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MANDALAY
by
Rudyard Kipling
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say;
"Come you back, you British Soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay;
Can't you 'ear their paddles clunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-Yaw-Lat jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o' mud--
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd--
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay ...
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-la-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek again my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephants a-piling teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay ...
But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago and fur away,
An' there ain't no buses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay ...
I am sick 'o wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and--
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there ain't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', and it's there that I would be--
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
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TO SHELLENA
(A Poet's Tale)
On the road off Croydon High Street, headin' eastward to the square,
There's a little Indian restaurant that lies situated there;
And the menu on the window tells the prices that you'll pay;
With a note that says 'You're Welcome To Eat-in Or Take Away!'
In The Mandalay Bombay,
Open every single day,
Where you smell tandoori wafting, from the ovens made of clay,
As you go down Croydon way,
To The Mandalay Bombay,
Where the meals come up like thunder, outta kitchens, on tin trays.
Her sari it was purple an' a rose was in 'er hair,
And 'er name it was Shellena, and she was a waitress there,
An' I saw 'er smilin' kindly at a man that she was servin',
An' wastin' 'er politeness on that bloke who weren't deservin',
He was such a bloomin' drip,
Wanted ruddy egg 'n' chips!
Plucky lot 'e cared about the beauty of Shellena,
In The Mandalay Bombay...
When I'd muddled through the menu, I would wait a little while,
Then she'd come on up to see me with a pencil an' a smile,
An' just to keep 'er talkin' I would ask 'er for advice,
Then she'd suggest a tasteful dish, with egg and pilau rice
An' one nan bread in the price!
An' a glass of rather nice
Neat Indian beer, all cool 'n' clear and just like liquid ice!
In the Mandalay Bombay...
That's all pushed be'ind me now, and prob'ly for the best,
And there ain't no bus that runs from South of France to Croydon West,
And I'm learning 'ere in St.Tropez about cuisine, French style,
But if you've seen The Mandalay and 'ad their tarka dall,
An' seen Shellena's dazzling smile,
Then there's nothing else worthwhile,
And the chicken tikka platter is the best for ruddy miles!
In The Mandalay Bombay ...
Oh, I'm sick of snails 'n' frog-legs and the other Frenchie 'perks',
And the reason that I stay's because they sent me 'ere to work,
Though, thank God, I'm due to go home in another fifteen weeks,
Though the mam'selles in St Tropez are all pretty, they ain't meek,
And don't turn the other cheek,
Unlike she that's called Shellena, and who makes me knees go weak,
In the Mandalay Bombay ...
Take me back to Croydon's alleyways and to that hallowed hall,
Where Shellena's smile awaits me and red paper lines the walls,
For the tarka dall's a-callin' and the window notes still say,
'Hello!' and, 'You're all welcome to eat-in or take away!'
In The Mandalay Bombay,
Open every single day,
Where you smell tandoori wafting from the ovens made of clay;
As you go down Croydon way,
To The Mandalay Bombay,
Where the meals come up like thunder, outta kitchens, on tin trays.
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