
Smart Irishmen Wanted for HM Irish Regiment of Foot Guards Coloured chromolithograph recruiting poster after Black. Published by HM’s Stationery Office, 1927.
The Irish Guards regiment of the Britsh Army was formed on 1 April 1900 by order of Queen Victoria, to honor the Irish war dead in the war with the Boers. To this day, “The Micks” remain the “young” regiment of the Guards and their 1st Battalion is based in London at the Cavalry Barracks, Hounslow.
Today, they are 120 years old.
One of their fallen Great War officers, 18-year-old John Kipling, late of Wellington College, led his fresh platoon of the Irish Guard’s 2nd battalion “over the top” at the Battle of Loos in 1915 and was never seen alive again. The truth was, young Mr. Kipling should probably have never been there, having previously failed his admission to the Royal Navy due to poor eyesight. However, his father, Rudyard Kipling, pulled some strings and arranged to find a place in the Guards for his only and most beloved son.
John’s loss would reportedly crush the renowned author and poet.
With that,
The Irish Guards – by Rudyard Kipling (1918)
We’re not so old in the Army List,
But we’re not so young at our trade,
For we had the honor at Fontenoy
Of meeting the Guards’ Brigade.
‘Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,
And Lee that led us then,
And after a hundred and seventy years
We’re fighting for France again!
Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there’s bound to be fighting,
And when there’s no fighting, it’s Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
The fashion’s all for khaki now,
But once through France, we went
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,
The English-left at Ghent.
They’re fighting on our side to-day
But, before they changed their clothes,
The half of Europe knew our fame,
As all of Ireland knows!
Old Days! The wild geese are flying,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there’s memory undying,
And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt,
From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge,
The ancient days come back no more
Than water under the bridge.
But the bridge it stands and the water runs
As red as yesterday,
And the Irish move to the sound of the guns
Like salmon to the sea.
Old Days! The wild geese are ranging,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging,
And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
We’re not so old in the Army List,
But we’re not so new in the ring,
For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe
When Louis was our King.
But Douglas Haig’s our Marshal now
And we’re King George’s men,
And after one hundred and seventy years
We’re fighting for France again!
Ah, France! And did we stand by you,
When life was made splendid with gifts and rewards?
Ah, France! And will we deny you
In the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords?
Old Days! The wild geese are flying,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there’s loving and fighting
And when we stop either, it’s Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!
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