The Mother Lodge
by Rudyard Kipling
There was Rundle, Station Master,
An’ Beazely of the Rail,
An’ Ackman, Commissariat,
An’ Donkin o’ the Jail;
An’ Blake, Conductor-Sergeant,
Our Master twice was ‘e,
An’ ‘im that kept the Europe-shop,
Old Framjee Eduljee.
Outside-Sergeant! Sir! Salute!
Salaam!
Inside-” Brother “, and it doesn’t
do no ‘arm.
We met upon the Level an’ we
parted on the Square,
An’ I was Junior Deacon in my
Mother-Lodge out there!
We’d Bola Nath, Accountant,
An’ Saul the Aden Jew,
An’ Din Mohammed, draughtsman
Of the Survey Office, too;
There was Babu Chuckerbutty,
An’ Amir Singh the Sikh,
An’ Castro from the fittin’ sheds,
The Roman Catholic.
We ‘adn’t good regalia,
An’ our Lodge was old an’ bare,
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks
An’ we kep’ ’em to a ‘air;
An’ lookin’ on it backwards
It often strikes me thus,
There ain’t such things as infidels,
Except, perhaps, it’s us.
For monthly, after Labour,
We’d all sit down and smoke
(We dursn’t give no banquets,
Lest a Brother’s caste was broke),
An’ man on man got talkin’
Religion an’ the rest,
An’ everyman comparin’
Of the God ‘e knew the best.
So man on man got talkin’
An’ not a Brother stirred
Till mornin’ waked the parrots
An’ that dam brain-fever bird;
We’d say ’twas ‘ighly curious
An’ we’d all ride ‘ome to bed,
With Mohammed, God, and Shiva
Changin’ pickets in our ‘ead:
Full oft on Guv’ment service
This rovin’ foot ‘ath pressed,
An’ bore fraternal greetin’s
To the Lodges east and west,
Accordin’ as commanded,
From Kohat to Singapore,
But I wish that I might see them
I wish that I might see them,
My brethren black and brown,
With the trichies smellin’ pleasant
An’ the bog-dam passin’ down;
An’ the old khansamah snorin’
On the bottle-khana floor,
Like a Master in good standing
With my Mother-Lodge once more.
Outside-” Sergeant! Sir! Salute!
Salaam!”
Inside-” Brother “, and it doesn’t
do no ‘arm.
We met upon the Level and we
parted on the Square,
An’ I was Junior Deacon in my
Mother-Lodge once more.
—ENDS—
Categories: General
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