DEMOBBED.
India, 1920.
"I'm goin' home," said Hennessey, "for I've been East too long;
I want the English hedges an' fields an' the English thrush's song,
An' the honest English faces an' never nobody black;
It's home for mine," said Hennessey, "so it's down your tents and pack.
It'll pass out here
For a month or a year,
But not for a lifetime—no dam fear.
I want my folks," said Hennessey, "an' I'm jolly well goin' back."
But I said, "Home's gone different an' I've somehow lost the touch,
An' nobody's written for fifty years, so they're not worryin' much;
An' I like it here; I love it." Says Hennessey, "Well, I'm shot!
Would ye die an' be buried in India?" "Well, Natty," says I, "why not?"
"East Africa, then," said Hennessey; "it's a promisin' place is that—
Money to make an' jobs galore, easy an' rich an' fat;
An' think of the ridin' an' shootin' an' the camp an' the trekkin' too;
You've no ties," said Hennessey; "it's the place for a chap like you.
There's a grand career
For a pioneer,
Which is more than ever you'll see out here.
East Africa's it," said Hennessey, "if the half they say is true."
But I said, "Blow East Africa an' slavin' yourself all day;
I'm an idle man—bone idle—with a little bit saved away,
An' I like them palm-tree beaches an' the warm blue sunlit sea;
East India, yes, an' welcome, but East Africa—no, not me."
"Well, Palestine," said Hennessey; but I cut him short and sweet,
An' "Natty," I said, "I've heard it all an' I don't want to repeat—
Jerusalem or Mombasa, Tahiti or Timbuctoo,
Or careers an' pioneerin' an' the rest of it all—nah poo!
It's no good, Nat,
For I tell you flat
I've cottoned to India an' that's just that;
Bus hogeva; all done—finish; I'm here till the trees turn blue,
For I love them early mornings, shiny an' clear an' grey,
An' I love the cool o' the evening when the temple drummers play,
An' the long, long, lazy afternoons, when the whole creation sleeps—
Quit it? Old man, I couldn't; I'm India's now for keeps.
"So Hennessey, you go home," I says, "an' see to the wife an' kid."
"You'll follow me there one day," says he, an' I says, "Heaven forbid!
I'll just be goin' about an' about an' keepin' an open mind
An' sometimes doin' a job o' work, but not if I'm not inclined;
An' I won't care
If I'm here or there,
Jungle or forest or feast or fair;
I'll take it all as it comes along, as the Maker o' things designed;
I'll tramp it North to the Kashmir hills an' South to the Nilgiris;
I'll find my friends as I find my fun—and that's where I dam well please;
An' never no saman or houses or taxes or servants to send things wrong."
"It wouldn't suit me," said Hennessey. "It wouldn't," says I. "So long!"