Something for the weekend. Slattery’s Mounted Foot. The Irish have always had a talent for humorous self mockery. One of the masters of this art was Percy French who lived from 1854-1920 and wrote many humorous songs, gently poking fun at the foibles of the Irish. My favorite is Slattery’s Mounted Foot:
You’ve heard of Julius Ceasar and the great Napoleon too,
And how the Cork militia beat the Turks at Waterloo;
But there’s a page of glory that as yet remains uncut,
And that’s the warlike story of old Slattery’s Mounted Fut.
- This gallant corps was organised by Slattery and his son,
- A noble-hearted poacher with a double-breasted gun.
- And many a head was broken, aye, and many an eye was shot,
- When practising maneuvers in the Slattery’s Mounted Fut.
- Chorus
- And down from the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
- Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout gossoons;
- When going into action held each musket by the butt,
- We sang this song and marched along, the Slattery’s mounted Fut.
- Well, first we reconnoitered ’round O’Sullivan’s Shabeen—
- It used to be a chop house but we called it the canteen;
- And there we saw a notice which the bravest heart unnerved:
- “All liquor must be settled for before the drink is served.”
- So on we marched, but soon again each warrior’s heart grew pale,
- For rising high in front of us we saw the county jail;
- And when the army faced about, ’twas just in time to find,
- A couple of stout policemen had surrounded us behind.
- Chorus
- And down from the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
- Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout gossoons.
- When going into action held each musket by the butt
- We sang the song and marched along, the Slattery’s mounted fut.”
- “We’ll cross the ditch,” our leader cried, “and take the forward flank;”
- But yells of consternation here arose from every rank;
- For posted high upon a tree we very plainly saw:
- “Trespassers prosecuted, in accordance with the law.”
- “We’re foiled!” exclaimed bold Slattery, “here ends our grand campaign,
- ‘Tis merely throwing life away to face that raging drain;
- I’m not as bold as lions but I’m braver than a hen,
- And he that fights and runs away will live to fight again.”
- Chorus
- So back to the mountains went the squadrons and platoons,
- Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout gossoons.
- When going into action held each musket by the butt,
- We sang this song and marched along, the Slattery’s mounted Fut.
- We reached the mountains safely, though all stiff and sore with cramp.
- Each took a whet of whiskey straight to dissipate the damp;
- And when they loaded all their pipes, bold Slattery up and said:
- Today’s immortal fight will be remembered by the dead.”
- “I never shall forget,” said he, “while this brave heart shall beat,
- The eager way you followed when I headed the retreat.
- Ye preferred the soldier’s maxim, when desisting from the strife:
- ‘Best be a coward for five minutes than a dead man all your life.'”
- Chorus
- And back to the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
- Four and twenty fighting men and a couple of stout gossoons,
- When going into action held each musket by the butt,
- We sang this song and marched along, the slattery’s mounted fut!
Alternative lyrics for the chorus are:
- And down from the mountains came the squadrons and platoons,
- Four-and-twenty fighting men and a couple of stout gossoons,
- When going into action held each musket by the butt,
- We sang a song as we marched along with Slattery’s Mounted Foot!
- Mr. French is perhaps better known for this composition which he wrote in 1877:
- Abdul Abulbul Amir
- The sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold
- And quite unaccustomed to fear,
- But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah,
- Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
- If you wanted a man to encourage the van,
- Or harass the foe from the rear,
- Storm fort or redoubt, you had only to shout
- For Abdul Abulbul Amir.
- Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame
- In the troops that were led by the Czar,
- And the bravest of these was a man by the name
- Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
- He could jump twenty yards and tell fortunes at cards,
- and strum on the Spanish guitar.
- In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite team
- Was Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
- One day this bold Russian, he shouldered his gun
- And donned his most truculent sneer,
- Downtown he did go where he trod on the toe
- Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
- Young man, quoth Abdul, has life grown so dull
- That you wish to end your career?
- Vile infidel, know, you have trod on the toe
- Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
- So take your last look at the sunshine and brook
- And send your regrets to the Czar
- For by this I imply, you are going to die,
- Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
- Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk,
- Singing, “Allah! Il Allah! Al-lah!”
- And with murderous intent he ferociously went
- For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
- They parried and thrust, they side-stepped and cussed,
- Of blood they spilled a great part;
- The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,
- Say that hash was first made on the spot.
- They fought all that night neath the pale yellow moon;
- The din, it was heard from afar,
- And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,
- Of Abdul and Ivan Skavar.
- As Abdul’s long knife was extracting the life,
- In fact he was shouting, “Huzzah!”
- He felt himself struck by that wily Calmuck,
- Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
- The Sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,
- Expecting the victor to cheer,
- But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh,
- Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
- There’s a tomb rises up where the Blue Danube rolls,
- And graved there in characters clear,
- Is, “Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul
- Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.”
- A splash in the Black Sea one dark moonless night
- Caused ripples to spread wide and far,
- It was made by a sack fitting close to the back,
- Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
- A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps,
- ‘Neath the light of the cold northern star,
- And the name that she murmurs in vain as she weeps,
- Is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
🙂 Mr. McClarey – How do you come up wit this stuff!? Great.
Witty and pithy – two of my favorite things!
‘Best be a coward for five minutes than a dead man all your life.’”
Sounds reasonable today–when deep thoughts don’t last Too long and “get over it” is the mantra amid the clatter of forward >>>progressive>>> motion
When i was a child, I used to listen to this song on an old gramophone at my grandfather’s weekend bach – the gramophone was a wind up one, and played old 78 discs…….I wonder who sung the song ?- must have been back in the late 40’s. Perhps I’ll google it. 🙂
It appears that what I listened to was the song , sung by by Frank Crumit -couldn’t find a link to the song.