Post by KyferLegs (Diria) on Oct 25, 2023 0:45:08 GMT -5
From the outside of the shack, it looked like any other you'd see in eastern Diria. Its outside walls were a mixture of sandstone and supporting brick. Its roof was a mixture of slate and wood, yet the luxury of it being a rarity, the house was obviously for medium-class Dirians. Yet, it wasn't luxurious and was reasonably equivalent to the simpler homes around it due to its age. In contrast, the interior was unique, as its quaint decor was charming. All the furniture was mostly wood, engraved, and undoubtedly beautiful but not expensive, yet wood furniture of this quality was scarce. Yet, some supporting furnishings were metal, mainly the more essential utilities like the stove and cooler, as fridges were rare in Diria. To the observer, this home's owner had tried to balance a mixture of foreign style with Dirian culture, as the curtains, rugs, and more were certainly local, in their luxurious colors, mainly reds, blues, and occasionally deep yellows, that the Dirians loved and had easy access to.
The owners of the hamlet themselves were pleasant, with the older lady of the house praised as the best. The lady, called Lakia, was most likely an Ohmyidan. With dedication, she accommodated the nearly dozen soldiers, who were all quite rugged and ragged in their tan uniforms, contrasting against the well-kept and clean interior. Meanwhile, the husband of Lakia was named Jan, an alias the ten men had never heard of. Thus, they immediately learned by his name alone he was a foreigner. Once they met him, his complexion gave it away, too. Both were quite old, with estimates of around 60 to 70. Lakia moved slowly, her age getting to her, but Jan mystified the soldiers, as in his wrinkled state, he seemed still as swift as if he was 40. Through his antics, he quickly gained the respect of the soldiers for lecturing them as if they were his own. Similarly, Jan respected them if they followed his rules, which he always ordered in his blunt and terse manner, giving an aura of authority that the soldiers even followed.
The first rule Jan established was that all rifles and "gatling guns," as he called their machine gun, had to be leaned against a wall near the front door, except for the revolver of the Squad's Sergeant. However, when the Sergeant offered Jan thanks for respecting his rank, the older man confidently explained, "I give you the exception 'cause it's a McCarron. I know it'll do its job even if you're a dunce. If it were anything else, it'd be on a shelf!" Despite some setbacks, like not being able to wear their boots if they were going to keep stepping on the rugs, nor having their guns for defense, they still felt comfortable, and the soldiers joked that if the Verakis came in, Jan would kill them with his gaze. In fairness, the building didn't look like a military target, and they were far enough from the front line to feel safe.
The most alert of the group was Piuymo, by the name of Abdul Jabbaar el-Ahmadi, but the Squad just called him Abdul. He was ludicrously tall compared to everyone else. Innocent Lakia offered the silent man a cup of tea in sympathy cause she thought Abdul sat by the door due to this height. After all, her home did have short archways, and knowing such, she kept referring to Abdul as the "poor boy" when talking to Jan. Yet, the rest saw the long-snout Piuymo as overly paranoid, his eyes fixating out the old hazy windows. However, internally, Abdul did it for precisely such, but he also felt, compared to the rest of the Squad, that he was an outsider, and his race did him no favors; thus, he instinctively kept his distance. However, he still politely accepted the tea after some initial refusal. It gave him respite that the old lady cared so deeply for him, just like the rest of the group.
Away from the front door, there were numerous ways of entertainment in the lovely home. There were plenty of books on shelves, board games, and even a radio, but sadly, Jan had yelled at all of them, exclaiming the radio was off-limits. However, in mercy, Jan allowed them to use the old gramophone near the furnace. Regardless, Jan attempted to mask his sympathy into simply coincidence, claiming the gramophone sounded like shit anyways. The rest of the group joyfully occupied the bottom half of the shack beside Sergeant Lotfi, who tried to converse with Jan. Jan wanted nothing to do with the Sergeant. Yet, Sergeant Lofti followed the increasingly infuriated older man, who shuffled away to other places in the house and pretended to do essential chores. Finally, the charade ended upstairs, where Jan finally snapped: "If I wanted a fucking duckling, I'd have a pen to put them in, but do you see a pen!?"
Sergeant Lotfi attempted to muster a response but was overruled by Jan's continuous yelling. The muffled shouts through the home's old flooring caused most of the soldiers downstairs sitting or standing around a reasonably large dinner table to snicker as their Sergeant was barraged with insults. However, besides eavesdropping on the yelling upstairs, the second most pressing event was the platter of sandwiches Lakia hurriedly placed as she quickly scampered upstairs to cool down her frustrated husband; evidently, she was the only thing that ever calmed him down. Meanwhile, the soldiers who weren't preoccupied with the yelling had quickly begun grabbing slices, and soon, it became a shouting match between Salar Santel and Ahron Fanto. Both were Ohmyidans, corporals, great friends, and talkative and loud. The two had quickly become the Squad's favorites, considering they could make any dull topic fun and, despite their behavior, were outstanding soldiers. However, it was also well known each could eat well above their weight if given the chance.
