Rudyard Kipling"
“When you're left wounded on Afganistan's plains and
the women come out to cut up what remains, Just roll to your rifle
and blow out your brains,
And go to your God like a soldier”
General Douglas MacArthur"
“We are not retreating. We are advancing in another direction.”
“It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win it.” “Old soldiers never die; they just fade away.
“The soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for he must suffer and be the deepest wounds and scars of war.”
“May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't .” “The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.
“Nobody ever defended, there is only attack and attack and attack some more.
“It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived.
The Soldier stood and faced God
Which must always come to pass
He hoped his shoes were shining
Just as bright as his brass
"Step forward you Soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true?"
"No, Lord, I guess I ain't
Because those of us who carry guns
Can't always be a saint."
I've had to work on Sundays
And at times my talk was tough,
And sometimes I've been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny
That wasn't mine to keep.
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills got just too steep,
The Soldier squared his shoulders and said
And I never passed a cry for help
Though at times I shook with fear,
And sometimes, God forgive me,
I've wept unmanly tears.
I know I don't deserve a place
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around
Except to calm their fears.
If you've a place for me here,
Lord, It needn't be so grand,
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don't, I'll understand."
There was silence all around the throne
Where the saints had often trod
As the Soldier waited quietly,
For the judgment of his God.
"Step forward now, you Soldier,
You've borne your burden well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,
You've done your time in Hell."
From Sabri Zain : The Orang Asli should ask for reparations from UMNO.It was the Malay fasting-month, the bulan puasa (fasting month) when
these
last events occurred. It is not an auspicious time for conducting
negotiations
with Malays, they do not even at-tempt to work for that month, they
sleep
for most of the day and sit up most of the night, eating and talking,
discussing
affairs and hatching plots.
In Lower Perak during this particular month of Ramdhan, an unusual
amount
of discussion had been carried on between Sultan Abdullah and his
chiefs,
and they determined not only that the British Resident should be got
rid
of, but one of them, entitled the Maharaja Lela, undertook to do the
business
the next time Mr. Birch visited him. This man, the Maharaja Lela, was a chief of considerable rank, after
the
Sultan he was the seventh in the State. He lived at Pasir Salak, on the
right
bank of the Perak River, about thirty miles above the residence of
Sultan
Abdullah, and about forty below that of ex-Sultan Ismail. He avoided
Mr.
Birch whenever it was possible (though living only five miles from
him),
and managed to keep friends with both Sultans. Going straight up to the Chinese shop, he began tearing down the
newly-posted
papers; the interpreter protested, and, seeing no heed was paid to him,
turned
towards the bath-house. He had not made half a dozen steps, when Pandak
Indut
overtook him and thrust his spear into the man's abdomen. The wounded
man
fell down the bank into the river and caught hold of his master's bait,
but
others followed him and cut him over the head and hands, so that he let
go
and struggled out into the stream. The interpreter disposed of, Pandak Indut cried out, `Here is Mr. Birch
in
the bath-house, come, let us kill him,' and, followed by three or four
others
shouting amok, amok, they leapt on to the floating timbers and thrust
their
spears through the open space in the front of the house. At that time men in the boats could see Mr. Birch's head above the mat
wall;
it disappeared without any sound from him, and a moment after he came
to
the surface of the water astern of the house. Some of the murderers
were
already waiting there, and one of them, a man called Siputum, slashed
the
Resident over the head with a sword. He sank and was not seen again. The Sikh orderly, standing with a revolver at the door of the
bath-house,
jumped into the river without any warning to his master, swam off to
one
of the boats and saved himself. The river-bank was now the scene of a general melee. A Malay boatman
and
a Sikh had been killed, but the others had got one of the boats away
from
the bank into midstream and towards it two of Mr. Birch's Malays were
swimming
while they supported the grievously wounded interpreter. With
difficulty
they gained the boat and got the man in.
