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<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
Hello and Welcome.
These are some of Rudyard Kiplings (text-colour:yellow)[Just So Stories] from an edition printed in 1928. Please select the one you want to read:
[[How The Whale Got His Throat|Whale]]
[[How The Camel Got His Hump|Camel]]
[[How The Rhinoceros Got His Skin|Rhino]]
[[Additional Poems|Poems]]
[[Brief Biography|Biography]]
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volumeDisplay: true
debug: truebeep: ./Audio/beep.mp3, ./Audio/beep.ogg
nope: ./Audio/no.mp3, ./Audio/no.ogg
que-pena: ./Audio/que-pena.mp3
cibelle: ./Audio/cibelle.mp3, ./cibelle/no.ogg
Tension: ./Audio/Tension.mp3, ./Tension/no.ogg
IF: ./Audio/IF.mp3, ./IF/no.ogg
mandalay: ./Audio/mandalay.mp3, ./mandalay/no.ogg
tommy: ./Audio/tommy.mp3, ./tommy/no.ogg<img src="Images/tycoch_games.png" alt="Tycoch Games" />
[[Title|Title]](masteraudio: 'stopall')\
<img src="Images/w1.jpg" alt="Whale 1" />
<img src="Images/w2.jpg" alt="Whale 2" />
<img src="Images/w3.jpg" alt="Whale 3" />
<img src="Images/w4.jpg" alt="Whale 4" />
<img src="Images/w5.jpg" alt="Whale 5" />
<img src="Images/w6.jpg" alt="Whale 6" />
<img src="Images/w7.jpg" alt="Whale 7" />
<img src="Images/w8.jpg" alt="Whale 8" />
<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
I hope you enjoyed that story. Both the story and the images were by Rudyard Kipling. Click below to select another story.
[[Another Story|Title]]
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<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
Not strictly in the (text-colour:yellow)[Just So Stories], but still well worth a read. You can click on a link after each poem to hear them read. Courtesy of (text-colour:cyan)[The Kipling Society].
You may have to click the arrow in the top left hand corner to access the volume control and adjust accordingly.
[[If|If]]
[[Mandalay|Mandalay]]
[[Tommy|Tommy]]
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<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
I hope you enjoyed these poems. Click below to select another story.
[[Another Story|Title]]
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''If''
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
{
(link-repeat: "Hear If Read.")[
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}
[[Back to Poems|Poems]]
''Mandalay''
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! "
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay ?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o' mud
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay...
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay...
But that's all shove be'ind me - long ago an' fur away
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay...
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and -
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay...
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
O the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay !
{
(link-repeat: "Hear Mandalay Read.")[
(track: 'mandalay', 'play')
]
}
[[Back to Poems|Poems]]''Tommy''
I went into a public 'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, " We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' " Tommy, go away " ;
But it's " Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's " Thank you, Mister Atkins," when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' " Tommy, wait outside ";
But it's " Special train for Atkins " when the trooper's on the tide
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's " Special train for Atkins " when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap.
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Tommy, 'ow's yer soul? "
But it's " Thin red line of 'eroes " when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's " Thin red line of 'eroes, " when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Tommy, fall be'ind,"
But it's " Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's " Please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an` Chuck him out, the brute! "
But it's " Saviour of 'is country " when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An 'Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool - you bet that Tommy sees!
{
(link-repeat: "Hear Tommy Read.")[
(track: 'tommy', 'play')
]
}
[[Back to Poems|Poems]](masteraudio: 'stopall')\
<img src="Images/kipling.jpg" alt="Kipling" />
Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay on December 30th 1865, son of John Lockwood Kipling, an artist and teacher of architectural sculpture, and his wife Alice. His mother was one of the talented and beautiful Macdonald sisters, four of whom married remarkable men, Sir Edward Burne-Jones, Sir Edward Poynter, Alfred Baldwin, and John Lockwood Kipling.
Young Rudyard’s earliest years in Bombay were blissfully happy, in an India full of exotic sights and sounds. But at the age of five he was sent back to England with his sister to stay with a foster family in Southsea, where he was desperately unhappy. The experience would colour some of his later writing.
When he was twelve he went to the United Services College at Westward Ho! near Bideford, where the Headmaster, Cormell Price, a friend of his father and uncles, fostered his literary ability.
//Stalky and Co.//, based on those schooldays, has been much relished by generations of schoolboys. Despite poor eyesight which handicapped him on the games field, he began to blossom.
In 1882, aged sixteen, he returned to Lahore, where his parents now lived, to work on the Civil and Military Gazette , and later on its sister paper the Pioneer in Allahabad.
In his limited spare time he wrote many remarkable poems and stories which were published alongside his reporting. When these were collected and published as books, they formed the basis of his early fame.
Returning to England in 1889, Kipling won instant success with //Barrack-Room Ballads// which were followed by some more brilliant short stories. After the death of an American friend and literary collaborator, Wolcott Balestier, he married Wolcott’s sister Carrie in 1892.
