23/12/2025
And as is now traditional at this time of year:
"’Twas the Night Before an Imperial Christmas"
With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the camp
All the chaps were there gathered, bemoaning the damp
Which arose from the half-frozen earth down below
As the camp was all covered by six feet of snow.
As small fires guttered in the cold and the wet
And the Privates all grumbled, expecting worse yet
And the Officers sat in their tiny damp tents,
And tried to stop heat escaping their vents;
When out on the Quad there arose a great shout
And song and great mirth were all bellowing out
As bobbing and weaving and all in Best Dress
The Sergeants emerged fully primed from their Mess.
’Twas a sight to behold as the Sergeants all gathered
All rosy and smiling and fairly well lathered
Still swigging their port from tankards raised high
With an impishly glittering gleam in their eye.
They bellowed for Privates, they called them by name
And knowing their Sergeants the Privates all came
With their leather all gleaming, and brass all aglow
Through flickering torchlight they made such a show.
They slipped and they slithered, they stamped all about
They stood to their markers with chests sticking out
They Right Dressed and shuffled, with nary a mention
Until they stood firmly, long lines at Attention.
As the Officers all from their tents did appear
With their batmen a-fussing o’er the state of their gear
The Sergeants did all, with considerable glee,
Bellow “Salute the fine gen’lemen, an’ then look at ME!”
And a stillness descended all over the camp
Still dripping and freezing and running with damp
As the snow kept on falling all over the ground
And no-one, but NO-ONE would DARE look around.
From afar in the distance, way out in the snow,
Came the jingle of harness, and a voice crooning low
And the RSM bellowed, in phrasing quite blunt
“Listen to ME! ALL Ranks! Eyeeeess … FRONT!
As every eye turned to face the flagstaff
Every ear was a’twitching, and I don’t mean by half
Not a single head turned, not a Chap played daft games
As the air was all filled with wondrous names;
"Ho, DASHER! Ho, DANCER! Ho, PRANCER and VIXEN!
Oh, COMET! Oh CUPID! Oh, DONDER and BLITZEN
Be swift now and land, we have gifts to deliver
These poor Soldiers of Empire are starting to shiver.”
With a bump and a slither and a crunching of ice
And a scent of hot puddings, all laden with spice
And a clinking of bottles, a’rattling and ringing
Like the choir of a brew’ry raucously singing
The sound of great labours was clear to be heard
But the gathering of soldiers produced not a word,
All holding their breaths, their eyes forward staring
At the broad backs of Sergeants, all well beyond caring
And then with a rush, a mad gallop and snort
Came the ringing of sleigh bells, or so all there thought
And with a great roar, and a great share of Grace,
Each sergeant bellowed “ALL Ranks! About FACE!”
They all turned as one and took in such a scene
Of a great festal feast laid out just like a dream
And a deep voice came echoing out of the white
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
