Vitaï Lampada – Christmas Every Day

The Victorians loved inspirational poetry and this one by Sir Henry Newbolt impressed me when I was a young lad. It took me decades to understand the first verse which describes a school cricket match. The hero is the last batsman and he needs to score ten runs despite the hard fast balls that will come off “a bumping pitch” and the light of the sinking sun in his eye. The sporting spirit which his school has instilled enables him as a young officer in the Sudan to rally the troops surrounded by hostile natives.

There’s a breathless hush in the Close to-night—

Ten to make and the match to win—

A bumping pitch and a blinding light,

An hour to play and the last man in.

And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,

Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,

But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote

“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

The sand of the desert is sodden red,—

Red with the wreck of a square that broke;—

The Gatling’s jammed and the Colonel dead,

And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed his banks,

And England’s far, and Honour a name,

But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:

“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

This is the word that year by year,

While in her place the school is set,

Every one of her sons must hear,

And none that hears it dare forget.

This they all with a joyful mind

Bear through life like a torch in flame,

And falling fling to the host behind—

“Play up! play up! and play the game!”

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