NAMING OF PARTS

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday, We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning, We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day, To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica

Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens, And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this

Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,

When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel, Which in your case you have not got. The branches Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures, Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this

Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers: They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,

And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance, Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom

Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards, For to-day we have naming of parts.

Critical and biographical information for the poet, radio dramatist, and translator Henry Reed (1914 - 1986), author of \"Naming of Parts.\" audio-visual | bibliography | biography | blog | contact | criticism | home | parodies | pictures | plays | poems | search | site map | translations Search: Go Reed, Henry. \"Psychological Warfare.\" London Review of Books 13, no. 6 (21 March 1991): 14-15. LESSONS OF THE WAR V. PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE This above all remember: they will be very brave men, And you will be facing them. You must not despise them. I am, as you know, like all true professional soldiers, A profoundly religious man: the true soldier has to be. And I therefore believe the war will be over by Easter Monday. But I must in fairness state that a number of my brother-officers, No less religious than I, believe it will hold out till Whitsun. Others, more on the agnostic side (and I do not condemn them) Fancy the thing will drag on till August Bank Holiday. Be that as it may, some time in the very near future, We are to expect Invasion ... and invasion not from the sea. Vast numbers of troops will be dropped, probably from above, Superbly equipped, determined and capable; and this above all, Remember: they will be very brave men, and chosen as such. You must not, of course, think I am praising them. But what I have said is basically fundamental To all I am about to reveal: the more so, since Those of you that have not seen service overseas—

Which is the case with all of you, as it happens—this is the first time You will have confronted them. My remarks are aimed At preparing you for that.

Everyone, by the way, may smoke, And be as relaxed as you can, like myself.

I shall wander among you as I talk and note your reactions. Do not be nervous at this: this is a thing, after all, We are all in together.

I want you to note in your notebooks, under ten separate headings, The ten points I have to make, remembering always

That any single one of them may save your life. Is everyone ready? Very well then.

The term, Psychological Warfare Comes from the ancient Greek: psycho means character And logical, of course, you all know. We did not have it In the last conflict, the fourteen-eighteen affair,

Though I myself was through it from start to finish. (That is point one.) I was, in fact, captured—or rather, I was taken prisoner— In the Passchendaele show (a name you will all have heard of) And in our captivity we had a close opportunity (We were all pretty decently treated. I myself Was a brigadier at the time: that is point two)

An opportunity I fancy I was the only one to appreciate Of observing the psychiatry of our enemy (The word in those days was always psychology,

A less exact description now largely abandoned). And though the subject Is a highly complex one, I had, it was generally conceded, A certain insight (I do not know how, but I have always, they say, Had a certain insight) into the way the strangest things ebb up From what psychoanalysts now refer to as the self-conscious. It is possibly for this reason that I have been asked To give you the gist of the thing, the—how shall I put it?— The gist.

I was not of course captured alone (Note that as point three) so that I also observed

Not only the enemy's behaviour; but ours. And gradually, I concluded That we all of us have, whether we like it or lump it, Our own individual psychiatry, given us, for better or worse, By God Almighty. I say this reverently; you often find These deeper themes of psychiatry crudely but well expressed In common parlance. People say: 'We are all as God made us.' And so they are. So are the enemy. And so are some of you. This I in fact observed: point four. Not only the enemy Had their psychiatry, but we, in a different sense,

Had ours. And I firmly believe you cannot (point six) master Their psychiatry before you have got the gist of your own. Let me explain more fully: I do not mean to imply That any, or many, of you are actually mentally ill.

Though that is what the name would imply. But we, your officers, Have to be aware that you, and many of your comrades,

May have a sudden psychiatry which, sometimes without warning, May make you feel (and this is point five) a little bit odd.

I do not mean that in the sense of anything nasty:

I am not thinking of those chaps with their eyes always on each other (Sometimes referred to as homosensualists

And easily detected by the way they lace up their boots) But in the sense you may all feel a little disturbed,

Without knowing why, a little as if you were feeling an impulse, Without knowing why: the term for this is ambivalence. Often referred to for some mysterious reason, By the professionals as Amby Valence,

As though they were referring to some nigger minstrel. (Not, of course, that I have any colour prejudice:

After all, there are four excellent West Nigerians among you, As black as your boot: they are not to blame for that.)

