot to Father.
Compass, torch and boots and glasses
All of these sought Tiadatha;
All day boys with loads were streaming
To and from the flat in Duke Street,
Like a chain of ants hard at it
Storing rations for the winter.
“One thing more,” cried Tiadatha,
“One thing more ere I am perfect.
I must have a sword to carry
In a jolly leather scabbard.”
So he called the son of Wilkin,
Wilkin’s son who dwelt in Pall Mall,
Bade him make a sword and scabbard.
And the mighty son of Wilkin
Made a sword for Tiadatha,
From the truest steel he made it,
Slim and slender as a maiden,
Sharper than a safety razor,
Sighed a little as he made it,
Knowing well that Tiadatha
Probably would never use it.
Then at last my Tiadatha
Sallied forth to join the Dudshires,
Dressed in khaki, quite a soldier,
Floppy cap and baggy breeches,
Round his waist the supple Sam Browne,
At his side the sword and scabbard,
Took salutes from private soldiers
And saluted Sergeant-Majors
(Who were very much embarrassed),
And reported at Headquarters
Of the 14th Royal Dudshires.
Shady waters of a river,
Feels when by some turn of fortune
He gets plopped into a cistern
At a comic dime museum,
Finds himself among strange fishes,
Finds his happy freedom vanished,
Even so felt Tiadatha
On the day he joined the Dudshires.
But he pulled himself together,
Found the Adjutant, saluted,
Saying briefly, “Please I’ve come, sir.”
Such was Tiadatha’s joining.