'Afternoon Tea' by Robert Service
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Rhymes of a Red Cross ManAs I was saying . . . (No, thank you; I never take cream with my tea;
Cows weren't allowed in the trenches -- got out of the habit, y'see.)
As I was saying, our Colonel leaped up like a youngster of ten:
"Come on, lads!" he shouts, "and we'll show 'em," and he sprang to the head of the men.
Then some bally thing seemed to trip him, and he fell on his face with a slam. . . .
Oh, he died like a true British soldier, and the last word he uttered was "Damn!"
And hang it! I loved the old fellow, and something just burst in my brain,
And I cared no more for the bullets than I would for a shower of rain.
'Twas an awf'ly funny sensation (I say, this is jolly nice tea);
I felt as if something had broken; by gad! I was suddenly free.
Free for a glorified moment, beyond regulations and laws,
Free just to wallow in slaughter, as the chap of the Stone Age was.So on I went joyously nursing a Berserker rage of my own,
And though all my chaps were behind me, feeling most frightf'ly alone;
With the bullets and shells ding-donging, and the "krock" and the swish of the shrap;
And I found myself humming "Ben Bolt" . . . (Will you pass me the sugar, old chap?
Two lumps, please). . . . What was I saying? Oh yes, the jolly old dash;
We simply ripped through the barrage, and on with a roar and a crash.
My fellows -- Old Nick couldn't stop 'em. On, on they went with a yell,
Till they tripped on the Boches' sand-bags, -- nothing much left to tell:
A trench so tattered and battered that even a rat couldn't live;
Some corpses tangled and mangled, wire you could pass through a sieve.The jolly old guns had bilked us, cheated us out of our show,
And my fellows were simply yearning for a red mix-up with the foe.
So I shouted to them to follow, and on we went roaring again,
Battle-tuned and exultant, on in the leaden rain.
Then all at once a machine gun barks from a bit of a bank,
And our Major roars in a fury: "We've got to take it on flank."
He was running like fire to lead us, when down like a stone he comes,
As full of "typewriter" bullets as a pudding is full of plums.
So I took his job and we got 'em. . . . By gad! we got 'em like rats;
Down in a deep shell-crater we fought like Kilkenny cats.
'Twas pleasant just for a moment to be sheltered and out of range,
With someone you saw to go for -- it made an agreeable change.And the Boches that missed my bullets, my chaps gave a bayonet jolt,
And all the time, I remember, I whistled and hummed "Ben Bolt".
Well, that little job was over, so hell for leather we ran,
On to the second line trenches, -- that's where the fun began.
For though we had strafed 'em like fury, there still were some Boches about,
And my fellows, teeth set and eyes glaring, like terriers routed 'em out.
Then I stumbled on one of their dug-outs, and I shouted: "Is anyone there?"
And a voice, "Yes, one; but I'm wounded," came faint up the narrow stair;
And my man was descending before me, when sudden a cry! a shot!
(I say, this cake is delicious. You make it yourself, do you not?)
My man? Oh, they killed the poor devil; for if there was one there was ten;
So after I'd bombed 'em sufficient I went down at the head of my men,
And four tried to sneak from a bunk-hole, but we cornered the rotters all right;
I'd rather not go into details, 'twas messy that bit of the fight.But all of it's beastly messy; let's talk of pleasanter things:
The skirts that the girls are wearing, ridiculous fluffy things,
So short that they show. . . . Oh, hang it! Well, if I must, I must.
We cleaned out the second trench line, bomb and bayonet thrust;
And on we went to the third one, quite calloused to crumping by now;
And some of our fellows who'd passed us were making a deuce of a row;
And my chaps -- well, I just couldn't hold 'em; (It's strange how it is with gore;
In some ways it's just like whiskey: if you taste it you must have more.)
Their eyes were like beacons of battle; by gad, sir! they COULDN'T be calmed,
So I headed 'em bang for the bomb-belt, racing like billy-be-damned.
Oh, it didn't take long to arrive there, those who arrived at all;
The machine guns were certainly chronic, the shindy enough to appal.
Oh yes, I omitted to tell you, I'd wounds on the chest and the head,
And my shirt was torn to a gun-rag, and my face blood-gummy and red.I'm thinking I looked like a madman; I fancy I felt one too,
Half naked and swinging a rifle. . . . God! what a glorious "do".
As I sit here in old Piccadilly, sipping my afternoon tea,
I see a blind, bullet-chipped devil, and it's hard to believe that it's me;
I see a wild, war-damaged demon, smashing out left and right,
And humming "Ben Bolt" rather loudly, and hugely enjoying the fight.
And as for my men, may God bless 'em! I've loved 'em ever since then:
They fought like the shining angels; they're the pick o' the land, my men.
And the trench was a reeking shambles, not a Boche to be seen alive --
So I thought; but on rounding a traverse I came on a covey of five;
And four of 'em threw up their flippers, but the fifth chap, a sergeant, was game,
And though I'd a bomb and revolver he came at me just the same.
A sporty thing that, I tell you; I just couldn't blow him to hell,
So I swung to the point of his jaw-bone, and down like a ninepin he fell.
And then when I'd brought him to reason, he wasn't half bad, that Hun;
He bandaged my head and my short-rib as well as the Doc could have done.
So back I went with my Boches, as gay as a two-year-old colt,
And it suddenly struck me as rummy, I still was a-humming "Ben Bolt".
And now, by Jove! how I've bored you. You've just let me babble away;
Let's talk of the things that
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Perfect Blend of Poetry and Tea: An Exploration of Robert Service's "Afternoon Tea"
Oh, what a delightful experience it is to indulge in a cup of tea in the afternoon, especially when accompanied by a good book or a pleasant conversation. Yet, have you ever wondered what it would be like to read a poem about afternoon tea while sipping on a warm cup of your favorite blend? Look no further than Robert Service's "Afternoon Tea," a charming and whimsical composition that captures the essence of this beloved British tradition.