At all events this ambivalence is to be avoided.

Note that as point seven: I think you all know what I mean: In the Holy Scriptures the word begins with an O, Though in modern parlance it usually begins with an M.

You have most of you done it absentmindedly at some time or another,

But repeated, say, four times a day, it may become almost a habit, Especially prone to by those of sedentary occupation, By pale-faced clerks or schoolmasters, sitting all day at a desk, Which is not, thank God, your position: you are always More or less on the go: and that is what

(Again deep in the self-conscious) keeps you contented and happy here.

Even so, should you see some fellow-comrade

Give him all the help you can. In the spiritual sense, I mean, With a sympathetic word or nudge, inform him in a manly fashion 'Such things are for boys, not men, lad.' Everyone, eyes front!

I pause, gentlemen. I pause. I am not easily shocked or taken aback,

But even while I have been speaking of this serious subject I observe that one of you has had the effrontery—

Yes, you at the end of row three! No! Don't stand up, for God's sake, man, And don't attempt to explain. Just tuck it away, And try to behave like a man. Report to me

At eighteen hundred hours. The rest of you all eyes front. I proceed to point six.

The enemy itself,

I have reason to know is greatly prone to such actions.

It is something we must learn to exploit: an explanation, I think, Is that they are, by and large, undeveloped children, Or adolescents, at most. It is perhaps to do with physique, And we cannot and must not ignore their physique as such. (Physique, of course, being much the same as psychiatry.) They are usually blond, and often extremely well-made, With large blue eyes and very white teeth,

And as a rule hairless chests, and very smooth, muscular thighs, And extremely healthy complexions, especially when slightly sunburnt. I am convinced there is something in all this that counts for something. Something probably deep in the self-conscious of all of them. Undeveloped children, I have said, and like children, As those of you with families will know,

They are sometimes very aggressive, even the gentlest of them.

All the same we must not exaggerate; in the words of Saint Matthew: 'Clear your minds of cant.' That is point five: note it down. Do not take any notice of claptrap in the press

Especially the kind that implies that the enemy will come here, Solely with the intention of raping your sisters. I do not know why it is always sisters they harp on: I fancy it must ebb up from someone's self-conscious. It is a patent absurdity for two simple reasons: (a) They cannot know in advance what your sisters are like: And (b) some of you have no sisters. Let that be the end of that.

There are much darker things than that we have to think of. It is you they consider the enemy, you they are after.

And though, as Britishers, you will not be disposed to shoot down A group of helpless men descending from the heavens,

Do not expect from them—and I am afraid I have to say this—gratitude: They are bound to be over-excited,

As I said, adolescently aggressive, possibly drugged, And later, in a macabre way, grotesquely playful. Try to avoid being playfully kicked in the crutch, Which quite apart from any temporary discomfort, May lead to a hernia. I do not know why you should laugh. I once had a friend who, not due to enemy action

But to a single loud sneeze, entirely his own, developed a hernia, And had to have great removals, though only recently married. (I am sorry, gentlemen, but anyone who finds such things funny Ought to suffer them and see. You deserve the chance to. I must ask you all to extinguish your cigarettes.)

There are other unpleasant things they may face you with. You may, as I did in the fourteen-eighteen thing,

Find them cruelly, ruthlessly, starkly obsessed with the arts, Music and painting, sculpture and the writing of verses, Please, do not stand for that.

Our information is

That the enemy has no such rules, though of course they may have. We must see what they say when they come. There can, of course,

Be no objection to the more virile arts:

In fact in private life I am very fond of the ballet, Whose athleticism, manliness and sense of danger Is open to all of us to admire. We had a ballet-dancer In the last mob but three, as you have doubtless heard.

He was cruelly teased and laughed at—until he was seen in the gym. And then, my goodness me! I was reminded of the sublime story Of Samson, rending the veil of the Temple.

I do not mean he fetched the place actually down; though he clearly did what he could.

Though for some other reason I was never quite clear about, And in spite of my own strong pressure on the poor lad's behalf, And his own almost pathetic desire to stay on with us, He was, in fact, demobilized after only three weeks' service, Two and a half weeks of which he spent in prison. Such are war's tragedies: how often we come upon them! (Everyone may smoke again, those that wish.)