After the two took advantage of the distraction, Salar quickly hollered, watching one of his precious pre-determined sandwiches being dragged away by a wretched hand. "Ay- What are you doing? That was mine!"
"-Quiet you!" Ahron half-whispered, not wanting to alert the rest. Still, he quickly yanked the sandwich slice to his side of the table, shoved it into his haversack, and secured another piece of his haul. Next, he went after a portion he had grabbed just before and crammed it into his mouth, the fresh food that wasn't hardtack pleasure to his tastebuds.
Unfortunately, the clamor of the two quickly grabbed the attention of the rest of the soldiers, who then started grabbing their slices off the platter, eating them, and creating many other disagreements that were now being shouted at one another. At the same time, Ahron's thievery was halted by the body of another soldier blocking his reach. He sank into his chair, ate his current sandwich more slowly, and apathetically blurted to a clueless Salar. "Geez- See, now you done and ruined it..!" Which was quickly replied to by another third-party voice, "Shut it, glutton!"
Meanwhile, two preoccupied Zarous, smaller than the rest, were away from the table and had grown fixated on the gramophone near the furnace. At the same time, the pair were periodically observed with concealed curiosity by Abdul, who was still near the door. Nevertheless, one of the Zarous, who messed with the pieces of the gramophone, went by Sumehra Keles. He was more serious than his other squad members, yet he was still beloved, especially by Ahron Fanto, whom he served under as an assistant machine gunner. The other Zarou, a corpsman named Iltay Stapelia, wasn't part of the Squad but rather was a part of the platoon. However, he made frequent trips to check in on the loud sounds from the home. An excuse that he quickly began to manipulate due to the fantastic meals Lakia provided and the company the Squad gave. At the moment, Itlay was hunched over, swiping his paws through the box of records stored under the gramophone. With every flick and shuffle, the medic murmured "no" in a prolonged attempt to find a record that caught his interest. Sumehra avoided scrutinizing or hurrying the corpsman, but it was difficult as he hoped Jan wouldn't appear and make a new rule against using the gramophone and subsequently ruin their fun.
Ultimately, Itlay pulled a record from the dusty box, the title in a foreign language but with Dirian labels and branding. He balanced the record case against his palm like a platter and traced his right thumb on every word. "T-i-p-p-e-r-a-r-y?" He clicked his tongue in frustration and looked up at Sumehra, who looked equally puzzled. "What do you think it is?" Itlay exclaimed to Sumehra, trying to talk over the clamor from the table.
Sumehra reached over the medic and lifted the needle of the gramophone turn table. He then gestured for Itlay to hand him the record. "There is only one way to find out. You've taken as long as it is."
Itlay chuckled, mumbling, "Fine, fine." He gingerly slid the record from its case and slowly handed it to Sumehra as if it were a loaded rifle.
Sumehra couldn't help but smile, the gramophone brought him good memories, and even if the music by chance was terrible, it was better than silence or listening about sandwich thieves and fatasses. Grasping the record more firmly than his counterpoint, he slowly placed the record onto the turntable and flipped the brake off. Reaching farther across the gramophone, he gave it a few cranks and watched as the record began to spin. Soon after, he grabbed the needle and placed it on the edge of the record, giving off a loud scratchy noise.
Itlay gritted his teeth as he went to cut it off, yet stopped as the scratching noise got softer, and above crunchy static, instruments played, one being distinguishable as a trumpet. The yelling from the dining table began to soothe as the clashing voices began to hush one another as the group slowly turned their heads and bodies toward the Zarou, who awkwardly stared back at the group of soldiers. Yet, nobody said anything, and everyone intently listened, even Abdul, who stared at the gramophone while it began the song.
None of them comprehended the words, besides a few like Shrand, a state and city in Diria, Esther Square, a famous plaza in the city of Shrand, and Piccadillies, a type of flower. Nonetheless, the language was something most had never heard in depth, with some believing it was either Galran or Gaelic. Soon after the fourth line, Jan came downstairs, his wife quickly following. The grumpy man quickly froze, his wife grabbing his arm softly while he looked at the group of soldiers at his table listening intently to the song, and the two Zarous who gazed turned to stare back at Jan, thinking they were in deep shit for using the gramophone. Sergeant Lotfi also eventually appeared from upstairs, holding his patrol cap to his chest, upset about what happened upstairs. However, his demeanor also changed, hearing the music as he joined the other soldiers at the table.
Jan quickly shuffled to the table, his seemingly swift movements disappearing and being replaced by the speed of those similar to his age. The song faded into varying instrumental tones as he grabbed the back of a chair. The soldier who occupied it quickly gave his seat up for the old man, and Jan leaned forward toward the direction of the gramophone. His wife promptly joined him as the soldier who gave his chair to Jan forced another soldier to give up their seat to Lakia. Jan slowly let himself grin from nostalgia as Itlay and Sumehra looked at each other and, without talking, communicated to one another to slowly back away so as not to ruin the moment.
