Terries: A Poem to the Men who Served on the Landships

Terries
Kipling's (or somebody else's) famous tribute
to the men who served in the land ironclads.

Terrenes, affectionately known as Terries, were the fighting men of a landship's complement. They were the combat soldiers who trained rifle and machine-gun fire at enemy troops, or, in ship-to-ship actions, at the gunports, pilothouses, and their counterparts on enemy landships. Terrenes were trained in boarding and repelling boarders, sliding down the ship's side on ropes to deploy on the ground or charge enemy landcraft with grappling lines, hauling themselves up the armor, using their distinctive rubber-soled shoes for traction on the steep metal plates.

Terries
The Men of the Royal Terrenes

Hissin' steam an' clatterin' iron, seaborne thunder brought to land,
An' Terry's the lad who is loadin' an' firin', twistin' the crank with 'is blistered hand.
Terry's the lad who is slidin' down, skinnin' the rivets with 'oly trews
'Ittin' the ground an' loosin' the gangrope, awready workin' 'is gumsoled shoes.
Land on the run an' grope for the grapple, straight at the elephant's riveted 'ide,
Swing an' yer 'ooked up, yer dance-card is booked up, Gawd 'elp you should ever you get inside.
twistin' the crank -- Gardner and Gatling machine guns were crank-operated.

'oly trews -- Terrenes' trouser seats were typically threadbare from sliding down the hull in boarding and landing exercises.

Hissin' steam an' clatterin' iron, maritime thunder on rocky plain,
An' Terry's the lad who is glued to the railin', jolted an' joggled an' jolted again,
Terry's the lad who's a bit 'ard of 'earin, from rifle's report and the cylinders' din,
Clatter o' piston, rattle o' bearin', Gawdawful racket without or within.
Can't 'ear the order, no matter, don't need 'em - knows what 'is job is, knows where to fire,
Knows when 'e's 'ungry, knows when 'e's bleedin', knows that 'e'll probably never retire.

Hissin' steam an' clatterin' iron, Neptune's thunder on Mars's field,
An' Terry's the lad who's repellin' the boarders, steam-hose an' saber atop a tin shield,
Terry's the lad who is up in the open, gunners an' engineers down in the shell,
Hearin' the grapples an' prayin' an' hopin', that Terry's still up on top, givin' em 'Ell.
Claw at the boardinglines, 'ackin an' 'ewin', the Nordenfelt's dry an' the stack's burnin blue,
That lad on the other end knows what 'e's doin'. 'Is colors is different, but 'e's Terry too. Neptune -- the god of the sea
Mars -- the god of war
steam-hose -- live steam from the boiler was used to discourage boarders.
Nordenfelt - a lever-operated machinegun

Hissin' steam, an' clatterin' iron, land-churnin' thunder bogged down in the mud,
An' Terry's the lad who'll get out an' get under, with shovels an' hatchets an' bundles of wood.
Steam at the heart an' muck on the outside, an' flappin' great treads just to fling it about,
An' Terry's the lad who will catch it all over, 'cause Terry's the lad that they can't do without.
Stand at the rail, an' breathe deep an' easy. She's makin' good speed an' she's back on the route,
An' she's whistlin' a love-call, all white-hot an' wheezy, 'cause Terry's the lad that she can't live without. bundles of wood -- fascines and timbers were fed under the tracks to unditch landships.

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Hissin' steam an' clatterin' iron, seaborne thunder brought to land, An' Terry's the lad who is loadin' an' firin', twistin' the crank with 'is blistered hand. Terry's the lad who is slidin' down, skinnin' the rivets with 'oly trews 'Ittin' the ground an' loosin' the gangrope, awready workin' 'is gumsoled shoes. Land on the run an' grope for the grapple, straight at the elephant's riveted 'ide, Swing an' yer 'ooked up, yer dance-card is booked up, Gawd 'elp you should ever you get inside.	twistin' the crank -- Gardner and Gatling machine guns were crank-operated. 'oly trews -- Terrenes' trouser seats were typically threadbare from sliding down the hull in boarding and landing exercises.
Hissin' steam an' clatterin' iron, maritime thunder on rocky plain, An' Terry's the lad who is glued to the railin', jolted an' joggled an' jolted again, Terry's the lad who's a bit 'ard of 'earin, from rifle's report and the cylinders' din, Clatter o' piston, rattle o' bearin', Gawdawful racket without or within. Can't 'ear the order, no matter, don't need 'em - knows what 'is job is, knows where to fire, Knows when 'e's 'ungry, knows when 'e's bleedin', knows that 'e'll probably never retire.
Hissin' steam an' clatterin' iron, Neptune's thunder on Mars's field, An' Terry's the lad who's repellin' the boarders, steam-hose an' saber atop a tin shield, Terry's the lad who is up in the open, gunners an' engineers down in the shell, Hearin' the grapples an' prayin' an' hopin', that Terry's still up on top, givin' em 'Ell. Claw at the boardinglines, 'ackin an' 'ewin', the Nordenfelt's dry an' the stack's burnin blue, That lad on the other end knows what 'e's doin'. 'Is colors is different, but 'e's Terry too.	Neptune -- the god of the sea Mars -- the god of war steam-hose -- live steam from the boiler was used to discourage boarders. Nordenfelt - a lever-operated machinegun
Hissin' steam, an' clatterin' iron, land-churnin' thunder bogged down in the mud, An' Terry's the lad who'll get out an' get under, with shovels an' hatchets an' bundles of wood. Steam at the heart an' muck on the outside, an' flappin' great treads just to fling it about, An' Terry's the lad who will catch it all over, 'cause Terry's the lad that they can't do without. Stand at the rail, an' breathe deep an' easy. She's makin' good speed an' she's back on the route, An' she's whistlin' a love-call, all white-hot an' wheezy, 'cause Terry's the lad that she can't live without.	bundles of wood -- fascines and timbers were fed under the tracks to unditch landships.