Rudyard Kipling
As I was spittin’ into the Ditch aboard o’ the Crocodile,
I seed a man on a man-o’-war got up in the Reg’lars’ style.
‘E was scrapin’ the paint from off of ‘er plates,
an’ I sez to ‘im, “‘Oo are you?”
Sez ‘e, “I’m a Jolly — ‘Er Majesty’s Jolly — soldier an’ sailor too!”
Now ‘is work begins by Gawd knows when, and ‘is work is never through;
‘E isn’t one o’ the reg’lar Line, nor ‘e isn’t one of the crew.
‘E’s a kind of a giddy harumfrodite — soldier an’ sailor too!
An’ after I met ‘im all over the world, a-doin’ all kinds of things,
Like landin’ ‘isself with a Gatlin’ gun to talk to them ‘eathen kings;
‘E sleeps in an ‘ammick instead of a cot,
an’ ‘e drills with the deck on a slew,
An’ ‘e sweats like a Jolly — ‘Er Majesty’s Jolly — soldier an’ sailor too!
For there isn’t a job on the top o’ the earth the beggar don’t know, nor do —
You can leave ‘im at night on a bald man’s ‘ead, to paddle ‘is own canoe —
‘E’s a sort of a bloomin’ cosmopolouse — soldier an’ sailor too.
We’ve fought ’em in trooper, we’ve fought ’em in dock,
and drunk with ’em in betweens,
When they called us the seasick scull’ry-maids,
an’ we called ’em the Ass Marines;
But, when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich to Bernardmyo,
We sent for the Jollies — ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies — soldier an’ sailor too!
They think for ’emselves, an’ they steal for ’emselves,
and they never ask what’s to do,
But they’re camped an’ fed an’ they’re up an’ fed before our bugle’s blew.
Ho! they ain’t no limpin’ procrastitutes — soldier an’ sailor too.
You may say we are fond of an ‘arness-cut, or ‘ootin’ in barrick-yards,
Or startin’ a Board School mutiny along o’ the Onion Guards;
But once in a while we can finish in style for the ends of the earth to view,
The same as the Jollies — ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies — soldier an’ sailor too!
They come of our lot, they was brothers to us;
they was beggars we’d met an’ knew;
Yes, barrin’ an inch in the chest an’ the arm, they was doubles o’ me an’ you;
For they weren’t no special chrysanthemums — soldier an’ sailor too!
To take your chance in the thick of a rush, with firing all about,
Is nothing so bad when you’ve cover to ‘and, an’ leave an’ likin’ to shout;
But to stand an’ be still to the Birken’ead drill
is a damn tough bullet to chew,
An’ they done it, the Jollies — ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies —
soldier an’ sailor too!
Their work was done when it ‘adn’t begun; they was younger nor me an’ you;
Their choice it was plain between drownin’ in ‘eaps
an’ bein’ mopped by the screw,
So they stood an’ was still to the Birken’ead drill, soldier an’ sailor too!
We’re most of us liars, we’re ‘arf of us thieves,
an’ the rest are as rank as can be,
But once in a while we can finish in style
(which I ‘ope it won’t ‘appen to me).
But it makes you think better o’ you an’ your friends,
an’ the work you may ‘ave to do,
When you think o’ the sinkin’ Victorier’s Jollies — soldier an’ sailor too!
Now there isn’t no room for to say ye don’t know —
they ‘ave proved it plain and true —
That whether it’s Widow, or whether it’s ship, Victorier’s work is to do,
An’ they done it, the Jollies — ‘Er Majesty’s Jollies —
soldier an’ sailor too!
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem, *“Soldier and Sailor Too”*, by Rudyard Kipling, captures the rough, irreverent spirit of a particular kind of soldier, the “Jolly,” who embodies a mixture of resilience, versatility, and the kind of tough, gritty practicality that Kipling often admired in the common man. There’s an unpolished authenticity to these soldiers, who seem to represent a blend of hard work, endurance, and loyalty that is both celebrated and, at times, critiqued in the poem.
The first thing that stands out in this poem is the way Kipling uses language. He gives the speaker a voice that is distinctly working-class, full of slang, misspellings, and a relaxed tone that reflects the life of a sailor or soldier who has spent more time on the ground than in formal schooling. Words like “giddy harumfrodite,” “bloomin’ cosmopolouse,” and “limpin’ procrastitutes” not only showcase the character of the speaker but also illustrate the kind of rough camaraderie between soldiers, where humor and tough talk can hide deeper emotions of respect and solidarity.
The poem focuses on the “Jollies,” a term used to describe a certain type of soldier who isn’t quite a regular, nor strictly part of any specific unit. They’re adaptable and rugged, performing tasks that seem to blend military and naval duties, taking on whatever challenge comes their way with a sense of humor and no complaints. They’re portrayed as practical problem-solvers, who know how to survive and thrive in any situation, whether it’s fighting in foreign lands, scraping paint off ships, or engaging in combat.
Kipling introduces the “Jolly” as someone who doesn’t fit into traditional molds. He is neither a typical soldier nor a sailor, but something in between, constantly on the move and constantly in the thick of things. The line “’E’s a kind of a giddy harumfrodite — soldier an’ sailor too!” captures this duality in a humorous way, suggesting that the “Jolly” is someone who is both a soldier and a sailor, with no clear distinction between the two roles. This “mixing of trades” becomes a central theme throughout the poem, as the speaker emphasizes that the Jolly is everywhere and can do everything—whether it’s fighting, cleaning, or navigating the world.
But there’s a darker, more serious undertone that emerges, especially in the description of the “Birkenhead drill,” a reference to the famous military disaster where soldiers sacrificed themselves so that others could escape. The Jollies, it seems, are not just tough but willing to stand still, to face death without flinching. In a way, this is the ultimate test of character, and the poem treats it with respect. The speaker seems to imply that, although they may be rough around the edges and prone to drinking and mischief, the Jollies are capable of extraordinary acts of courage and selflessness when it counts.
There’s a certain irony in the speaker’s admiration. While the Jollies are celebrated, there’s a sense that they’re also an example of the harsh realities of life in the military and navy. The poem isn’t entirely a glorification—it’s more of an acknowledgment of the harshness and absurdity of the soldier’s life, and of the toughness it takes to endure it. There’s something very human about the way the soldiers are portrayed, both flawed and heroic. They may be “liars” and “thieves” but in a way that makes them more relatable and grounded, as they grapple with the messiness of life in service.
The repetition of the phrase “soldier an’ sailor too” reinforces the idea that the Jolly is someone who is a mix of everything—he is the embodiment of military versatility, a symbol of survival and adaptability. It’s almost as though Kipling is pointing out that the soldiers who fight and die for the empire are not idealized heroes but real people, complex and contradictory, whose worth is often in what they do rather than who they are.
In the end, Kipling’s poem leaves us with a certain respect for the Jollies. They may not fit neatly into categories or conform to idealized standards of soldierly behavior, but they are the ones who get things done, the ones who sacrifice, who keep going when others would stop. Kipling doesn’t so much paint them as flawless heroes but as people with grit, whose value lies in their resilience and adaptability in the face of an often unforgiving world. The poem suggests that the real heroism lies not in perfection but in the ability to face hardship with an unflinching determination, to keep moving forward, no matter the cost.