In the misty land of Aggar, where the woolly mammoths roam,
Worked a kitchen-slave called Aelwrin who laboured all alone.
He's an exile from the Redlands, 'cross the Empire from his home,
In the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
One day he cried, "Stuff this!" (but not a turkey: he was rude!),
"My parents didn't fight these troops so I could cook their food:
I'll rise again a rebel, 'fore my goose is truly stewed,
In this regimental cookhouse of the Army."
He hadn't got a breastplate for to ward away his foes,
But he wore a leather apron that could shield him 'gainst their blows,
And for his helm a cookpot that came sliding down his nose,
From the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
He wielded a cleaver which he swung in deadly chops:
In his other hand a rolling-pin his foeman quickly drops:
His standard was a kitchen-mop for sweeping out the slops
From the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
The soldiers came for breakfast: they were staggered when they saw
This figure in his armour, like a hero out of yore,
Who'd give his life to stop these soldiers getting through the door
To the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
Now, military men with any learning always say
That food is more important to their soldiers than their pay,
For they'll fight upon their stomachs 'less they're fed two times a
day
By the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
So now there was a stand-off, for these soldiers all unfed
They couldn't make no headway if they'd want to keep their head,
For Aelwrin was riled, and he was like to strike them dead
At the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
Emerging from the tent now of the troops' commander old
Came a maiden young and tender, with her tresses all red-gold,
Came Jar-eel the Razoress, that heroine so bold,
To the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
She said, "Aelwrin, the way you swing that cleaver isn't proper:
If you keep it up, when I fight you you'll surely come a'cropper.
But I could give you lessons now in how to wield your chopper
In the regimental cookhouse of the Army."
Now Aelwrin thought this offer one he surely couldn't lose,
So he let her in the cookhouse for to teach him what she'd choose,
As the soldiers stood round hungrily, all waiting for some news
From the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
But the oddest sounds came from within as battle now was joined,
For both combatants had mettle, full of ardour, lusty-loined,
And the timbers they were creaking as they futtered and they foined
In the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
Till Aelwrin cried, "Enough! For now my uprising is o'er.
In struggling with you I've learned moves I'd not known before,
And my strength it has been spent down here upon the kitchen floor
In the regimental cookhouse of the Army."
So Jar-eel took in hand this strapping, spunky, stalwart youth,
And whispered in his ears the blessed words of Lunar Truth,
And Aelwrin converted 'soon as he had heard the proof
In the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
Now Aelwrin's a general, and knives of steel he's got,
For he's a Lunar Hero now, whose name won't be forgot.
But to us he's got another name, for we call him "Beat-Pot"
In the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
So if you think the soldier-boys are getting all the praise
To the detriment of scullions who labour nights and days,
Just tell them how this kitchen-slave to glory he was raised
From the regimental cookhouse of the Army.
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