This brings me to my final point about the psychiatry Of our formidable foe. To cope with it,

I know of nothing better than the sublime words of Saint Paul In one of his well-known letters to the Corinthians: 'This above all, to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day No man can take thee in.'

'This above all': what resonant words those are! They lead me to point nine, which is a thing I may have a special thing about, but if so,

Remember this is not the first war I have been through. I refer (point nine this is) to the question of dignity. Dignity. Human dignity. Yours. Never forget it, men. Let it sink deep into your self-consciousness,

While still remaining plentifully available on the surface, In the form of manly politeness. I mean, in particular, this: Never behave in a manner to evoke contempt Before thine enemy. Our enemy, I should say.

Comrades, and

brothers-in-arms,

And those especially who have not understood my words, You were not born to live like cowards or cravens: Let me exhort you: never, whatever lies you have heard,

Be content to throw your arms on the ground and your other arms into the air and squawk 'Kaputt!'

It is unsoldierly, unwarlike, vulgar, and out of date,

And may make the enemy laugh. They have a keen sense of humour, Almost (though never quite, of course) as keen as our own. No: when you come face to face with the foe, remember dignity, And though a number of them do fortunately speak English, Say, proudly, with cold politeness, in the visitor's own language: 'Ich ergebe mich.' Ich meaning I,

Ergebe meaning surrender, and mich meaning me. Ich ergebe mich.' Do not forget the phrase.

Practise it among yourselves: do not let it sound stilted, Make it sound idiotish, as if you were always saying it, Only always cold in tone: icy, if necessary:

It is such behaviour that will make them accord you The same respect that they accorded myself, At Passchendaele. (Incidentally,

You may also add the word nicht if you feel inclined to, Nicht meaning not. It will amount to much the same thing.)

Dignity, then, and respect: those are the final aims Of psychiatric relations, and psychological warfare. They are the fundamentals also of our religion. I may have mentioned my own religious intuitions: They are why I venture to think this terrible war will be over On Easter Monday, and that the invasion will take place On either Maundy Thursday or Good Friday, Probably the Thursday, which in so very many Of our great, brave, proud, heroic and battered cities,

Is early closing day, as the enemy may have learnt from their agents. Alas, there may be many such days in the immediate future. But remember this in the better world we all have to build, And build by ourselves alone—for the government

May well in the next few weeks have withdrawn to Canada— What did you say? The man in row five. He said something.

Stand up and repeat what you said. I said 'And a sodding good job', sir, I said, sir. I have not asked anyone for political comments, thank you, However apt. Sit down. I was saying: That in the better world we all have to try to build After the war is over, whether we win or lose, Or whether we all agree to call it a draw, We shall have to try our utmost to get used to each other, To live together with dignity and respect. As our Lord sublimely said in one of his weekly Sermons on the Mount Outside Jerusalem (where interestingly enough, I was stationed myself for three months in 1926): 'A thirteenth commandment I give you (this is point ten) That ye love one another.' Love, in Biblical terms, Meaning of course not quite what it means today, But precisely what I have called dignity and respect. And that, men, is the great psychiatrical problem before you: Of how on God's earth we shall ever learn to attain some sort Of dignity. And due respect. One man. For another. Thank you; God bless you, men. Good afternoon. « IV. \"Unarmed Combat\" | Part VI. \"Returning of Issue\" » More \"Psychological Warfare\": British Propaganda Posters | Propaganda and Psychological Warfare Studies Propaganda Leaflets | PsyWar.Org top solearabiantree Page last modified: 24 April 2008

JUDGING DISTANCES

Not only how far away, but the way that you say it

Is very important. Perhaps you may never get The knack of judging a distance, but at least you know How to report on a landscape: the central sector, The right of the arc and that, which we had last Tuesday, And at least you know

That maps are of time, not place, so far as the army Happens to be concerned—the reason being, Is one which need not delay us. Again, you know

There are three kinds of tree, three only, the fir and the poplar, And those which have bushy tops to; and lastly That things only seem to be things.

A barn is not called a barn, to put it more plainly,

Or a field in the distance, where sheep may be safely grazing. You must never be over-sure. You must say, when reporting: At five o'clock in the central sector is a dozen Of what appear to be animals; whatever you do, Don't call the bleeders sheep.