After a world trip, he returned with Carrie to her family home in Brattleboro, Vermont, USA, with the aim of settling down there. It was in Brattleboro, deep in New England, that he wrote //Captains Courageous// and //The Jungle Books// , and where their first two children, Josephine and Elsie, were born.
A quarrel with Rudyard’s brother-in-law drove the Kiplings back to England in 1896, and the following year they moved to Rottingdean in Sussex, the county which he adopted as his own. Their son John was born in North End House, the holiday home of Rudyard’s aunt, Georgiana Burne-Jones, and soon they moved into The Elms.
Life was content and fulfilling until, tragically, Josephine died while the family were on a visit to the United States in early 1899.
By now Kipling had come to be regarded as the People’s Laureate and the poet of Empire, and he produced some of his most memorable poems and stories in Rottingdean, including //Kim//, //Stalky and Co.//, and (text-colour:yellow)[Just So Stories].
Life could never be the same again after Josephine’s death, and in 1902 he sought the seclusion of a lovely seventeenth century iron-master’s house house in the Weald of Sussex, near Burwash, called Bateman’s where he spent his remaining years.
//Puck of Pook’s Hill// and //Rewards and Fairies// , which included the poem //If//, and other well-known volumes of stories, were written there, and express Kipling’s deep sense of the ancient continuity of place and people in the English countryside.
When the Boer War broke out in 1899, Kipling’s poem, //The Absent-Minded Beggar// raised vast sums of money for the benefit of British soldiers. (Alfred Harmsworth, who owned the paper, and who had asked Kipling to support the fund, introduced him to the joys and frustrations of the pioneer motorist.)
Kipling visited South Africa during the war, visiting hospitals and hospital trains, and writing tales and poems about the conflict. He was appalled by the lack of preparedness and professionalism of the British army. He was a friend of of Lord Milner, Cecil Rhodes, and of Dr Jameson, leader of the Jameson Raid, on whose qualities the poem //If// is said to have been based. He knew Lord Roberts, the Commander-in-Chief, from Indian days, and wrote at Roberts’s request for the Army’s newspaper in Bloemfontein, rediscovering the familiar routines of journalism. Thereafter he spent many winters after in a house near Capetown, at the invitation of Rhodes.
Kipling foresaw the First World War, and tried to alert the nation to the need to be prepared for it. When it came he denounced in vivid poems and stories the aggressive brutality of the German assault on Belgium and France. He reported on the sailors guarding the shore of Britain, and on the soldiers in training for action in France The loss of his son John in his first battle at the age if 18 was a shattering blow. He did all he could to persuade Americans that their country should come into the war on the side of the British and French, as they did in 1917. When peace came in 1918 he called for severe retribution against Germany.
After the war he continued to write, and some of the post-war stories (for instance in //Debits and Credits//) are counted among his finest. He was also much involved in the work of the Imperial War Graves Commission, and King George V became a personal friend. The Kiplings travelled a great deal, and at the outset of one of their journeys, in January 1936, Rudyard died, just three days before his King. He had declined most of the many honours which had been offered him, including a knighthood, the Poet Laureateship, and the Order of Merit, although in 1907 he had accepted the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Rudyard Kipling’s reputation grew from phenomenal early critical success to international celebrity, then faded for a time as his conservative views were held by some to be old-fashioned. The balance has been somewhat restored, and many readers in the 21st century continue to appreciate his mastery of expression in poetry and prose, and the sheer range of his work. His role as the bard of empire remains an issue of debate.
His memoir //Something of Myself// was written in 1935, the last year of his life and published posthumously.
Based on material from (text-colour:cyan)[The Kipling Society].
<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
I hope you enjoyed this brief biography. Click below to select another story.
[[Another Story|Title]]
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<img src="Images/c1.jpg" alt="Camel 1" />
<img src="Images/c2.jpg" alt="Camel 2" />
<img src="Images/c3.jpg" alt="Camel 3" />
<img src="Images/c4.jpg" alt="Camel 4" />
<img src="Images/c5.jpg" alt="Camel 5" />
<img src="Images/c6.jpg" alt="Camel 6" />
<img src="Images/c7.jpg" alt="Camel 7" />
<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
I hope you enjoyed that story. Both the story and the images were by Rudyard Kipling. Click below to select another story.
[[Another Story|Title]]
<hr class="clear">(masteraudio: 'stopall')\
<img src="Images/r1.jpg" alt="Rhino 1" />
<img src="Images/r2.jpg" alt="Rhino 2" />
<img src="Images/r3.jpg" alt="Rhino 3" />
<img src="Images/r4.jpg" alt="Rhino 4" />
<img src="Images/r5.jpg" alt="Rhino 5" />
<img src="Images/r6.jpg" alt="Rhino 6" />
<img src="Images/r7.jpg" alt="Rhino 7" />
<img class="left-side large" src="Images/narrator.png" alt="Narrator" />
I hope you enjoyed that story. Both the story and the images were by Rudyard Kipling. Click below to select another story.
[[Another Story|Title]]
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