World War I Roll of Honour - The Clove Club Hackney Downs School

THE R.S.M.
A CHARACTER SKETCH (87/16)
(With apologies to Rudyard Kipling and Regimental Sergeant-Major A.J.Marley.)
There’s a dapper red-faced man,
The R.S.M.
Wears a belt of tanniest tan.
The R.S.M.
He’s a bugle in his throat,
And he’s eyes all up his coat,
So don’t try to play the goat
With the R.S.M.
He’s a strong and steely stare,
The R.S.M.
Like a lion in his lair,
The R.S.M.
Get his back up if you dare,
And his glassy glittering glare
‘ll take the curl out of your hair,
The R.S.M.
Pointed tongue and lightning glance,
The R.S.M.
Sets the pace and leads the dance,
The R.S.M.
Not a big ‘un - but he’s wise,
He’s a terror for his size;
You can bet there are no flies
On the R.S.M.
He’s no fancy dressed up doll,
The R.S.M.
Concentrated toluol,
The R.S.M.
Got a roundy fighting head,
And a voice to wake the dead,
Knows the game from A to Z,
The R.S.M.
When he gets to kingdom come,
The R.S.M.
Guess he’ll make old Hades hum.
The R.S.M.
Every man Jack down below,
Drafted into the old K.O.,
A thousand buglers, in a row,
Lifting Hell’s roof with a mighty blow,
Orderly-Sergeant - ten thousand or so -
Madly dashing to and from,
A million defaulters, with Batte provost,
Stoking away for all they know,
Everyone making obedient bow
To the one man running the bally show,
The R.S.M.
But just do as you ought to do
By the R.S.M.
And he’ll do the same by you,
Will the R.S.M.
Take of his belt of tannest tan,
Take of his uniform spick and span,
Underneath you’ll find a MAN,
The R.S.M.