I am sure that's quite clear; and suppose, for the sake of example, The one at the end, asleep, endeavors to tell us What he sees over there to the west, and how far away, After first having come to attention. There to the west, Of the fields of summer the sun and the shadows bestow Vestments of purple and gold.

The white dwellings are like a mirage in the heat, And under the swaying elms a man and a woman Lie gently together. Which is, perhaps, only to say That there is a row of houses to the left of the arc,

And that under some poplars a pair of what appear to be humans Appear to be loving.

Well that, for an answer, is what we rightly call Moderately satisfactory only, the reason being,

Is that two things have been omitted, and those are very important. The human beings, now: in what direction are they, And how far away, would you say? And do not forget There may be dead ground in between.

There may be dead ground in between; and I may not have got The knack of judging a distance; I will only venture A guess that perhaps between me and the apparent lovers,

(Who, incidentally, appear by now to have finished,) At seven o'clock from the houses, is roughly a distance Of about one year and a half.

Reed, Henry. \"The Auction Sale.\" Encounter 11, no. 4 (October 1958): 49-55.

THE AUCTION SALE

Within the great grey flapping tent The damp crowd stood or stamped about; And some came in, and some went out To drink the moist November air; None fainted, though a few looked spent And eyed some empty unbought chair. It was getting on. And all had meant Not to go home with empty hands But full of gain, at little cost, Of mirror, vase, or vinaigrette. Yet often, after certain sales,

Some looked relieved that they had lost, Others, at having won, upset. Two men from London sat apart, Both from the rest and each from each, One man in grey and one in brown. And each ignored the others face, And both ignored the endless stream Of bed and bedside cabinet, Gazing intent upon the floor, And they were strangers in that place.

Two other men, competing now, Locals, whom everybody knew, In shillings genially strove For some small thing in ormolu. Neither was eager; one looked down Blankly at eighty-four, and then Rallied again at eighty-eight, And took it off at four pounds ten. The loser grimly shook his fist, But friendly, there was nothing meant.

Little gained was little missed, And there was smiling in the tent.

The auctioneer paused to drink, And wiped his lips and looked about, Engaged in whispered colloquoy

The clerk, who frowned and seemed to think, And murmured: \"Why not do it next?\" The auctioneer, though full of doubt, Unacquiescent, rather vexed, At last agreed, and at his sign Two ministrants came softly forth And lifted in an ashen shroud

Something extremely carefully packed, Which might have been some sort of frame, And was a picture-frame in fact. They steadied it gently and with care, And held it covered, standing there.

The auctioneer again looked round And smiled uneasily at friends, And said: \"Well, friends, I have to say Something I have not said to-day: There's a reserve upon this number. It is a picture which though unsigned Is thought to be of a superior kind, So I am sure you gentlemen will not mind If I tell you at once before we start That what I have been asked to say Is, as I have said, to say:

There's a reserve upon this number.\" There was a rustle in that place,

And some awoke as though from slumber. And some disturbance fluttered there; And as if summoned to begin, Those who had stepped outside for air Retrieved themselves and stepped back in.

The ministrants, two local boys, Experienced in this sort of work, And careful not to make too much noise, Reached forward to unhook the shroud Which slowly opening fell away And on the public gaze released

The prospect of a great gold frame That through the reluctant leaden air Flashed a mature unsullied grace Into the faces of the crowd. And there was silence in that place.

Effulgent in the Paduan air, Ardent to yield the Venus lay Naked upon the sunwarmed earth. Bronze and bright and crisp her hair, By the right hand of Mars caressed, Who sunk beside her on his knee, His mouth towards her mouth inclined, His left hand near her silken breast. Flowers about them sprang and twined, Accomplished Cupids leaped and sported, And three, with dimpled arms enlaced And brimming gaze of stifled mirth, Looked wisely on at Mars's nape,

While others played with horns and pikes, Or smaller objects of like shape.

And there was silence in the tent. They gazed in silence; silently

The wind dropped down, no longer shook The flapping sides and gaping holes. And some moved back, and others went Closer, to get a better look.

In ritual, amorous delay,

Venus deposed her sheltering hand Where her bright belly's aureate day Melted down to dusk about her groin; And, as from words that Mars had said Into that hidden subtle ear, She turned away her shining head.

