When Gough’s guns on the Sutlej

In flame begin to play

Far down in fair Calcutta

We started on our way

Mid the crash of charging squadrons

And the crossing cannon-balls

The heroes of Sobraon

Kept the birth-day of St Paul’s

 

When Garvock’s men were forcing

Umbeyla’s trap of stone

We came up to Darjeeling

And made the hill our own

The mighty Kinchin-Junga

Beheld our rising walls

And flashed from all his glaciers

A greeting to St Paul’s

 

We front the stars of heaven

The top-cost school on earth

We’ve drawn the breath of conquest

Into our lungs from birth

The Himalayan Eagle

That soars and sweeps and falls

Scarce seeks a higher Eyrie

Than the play-ground of St Paul’s

 

As high as in our dwelling

So shall our hearts be high

With body soul and spirit

To work until we die

And higher ever higher

When Fame and Duty calls

Shall rise the answering “Adsum”

From the play-ground of St Paul’s

 

And when our work is over

North, South or East or West

And we turn to meet our Maker

Having tried to do our best

We shall know that in Darjeeling

As each good wicket falls

They’ll be cheering wildly cheering

On the play-ground of St Paul’s

 

Pretty handed the poem to Tom

Where did you say you found it?

In a book of Kipling’s poems

I thought it might have been one of his but seems to be somebody writing in his style

There are a number of grammatical errors in the poem

I think it might have been written by an Indian gentleman who much admired Kipling

That accounts for the poor English

Maybe

Is there any clue as to the poet?

Well there are initial’s after the poem

E.A.N

Are there any other clues?

The name D.B.Singh appears and this is dated the 18/11/22

That is when I suppose the poem was written

Kipling was still alive

Very much so

It was about a quarter of a century before independence

A lost era which will never return

You sound nostalgic for it

Yes I suppose I am

My parents were in India in the late 1940s

Were they glad to return to England?

Yes and no

You cannot go to India and not miss it that was what my father told me

But he did not miss the poverty and the disease

There is not much in England that can kill you

I agree one can stroll around this great country of ours and feel safe 

On the cricket pitch Phillips had been bowled for sixty-three

St Paul’s still needed eighteen to win

I think it is up to you and Perkins to win the match

That is why it is so much fun being the last man in

Good luck Tom

I will need it Pretty

Tom walked out to the crease and was soon facing his first ball

Pretty sat back in her deck-chair in anticipation

The ball was poor and Tom tucked it away for a four

Only fourteen to win

On the boundary a tall Indian gentleman was watching the game

The bowler from the opposition appeared to have lost his nerve and another poor ball was played to the boundary by Tom

They’ll be cheering wildly cheering
On the play-ground of St Paul’s

Pretty walked towards the Indian gentleman

Excuse me are you by any chance D.B.Singh?

No my father is long dead

I am D.G.Singh

Tom is a fine batsman

I agree if he took it seriously

Well played Sir

Another four was added to the scoreboard

Only six to win

What is your name?

Pretty

That is a nice name

It is not my real name

My real name is Jane

Perkins was facing the first ball of the new over

He looked confident

I fear he going to lose his wicket

Why do you say that?

He is taking chances

I have seen many men do that in battle and lose their lives

The bowler has seen that he has left his off stump slightly exposed

Perkins expects him to try to take that stump out

But the bowler is experienced and he will bowl straight

Perkins will lose his wicket and with that St Paul’s will lose the match

The Indian gentleman was correct as Perkin’s wicket was shattered by the next ball

The match was lost

Bad luck Tom

The better side won

I was speaking to an Indian gentleman who said that Perkins would lose his wicket

Where were you standing?

On the boundary near the Ash tree

You were alone Pretty

I thought you were singing to yourself or something

No there was an Indian gentleman speaking with me

You were alone mark my word

Pretty smiled nervously

Where is the poem?

I left it on the deck-chair when I went out to bat

It is not there now perhaps it has blown away

There is no breeze to speak of today

Tom and Pretty searched for the poem for a few minutes

I am sure that someone will find it good luck to them

Let me clean up and then I shall take you for a spanking tea

That would be most agreeable Tom

As she left the cricket field Pretty looked back at the empty pitch

On the boundary near the Ash tree she saw the Indian gentleman again

He was holding the poem and staring at the vacant wicket

Be quick Tom for some reason I have worked up a huge appetite this afternoon

Even though it is so hot