A Pot Of Tea
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and dirty, and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To rum they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!
I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
Commentary
Here’s a nice poem on tea. Actually I got it from Aseem who seems to be contributing a lot to the Minstrels these days, dunno why he has not submitted this one yet. I love tea, hence the very title of this poem grabs my attention. Love the simple and matter-of-fact way in which the poem announces its existence - “a pot of tea”. These are my favourite lines:
You’re awful cold and dirty, and a-cursin’ of your lot; You scoff the blushin’ ‘alf of it, so rich and rippin’ ‘ot; It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot: God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
I just love having a warm, fragrant cup of tea when I am tired - just the smell of the brew makes me feel better.
— Zenobia
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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.
Annam · 29 July 2005
I agree, and would like to offer this one, which I find more satisfying.
Twinings Orange Pekoe
Judith Moffett
The gas ring’s hoarse exhaling wheeze,
Voice of blue flamelets, licks the kettle’s
Copper underbelly, which crouches
Closer, concentrates, by degrees
Begins spellbound to match that pressure
And dragon tone. Breath crowds the slim
Tranced throat that cannot close or scream;
It spouts a rushing whooo of pleasure.
The brown potbellied pot, top doffed,
Reveals its scalded insides tender
Nursery blue, from which a cloud
Exudes, and from its spout, a slender
Curl. It sweats and loves the tch
A lid makes popping off a tin,
The fragrance rich as leafmold, rich
As pipe tobacco, coffee, cocoa;
Loves the spoon’s dry scroop, the skin-
Tight leafheap scattered in its breast
(A tannic prickle); the swift boiling
Flashflood, spoonswirl, settling flight; loves best
The steeping in the dark: blind alchemy:
Tap water, and an acid that cures leather
Stains cups and eats through glazes, pregnantly Stewing together.
To arch forth in a stream as brown and bright And smoky as an eye, strain marbling up
Through milk and sugar in a stoneware cup,
White white on white.
Benno Kunze · 30 July 2005
The line “(For fightin’ mustn’t interfere with Tea).” is worth a comment, I thought.
In a French comic book the protagonists
(Asterix and Obelix, gauls from now northern France) visit the British Isles. Since the inhabitants of the British Isles have not yet discovered tea, they’re having hot water with milk at five o’clock and they follow through with that custom throughout the story even stopping to fight the invading Romans in the afternoon just to have their five o’clock water. (In the end of the book, the tea leaves are introduced to the British Celts by the gaulic druid and so the tradition lives on)