The auctioneer cleared his throat, And said: \"I am sure I'm right in feeling You will not feel it is at all unfair For what when all is said and done Is a work of very artistic painting

And not to be classed with common lumber And anyway extremely rare,

You will not feel it at all unfair If I mention again before proceeding, There's a reserve upon this number.\" Someone was heard to say with meaning: \"What, did I hear him say reserve?\" (Meaning, of course, a different meaning.) This was a man from Sturminster, Renowned for a quiet sense of fun, And there was laughter in that place, Though, not, of course, from everyone.

A calm and gentle mile away, Among the trees a river ran Boated with blue and scarlet sails; A towered auburn city stood

Beyond them on the burnished heights, And afar off and over all The azure day for mile on mile Unrolled towards the Dolomites.

The auctioneer said:

\"I very much fear I have to say I'm afraid we cannot look all day. The reserve is seven hundred pounds. Will anyone offer me seven fifty? Seven thirty? Twenty-five? Thank you sir. Seven twenty-five.\" It was the man in brown who nodded, Soon to be joined by him in grey. The bidding started quietly. No one from locally joined in. Left to the men from London way, The auctioneer took proper pride, And knew the proper way to guide By pause, by silence, and by tapping, The bidding toward a proper price. And each of the two with unmoved face Would nod and pause and nod and wait. And there was tension in that place.

And still within the Paduan field, The silent summer scene stood by, The sails, the hill-tops, and the sky, And the bright warmth of Venus' glance

That had for centuries caught the eye Of whosoever looked that way, And now caught theirs, on this far day. Two people only did not look. They were the men so calmly nodding, Intently staring at the floor;

Though one of them, the one in brown, Would sometimes slowly lift his gaze And stare up towards the canvas roof, Whereat a few men standing near Inquiring eyes would also raise To try and see what he was seeing. The bidding mounted steadily With silent nod or murmured yes And passed the fifteen hundred mark, And well beyond, and far beyond, A nodding strife without success, Till suddenly, with one soft word, Something unusual occurred.

The auctioneer had asked politely, With querying look and quiet smile: \"Come then, may I say two thousand?\" There was the customary pause, When suddenly with one soft word, Another voice was strangely heard To join in, saying plainly: \"Yes.\" Not their voices, but a third. Everyone turned in some surprise To look, and see, and recognise A young man who some time ago Had taken a farm out Stalbridge way, A very pleasant young man, but quiet, Though always a friendly word to say, Though no one in the dealing line, But quiet and rather unsuccessful, And often seen about the place At outings or on market-day, And very polite and inoffensive, And quiet, as anyone would tell you, But not from round here in any case.

The auctioneer, in some surprise, Said: \"Please, sir, did I hear you say

Yes to two thousand? Is that bid? Twenty hundred am I bid?\" The two were silent, and the third, The young man, answered plainly: \"Yes. Yes. Two thousand. Yes, I did.\" Meaning that he had said that word. \"Ah, yes. Yes, thank you, sir,\" concurred The auctioneer, surprised, but glad To know that he had rightly heard, And added: \"Well, then, I may proceed. I am bid two thousand for this picture. Any advance upon that sum? Any advance upon two thousand? May I say two thousand twenty? Twenty? Thirty? Thank you, sir. May I say forty? Thank you, sir. Fifty? You, sir? Thank you, sir.\"

And now instead of two, the three Competed in the bargaining. There was amazement in that place, But still it gave, as someone said, A sort of interest to the thing.

The young man nodded with the others, And it was seen his nice young face, Had lost its flush and now was white, And those who stood quite near to him Said (later, of course, they did not speak While the bidding was going on) That on his brow were beads of sweat, Which as he nodded in acceptance Would, one or two, fall down his cheek.

And in the tightening atmosphere Naked upon the sunwarmed earth Pauses were made and eyebrows raised, Answered at last by further nods, Ardent to yield the nods resumed Venus upon the sunwarmed nods Abandoned Cupids danced and nodded His mouth towards her bid four thousand Four thousand, any advance upon, And still beyond four thousand fifty Unrolled towards the nodding sun.

