The Charge Of The Light Brigade Revisited; The Russian Invasion Of Ukraine Version
(Author’s note: This was originally written about the Russian mini- invasion in 2014. The number of invaders was changed to match the number of Russian troops originally amassed on the Ukraine border.)
There is a famous poem written about another famous invasion of Crimea from the 1800’s- the British fighting the Russians on the Crimean Peninsula. It is called ‘The Charge Of The Light Brigade’ by Alfred Lord Tennyson and concerns itself with the insane and callous ordering of a Brigade of horsemen to attack a Russian battalion that had them surrounded on three sides. It was a popularly received bit of writing; so famous that several movies were made about it.
In lieu of recent developments in the Ukraine (Crimea WAS a part of Ukraine until Putin snitched it.) here is a modern remake of it- from the Russian point of view this time followed by the original poem:
(P.S.- a league is a measurement of land.)
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All into the Crimea,
Flew the six thousand.
Forward the Russian flag!
Let’s play political tag!
Into the comrade Ukraine,
Flew the hundred thousand.
Forward the Russian flag!
Was there a man portrayed,
Who still did not know,
It was a political play?
If they were to question why,
Putin would scold them not to cry,
It is not their business to pry,
Into the cold Crimea,
Flew the hundred thousand.
Protestors to the north of them,
Tartars to the right of them,
Ukranians to the left of them,
Screaming and shouting.
Disguised as though they Ukrainen be,
Put on an act did they,
In the town squares,
In the countryside,
Came the hundred thousand.
Putin lied, his face so bare,
Said “We must take real care,
Else our fellow Russians there,
Will go over to the other side,
And our orders will not abide.”
As all the world wonders.
Putting on airs that all is normal,
Though all around was a political squall,
Cossack and Russian,
Performed as though in a fairy tale,
Written by Tschaicovsky,
Then came even more,
Many more than the hundred thousand.
Protestors to the north of them,
Tartars to the left of them,
Ukranians to the right of them,
Threatened with sanctions.
They knew they had an easy gig,
Plus they were backed up by MIG’s.
Pretending to protect their countrymen,
When really they don’t give a fig,
Then arrived yet more of them,
Adding to the hundred thousand.
When will they go back home,
So that I can end this poem?
All the world wonders.
The Russian soldiers wives are going to fool around,
Their neighbor will feel her Venus Mound,
Go home, please, hundred thousand!
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THE ORIGINAL POEM
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death,
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldiers knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred