Arthur McBride and the Sergeant
The Irish are known globally as a warlike and pugilistic nation. Every St. Patrick’s Day sees miles of pipe bands marching in step down Fifth Avenue, kilts swirling, bagpipes skirling, drums beating out a military tattoo, all in celebration of the Fightin’ Irish. The image is a bit unfair – it’s hard not to have a warlike history when you have had to struggle against colonial oppression for 800 years – but the Fightin’ Irish label tended to relate to those many Irishmen fighting in foreign wars, far from Erin’s green shore. Like most impoverished and oppressed people around the world, Irishmen were until recently disproportionately represented in other people’s armies, often fighting their kinsmen on the other side.The Flight of the Wild Geese in 1690, when 12,000 defeated Irish soldiers left for service in Europe, was the start of a long tradition of Irish Brigades in all of Europe’s armies, subtly encouraged by the British authorities as a way of bleeding the country of its Gaelic elite. And the British armed forces actively and consistently worked to bamboozle, coerce and conscript young Irish men into their army and navy. Even for those young men who escaped through emigration, poverty often forced them into foreign armies to fight wars against people that they had no quarrel with. The protest song No Irish Need Apply, first performed by Tony Pastor at the New Bowery Theatre in March 1863, illustrates the anti-Irish discrimination rampant in New York at the time, when advertisements for jobs stated baldly that ‘No Irish Need Apply,’ yet as the song observes ‘… when they want good fighting-men, the Irish may apply’ as Irish ‘volunteers’ made up the majority of the Union Army regiments.
But there is a strong strand of anti-militarism in Irish culture too. Like other oppressed and colonised peoples, the Irish were always painfully aware of the folly of war, the brutality of a soldier’s life, and the futility of the pomp, glory and honour that recruiting sergeants offered. Most Irishmen joining the British army, even those signing up ‘voluntarily’ had few illusions about the military life. In reality, recruitment offered them their only opportunity to earn a paltry wage to support a family they would have to leave behind. Irish songs generally do not glorify battle but usually reflect the hardship of military service in foreign and hostile lands.
There is of course a plethora of powerful Irish anti-militarist ballads and songs, and it is important that these are shared with the wider world. Even now, young men and women across the globe still need to be reminded of the tawdry harshness that lies beyond the glamorous portrayals of army life propagated by recruiting sergeants and their modern electronic ilk. Even in this age of electronic propaganda and social media, songs and stories are still one of the most effective ways to get a message across to young people. The anti-war movement may need to heed the words of James Connolly – soldier, revolutionary, socialist and republican – about the importance of song and music in achieving social change “Until the movement is marked by the joyous, defiant singing of revolutionary songs, it lacks one of the distinctive marks of a popular revolutionary movement, it is the dogma of a few, and not the faith of the multitude”.
So, I offer this defiant, revolutionary song to your readers, one of Ireland’s oldest anti-militarist verses. The recruiting sergeant is one of Ireland’s most despised villains, on a par with the bailiff and the landlord’s agent. This song exposes the reality behind the sergeant’s glib promises and his underhand ways to get young men, and even children, drunk enough to take the King’s shilling, which once accepted, sealed the recruitment contract, whether the recipient understood that or not. The song probably dates back to the Napoleonic Wars of the early 1800s and was first documented by the antiquarian George Petrie in the 1840s and then by the music collector and folklorist, PW Joyce. It is acknowledged as a Donegal song, but versions are also noted in English, Scottish and American folklore. Paul Brady can be seen singing a modern version and explaining some of its history on YouTube.
Arthur McBride and the Sergeant
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride
As we went a-walking down by the seaside
Now, mark what did follow and what did betide
For it being on Christmas morning…
Out for recreation, we went on a tramp
And we met Sergeant Dandy and Corporal Vamp
And a little wee drummer, preparing to camp
For the day being pleasant and charming.
“Good morning! Good morning!” the sergeant did cry
“And the same to you, gentlemen!” we did reply
Intending no harm but meaning to pass by,
For it being on Christmas morning.
But says he, “My fine fellows, if you will enlist
A guinea in gold I will slip in your fist,
And a florin besides for to kick up the dust
And to drink the King’s health in the morning
“For a soldier he leads him a very fine life
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife
For he pays all his debts without struggle or strife
And always lives pleasant and charming…
And a soldier he always is decent and clean
In the finest of clothes he is constantly seen
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean
And sup on thin gruel in the morning.”
“But,“ says Arthur, “I couldn’t be proud of your clothes
For you’ve only the lend of them, as I suppose
And you dare not change them one night, for you know
If you do, you’ll be flogged in the morning.
And although we are both of us single and free,
We take great delight in our own company
And we have no desire strange faces to see
Although your offer is certainly charming.
Still we have no desire to take your advance
For all hazards and dangers we barter on chance
And you would not scruple to send us to France
Where we could get shot without warning”
And their own rusty rapiers that hung by their side,
Sure, we threw them as far as we could in the tide.
“Now take them oul’ devils” says Arthur McBride
“And sharpen their edge this fine morning”
And the little wee drummer we turned on him now
And we made a football of his rowdidowdow
And threw it in the waves for to rock and to row,
And we bade it a tedious returning.
And, having no money, we paid them in cracks
And we paid no respect to their two bloody backs
For we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks
And left them for dead in the morning
And so to conclude and to finish disputes
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
And bid them look sharp any morning.
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride
As we went a-walking down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
For it being on Christmas morning