But it was seen, and very quickly, That after four thousand twenty-five, The man from over Stalbridge way Did not respond, and from that point He kept his silent gaze averted, To show he would not speak again. And it was seen his sweating face, Which had been white, was glowing red, And had a look of almost pain.

Oh hand of Venus, hand of Mars, Oh ardent mouth, oh burnished height, Oh blue and scarlet gentle sails, Oh Cupids smiling in the dance, Oh unforgotten, living glance, Oh river, hill and flowering plain, Oh ever-living dying light.

And had a look of almost pain. The rest was quickly done. The bids Advanced at slowly slackening pace Up to four thousand sixty-five. And at this point the man in grey Declined his gaze upon the floor And kept it there, as though to say That he would bid no more that day It was quite clear he had not won, This man in grey, though anyone Practised to read the human face Might on his losing mouth descry What could no doubt be termed a smile. While on the face of him in brown A like expertness might discern

Something that could be termed a frown.

There was a little faint applause.

The auctioneer sighed with joy, The customary formalities

Were quickly over, and the strangers Nodding a brief good-bye departed. Venus and Mars were carefully veiled. The auctioneer went on and proferred

Cupboard, table, chair and tray. Bids of a modest kind were offered, The traffic of a normal day. A little later it was seen

The young man too had slipped away. Which was, of course, to be expected. Possibly there was nothing else There at the sale to take his fancy. Or possibly he even might Be feeling ashamed at intervening, Though possibly not, for after all, He had certainly been within his right.

At all events, an hour later, Along the Stalbridge Road a child Saw the young man and told her mother, Though not in fact till some days after, That she had seen him in the dusk, Not walking on the road at all, But striding beneath the sodden trees; And as she neared she saw that he Had no covering on his head, And did not seem to see her pass, But went on, through the soaking grass, Crying: that was what she said.

Bitterly, she added later.

Crying bitterly, she said.

THE DOOR AND THE WINDOW

My love, you are timely come, let me lie by your heart. For waking in the dark this morning, I woke to that mystery,

Which we can all wake to, at some dark time or another: Waking to find the room not as I thought it was,

But the window further away, and the door in another direction.

This was not home, and you were far away And I woke sick, and held by another passion, In the icy grip of a dead, tormenting flame,

Consumed by the night, watched by the door and the window. On a bed of stone, waiting for the day to bring you.

The door has opened: and can you, at last beside me, Drive under the day that frozen and faithless darkness, With its unseen torments flickering, which neither The dearest look nor the longest kiss assuages?

http://www.solearabiantree.net/namingofparts/criticism.html

IV. UNARMED COMBAT

In due course of course you will all be issued with Your proper issue; but until tomorrow,

You can hardly be said to need it; and until that time, We shall have unarmed combat. I shall teach you The various holds and rolls and throws and breakfalls Which you may sometimes meet.

And the various holds and rolls and throws and breakfalls Do not depend on any sort of weapon,

But only on what I might coin a phrase and call The ever-important question of human balance, And the ever-important need to be in a strong Position at the start.

There are many kinds of weakness about the body, Where you would least expect, like the ball of the foot. But the various holds and rolls and throws and breakfalls

Will always come in useful. And never be frightened To tackle from behind: it may not be clean to do so, But this is global war.

So give them all you have, and always give them As good as you get; it will always get you somewhere. (You may not know it, but you can tie a Jerry Up without rope; it is one of the things I shall teach.) Nothing will matter if only you are ready for him. The readiness is all.

The readiness is all. How can I help but feel I have been here before? But somehow then, I was the tied-up one. How to get out

Was always then my problem. And even if I had A piece of rope I was always the sort of person Who threw rope aside.

And in my time I had given them all I had,

Which was never as good as I got, and it got me nowhere. And the various holds and rolls and throws and breakfalls Somehow or other I always seemed to put In the wrong place. And, as for war, my wars Were global from the start.

Perhaps I was never in a strong position.

Or the ball of my foot got hurt, or I had some weakness Where I had least expected. But I think I see your point. While awaiting a proper issue, we must learn the lesson Of the ever-important question of human balance. It is courage that counts.

Things may be the same again; and we must fight Not in the hope of winning but rather of keeping Something alive: so that when we meet our end, It may be said that we tackled wherever we could, That battle-fit we lived, and though defeated, Not without glory fought.