Exceedingly good cakes

Word play. Not my strong suit. 

To be honest I wanted to call the post “have a look at my bullocks” but I’ve only one (so far)…erm bullock that is (wasn’t there a song about that?) and anyway The Current Mrs Broom said it sounded rude so there you are.

Anywhoo. It transpires that native Indian soldiers did not carry individual water bottles (for caste reasons) and even more surprisingly the majority of British units didn’t either… Initially. Seems they all relied on the regimental “Bhisti” wallah  who followed the units around with a ready supply. 

Here’s mine.

Mr Kipling; apparently a decent poet as well as a maker of teeth rotting Cherry Bakewells, (who knew?) wrote about one such chap called Gunga Din, so for period flavour I’ve included his little ditty below:

Gunga Din

BY RUDYARD KIPLING

You may talk o’ gin and beer   

When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,   

An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;

But when it comes to slaughter   

You will do your work on water,

An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.   

Now in Injia’s sunny clime,   

Where I used to spend my time   

A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,   

Of all them blackfaced crew   

The finest man I knew

Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,   

He was ‘Din! Din! Din!

‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!

‘Hi! Slippy hitherao

‘Water, get it! Panee lao,

‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore

Was nothin’ much before,

An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,

For a piece o’ twisty rag   

An’ a goatskin water-bag

Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.

When the sweatin’ troop-train lay

In a sidin’ through the day,

Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,

We shouted ‘Harry By!’

Till our throats were bricky-dry,

Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!

‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?   

‘You put some juldee in it

‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute

‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one

Till the longest day was done;

An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.

If we charged or broke or cut,

You could bet your bloomin’ nut,

’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.   

With ’is mussick on ’is back,

’E would skip with our attack,

An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’   

An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide

’E was white, clear white, inside

When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!   

It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’

With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.   

When the cartridges ran out,

You could hear the front-ranks shout,   

‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night

When I dropped be’ind the fight

With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.   

I was chokin’ mad with thirst,

An’ the man that spied me first

Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.   

’E lifted up my ’ead,

An’ he plugged me where I bled,

An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.

It was crawlin’ and it stunk,

But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,

I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.

It was 'Din! Din! Din!

’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;   

‘’E's chawin’ up the ground, 

‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:

‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!’

’E carried me away

To where a dooli lay,

An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.   

’E put me safe inside,

An’ just before ’e died,

'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.   

So I’ll meet ’im later on

At the place where ’e is gone—

Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.   

’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals

Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,

An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!   

Yes, Din! Din! Din!

You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!   

Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,   

By the livin’ Gawd that made you,

You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

So, other than Deepak, Kamal and Prithvi the bullock (above) I’ve now completed another two platoons of native infantry mutineers and a Royal Artillery 9pdr with crew. Busy busy. 

The green facings on the mutineers identify them as coming from the 28th Bengal Native Infantry Regiment who mutinied at Shahjepore - but I’m sure you knew that already; what am I thinking. 

Right then, I’d better be offski. 

Plenty more painting to be done before I can get this show on the road… including some lurvely laydeez. 

Toodleooh.