Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy
Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy, MC (June 27, 1883 - March 8, 1929), was an Anglican priest and poet. He was nicknamed 'Woodbine Willie' during World War I for giving Woodbine cigarettes along with spiritual aid to injured and dying soldiers.
Born in Leeds in 1883, Kennedy was the seventh of nine children born to Jeanette Anketell and William Studdert Kennedy, a vicar in Leeds. He ... more »
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Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy Poems
Our Padre were a solemn bloke, We called 'im dismal Jim. It fairly gave ye t' bloomin' creeps, To sit and 'ark at 'im,
They gave me this name like their nature, Compacted of laughter and tears, A sweet that was born of the bitter,
To Stretcher Bearers
Easy does it — bit o' trench 'ere, Mind that blinkin' bit o' wire, There's a shell 'ole on your left there, Lift 'im up a little 'igher.
What's the Good?
Well, I've done my bit o' scrappin', And I've done in quite a lot; Nicked 'em neatly wiv my bayonet, So I needn't waste a shot.
What's The Use Of A Cross To 'Im?
Parson says I'm to make 'im a cross To set up over his grave, 'E's buried there by the Moated Grange, And I 'ad a damn close shave,
There's a soul in the Eternal, Standing stiff before the King. There's a little English maiden Sorrowing.
My brethren, the ways of God No man can understand, We can but wait in awe and watch The wonders of His hand.
Right as ninepence, thank ye kindly, There are umpty worse than me, I'd be fit to fight tomorrer If my bloomin' eyes could see.
There's a Jerry over there, Sarge ! Can't you see 'is big square 'ead ? If 'e bobs it up again there,
There was rapture of spring in the morning When we told our love in the wood, For you were the spring in my heart, dear lad.
Non Angli Sed Angeli
' not Angles merely but of angel stock, These boys blue-eyed and shining from the sea,
I Know Not Where They Have Laid Him
I wouldn't mind if I only knowed The spot where they'd laid my lad; If I could see where they'd buried 'im,
Solomon In All His Glory
Still I see them coming, coming, In their ragged broken line, Walking wounded in the sunlight, Clothed in majesty divine.
When there ain't no gal to kiss you, And the postman seems to miss you, And the fags have skipped an issue, Carry on.
Comments about Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy
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Our Padre were a solemn bloke,
We called 'im dismal Jim.
It fairly gave ye t' bloomin' creeps,
To sit and 'ark at 'im,
When he were on wi' Judgment Day,
Abaht that great white Throne,
And 'ow each chap would 'ave to stand,
And answer on 'is own.
And if 'e tried to charnce 'is arm,
And 'ide a single sin,
There'd be the angel Gabriel,
Wi' books to do 'im in.
'E 'ad it all writ dahn, 'e said,
And nothin' could be 'id,
'E 'ad it all i' black and white,
And 'E would take no kid.
And every single idle word,
A soldier charnced to say,
'E'd 'ave it...