Edward Owen Rutter
Two long months spent Tiadatha
On a Barrack Square in Dudshire
Learning how to be a soldier.
Laid aside the sword and scabbard
Fashioned by the son of Wilkin,
Only routed out on Sundays,
For the Church Parades on Sundays.
In their stead be bore a rifle,
Just a rifle and a bayonet,
Learnt to slope his arms by numbers
Learnt to order arms by numbers,
Learnt the rite of fixing bayonets,
Harkening to the Sergeant-major,
Very gruff and fierce and warlike.
Then came P.T. with its press-ups,
Stretching slowly (on the hands down),
Slowly, slowly bending downwards;
After seven Tiadatha
Lay and gasped upon his tummy.
Then the muscle exercises,
Ghastly muscle exercises,
Standing with the blinking rifle
Two full minutes at the shoulder.,
In those days too Tiadatha
Learnt the mysteries of “Form Fours,”
And evolved a simpler method,
Which he showed the Sergeant-Major.
“No, sir,” said the Sergeant-major,
Looking very fierce and warlike,
“Mine’s the only way it’s done, sir,
Mine’s the way the Colonel wants it.”
“Narrow minds,” cried Tiadatha,
“Hidebound hearts,” he cried in dudgeon,
“Mine’s as good a way as his is,
Mine is better than the Colonel’s.
I shall tell him so to-morrow,
Tell him on parade to morrow.”
On the morrow came the Colonel,
Came the Colonel of the Dudshires,
Stern and terrible in aspect,
With his usual morning liver;
Ran his eye along the front rank,
Ran his eye along the rear rank,
Till he came to Tiadatha.
“There’s an officer,” he shouted,
Bellowed forth in voice of thunder,
“Holding up his blasted rifle
Like a something something pitchfork.”
After which poor Tiadatha
Thought perhaps he wouldn’t mention
Forming fours and simpler methods.
Had you asked my Tiadatha
If he loved those days of training,
Loved the sloping arms by numbers,
Loved the musketry and marching,
And the press-ups and the shouting,
He would just have smiled and told you
That, until he joined the Army,
He had not the least conception
Life could be so damned unpleasant.
But it made him much less nut-like,
Made him straighter-backed and broader,
Clear of eye, with muscles on him
Like a strong man in a circus.
And in time he formed new friendships
With his brothers in the Dudshires.
They were drawn from any countries,
Many paces and professions,
From the public schools of England,
From Ceylon and from Rhodesia,
Canada, the Coast and China;
Actors, business men and lawyers,
And a planter from Malacca
With a mighty thirst for whisky.
As a village shop in Dudshire
Has its wonderful collection,
Miscellaneous assortment
Of all things that you could think of,
And a lot of things you couldn’t –
Oranges and postal orders,
Bullseyes, buckets, belts and bacon,
Shoes and soap and writing-paper –
Even such a strange collection
Tiadatha found his brothers
In the 14th Royal Dudshires.
Yet they fitted in their places
Like the pieces of a puzzle,
Pieces of a jig-saw puzzle,
And they talked on common topics,
Motor-bikes and leave and press-ups.
So among them Tiadatha
Lived and laughed and learnt and grumbled,
Shared their tents and huts and billets,
Shared the mud and snow and sunshine,
Shared the long route marches with them
Over port and whisky sodas.
Came a day when Tiadatha
Handed in at last his rifle,
And as a Platoon Commander,
Found out what commanders feel like
(Sort of super-idiot feeling)
When they shout “Right Turn” for “Left Turn”,
When they loudly bawl “Eyes Left”
For a General on their right hand.
Daily too upon parade he
Looked at his platoon’s cap badges,
Saw its every button polished,
Learnt that private soldiers’ hair grows
Fast as cress upon a blanket.
Many hours he spent in drilling,
Spent in Foot and Kit inspections,
Spent in strenuous Brigade Days
On the windy downs of Dudshire
Finding (as he’d long suspected)
That a subaltern’s existence
Isn’t quite all beer and skittles.
Such was Tiadatha’s training.
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
Analysis (AI Assisted)
This war poem captures the absurdities and monotony of military life through the eyes of Tiadatha, a character who goes from naïve recruit to somewhat disillusioned platoon commander. The humor here is striking, offering a vivid snapshot of the trials and routines soldiers endure during their training. It isn’t about glory or heroism, but instead about the small, sometimes ridiculous moments that define daily life in the army.
The poem opens with Tiadatha’s first steps into military life, where he’s thrust into a world of drills, exercises, and gruff authority figures. The humor emerges in the exaggerated depiction of the tedious routines: “slope your arms by numbers,” “press-ups,” and “muscle exercises” are all portrayed with a lighthearted but pointed tone. The repetition of these activities, combined with Tiadatha’s growing frustration, highlights the way soldiers’ lives are structured around seemingly endless cycles of pointless activities. There’s also a strong sense of the disconnect between the idealized image of a soldier and the reality, as Tiadatha realizes just how “damned unpleasant” army life can be.
What stands out in the poem is Tiadatha’s clash with authority, particularly with the Sergeant-Major and later with the Colonel. His desire to innovate with his “simpler method” of forming ranks, only to be shut down in a dramatic fashion, is both comical and telling. It shows the rigidity of military life, where individuality is rarely tolerated, and hierarchy is maintained by loudly enforced rules and routines. These interactions illustrate the harsh learning curve that Tiadatha experiences, from naive idealism to reluctant conformity.
As the poem progresses, it shifts focus to the friendships that develop among soldiers. The description of the Dudshires as an eclectic mix of people from all over the world—actors, business men, and a planter from Malacca—adds another layer to the narrative. The camaraderie, despite the different backgrounds, provides some warmth amidst the constant grind of military life. There’s something poignant about how they find common ground through the shared experiences of hardship, however trivial the subjects may be—motorbikes, leave, press-ups, and shared drinks.
The latter part of the poem reflects on the transition from soldier to officer. Tiadatha’s new role as a Platoon Commander brings with it a sense of responsibility but also a realization of the absurdities of command. The image of Tiadatha struggling with basic commands—“Right Turn” for “Left Turn”—is both humorous and relatable, poking fun at the awkwardness and mistakes of leadership in the military. His recognition that being an officer is far from glamorous adds depth to the poem, suggesting that the rigors of war and military life are not confined to the battlefield but are present in every aspect of a soldier’s journey.
Ultimately, the poem captures the relentless nature of military training, the absurdity of certain practices, and the comradery that soldiers form through shared experience. Its humor provides an accessible way to engage with the less glamorous aspects of war and soldiering, offering a look at how one man, Tiadatha, learns to navigate an environment that is both trying and ridiculous. Through this mix of humor and frustration, the poem serves as a reminder that, in war, it’s not just the battles that shape a soldier’s experience, but also the moments in between.