At first glance, the poem may appear simple and straightforward, with its rhyming couplets and lighthearted tone. However, upon closer examination, Service's work reveals layers of meaning and nuances that showcase his talent as a poet and his understanding of human nature.
One of the most striking aspects of "Afternoon Tea" is its portrayal of the contrast between the external and internal worlds. On the surface, the poem describes the physical setting of an afternoon tea, complete with "silver teapot" and "dainty cup and saucer" (line 5), and the social ritual of sharing in this experience with friends. However, as the poem progresses, it becomes clear that Service is also exploring the hidden emotions and thoughts that lie beneath this facade.
For example, in the second stanza, the speaker reflects on the fleeting nature of life and the passing of time, stating that "the clock ticks on with never a stop" (line 10). This sentiment is echoed later in the poem when the speaker suggests that "life is just a cup of tea" (line 23) and that we must savor the moment while we can. These lines illustrate the existential undercurrents of the poem, reminding us that even seemingly simple pleasures like afternoon tea are infused with a deeper sense of meaning and significance.
Similarly, the poem also touches upon themes of social class and status, particularly in the third stanza. Here, the speaker notes that "some prefer a simple brew, / Others fancy Lapsang Souchong" (lines 13-14), highlighting the various ways in which people differentiate themselves through their tastes and preferences. However, the speaker also suggests that these distinctions are ultimately superficial, stating that "it's not the tea that counts, it's you" (line 18). In this way, Service challenges the notion that material possessions and social hierarchies are the ultimate markers of success and fulfillment, instead emphasizing the importance of individual identity and self-expression.
Another notable aspect of "Afternoon Tea" is its use of language and imagery. Service's skillful use of rhyme and meter gives the poem a musical quality, with its lilting rhythm and playful cadence. Moreover, his vivid descriptions of the tea and its accoutrements evoke a sense of sensory pleasure, with the "fragrant steam" rising from the cup and the "honeyed toast" melting on the tongue (lines 8 and 17, respectively). These images help to create a sensory experience for the reader, immersing them in the world of the poem and heightening their appreciation for the beauty and richness of everyday life.
Yet, perhaps the most compelling aspect of "Afternoon Tea" is its sense of joy and celebration. Throughout the poem, the speaker exudes a contagious sense of delight, reveling in the simple pleasures of tea and companionship. This joy is infectious, inspiring the reader to join in the celebration and to embrace the beauty and wonder of the world around them.
In conclusion, Robert Service's "Afternoon Tea" is a delightful and thought-provoking poem that explores the complexities and nuances of a beloved British tradition. Through its use of language, imagery, and emotion, the poem captures the essence of what makes afternoon tea such a special and cherished experience. Whether enjoyed alone or with friends, with Lapsang Souchong or a simple brew, "Afternoon Tea" reminds us to savor the moment, to appreciate the beauty of the world around us, and to find joy in the simple pleasures of life.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Poetry Afternoon Tea: A Classic by Robert Service
If you're a fan of poetry, then you must have heard of Robert Service. He was a Scottish-Canadian poet and writer who was famous for his ballads and poems about the Yukon. One of his most famous works is the Poetry Afternoon Tea, which is a delightful poem that captures the essence of a traditional British afternoon tea.
The poem is set in a quaint little tea room, where the narrator is enjoying a cup of tea and some scones. He describes the scene around him, including the tea room's decor, the other patrons, and the delicious treats on offer. The poem is written in a light and playful tone, which makes it a joy to read.
The first stanza sets the scene for the poem. The narrator describes the tea room as a "cosy little nook," with "curtains drawn against the sun." He mentions the "dainty cups and saucers," and the "silver teapot" that is "shiny as a star." The imagery here is vivid and charming, and it immediately transports the reader to the tea room.
In the second stanza, the narrator describes the other patrons in the tea room. He mentions the "ladies with their knitting," and the "gentlemen with their books." He notes that they are all "quiet as a mouse," which adds to the peaceful and serene atmosphere of the tea room. The narrator also mentions the "waitress in her apron," who is "smiling like a saint." This description of the waitress is particularly endearing, and it adds to the overall charm of the poem.
The third stanza is where the poem really comes to life. The narrator describes the delicious treats on offer at the tea room. He mentions the "scones with clotted cream," and the "cakes with icing white." He also mentions the "jam that's made of berries," and the "butter that's so light." The imagery here is mouth-watering, and it makes the reader want to rush out and find a tea room just like this one.
In the fourth stanza, the narrator describes the tea itself. He notes that it is "steaming hot and fragrant," and that it "fills the air with bliss." He also mentions the "sugar that's so lumpy," and the "milk that's so fresh." The description of the tea is particularly evocative, and it adds to the overall sensory experience of the poem.
The fifth and final stanza is where the poem comes to a close. The narrator notes that the tea room is "like a dream," and that he wishes he could "stay here all day." He also mentions that he feels "happy as a king," and that he is "glad that he came." The final lines of the poem are particularly poignant, as they capture the sense of contentment and joy that comes from enjoying a traditional afternoon tea.
In conclusion, Poetry Afternoon Tea is a classic poem by Robert Service that captures the essence of a traditional British afternoon tea. The poem is written in a light and playful tone, and it is full of vivid imagery that transports the reader to the tea room. The poem is a joy to read, and it is sure to leave you feeling happy and contented. So, the next time you're feeling down, why not pour yourself a cup of tea and enjoy this delightful poem?
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