As the record reached the fifth stanza, the soldiers in the room realized the second and third stanzas would repeat. Gradually, a shy voice began to rise from the table, butchering the pronunciation of the language used on the record but keeping in with the song's rhythm. Others would quickly join in as the timidness to sing the song faded, and it seemed their host didn't care that they were ruining the music playing on his gramophone.
The room's excitement became intoxicating as the soldiers continued to get louder and louder, seemingly forgetting about the war outside. Even Abdul, alert near the door, began to let his guard down and hum the cheery tune of the song. Lakia gently whispered to her husband, inaudible to anyone besides herself and Jan, as the shouts and jeers of the soldiers laughing and making fun of each other dominated everything besides the music, their thick accents blanking the language they didn't know nor speak. Yet, as the sixth stanza began to play, the soldiers completely fell out of rhythm, the words more complex and unique to the song, yet surprisingly, Jan started to sing the music in the proper language weakly, his voice at first cracking under emotion, then fusing into the melody's cheerful tune as the soldiers around him quickly cheered him on, clapping and stomping.
The room buzzed with excitement as everyone shouted the song's lyrics with glee, even through the awful pace and understanding of the unknown lyrics that came through. Their tones were so loud that other squads in other buildings most likely heard them, yet the satisfaction it gave superseded all doubts and worries. Even Sergeant Lotfi had joined, wrapping his arm around the shoulder of a private who awkwardly sang with the cheerily roaring NCO.
The song's final seconds were loaded with physical and verbal emotion as even Jan, his voice yelling out, his hands clapping, his energy coming back, stood up with other soldiers who kept exciting the old man. Lakia also hummed the song as she watched her husband, whom she loved so dear, slip into his youthful age when they first met. The gramophone began to end with a slow and stable crackle as the soldiers cheered, laughed, joked, and gave each other handshakes while looking around and outside the windows, ensuring their enjoyment didn't alert or cause unwanted consequences. Jan looked at Itlay and Sumehra and back at the gramophone. Itlay looked at Sumehra and shrugged, then walked to the gramophone and chuckled. "There is no arguing with him, is there?" Shumehra nodded back in agreement.
Jan then looked at the soldiers, who had almost resumed their previous activities, such as eating. His eyebrows furrowing, he lifted his arms and began yelling in his harsh voice. "This time, you'll sing all of it correctly! In exchange, I'll tell you what the lyrics mean!"
The soldiers looked at each other, then to their Sergeant, who nodded and gestured for the men to look back to the enthusiastic Jan. Quickly, a voice from the group spoke up. "One more time couldn't hurt, surely?" Noisy laughter followed as the song began to play once again.
The owners of the hamlet themselves were pleasant, with the older lady of the house praised as the best. The lady, called Lakia, was most likely an Ohmyidan. With dedication, she accommodated the nearly dozen soldiers, who were all quite rugged and ragged in their tan uniforms, contrasting against the well-kept and clean interior. Meanwhile, the husband of Lakia was named Jan, an alias the ten men had never heard of. Thus, they immediately learned by his name alone he was a foreigner. Once they met him, his complexion gave it away, too. Both were quite old, with estimates of around 60 to 70. Lakia moved slowly, her age getting to her, but Jan mystified the soldiers, as in his wrinkled state, he seemed still as swift as if he was 40. Through his antics, he quickly gained the respect of the soldiers for lecturing them as if they were his own. Similarly, Jan respected them if they followed his rules, which he always ordered in his blunt and terse manner, giving an aura of authority that the soldiers even followed.
The first rule Jan established was that all rifles and "gatling guns," as he called their machine gun, had to be leaned against a wall near the front door, except for the revolver of the Squad's Sergeant. However, when the Sergeant offered Jan thanks for respecting his rank, the older man confidently explained, "I give you the exception 'cause it's a McCarron. I know it'll do its job even if you're a dunce. If it were anything else, it'd be on a shelf!" Despite some setbacks, like not being able to wear their boots if they were going to keep stepping on the rugs, nor having their guns for defense, they still felt comfortable, and the soldiers joked that if the Verakis came in, Jan would kill them with his gaze. In fairness, the building didn't look like a military target, and they were far enough from the front line to feel safe.
The most alert of the group was Piuymo, by the name of Abdul Jabbaar el-Ahmadi, but the Squad just called him Abdul. He was ludicrously tall compared to everyone else. Innocent Lakia offered the silent man a cup of tea in sympathy cause she thought Abdul sat by the door due to this height. After all, her home did have short archways, and knowing such, she kept referring to Abdul as the "poor boy" when talking to Jan. Yet, the rest saw the long-snout Piuymo as overly paranoid, his eyes fixating out the old hazy windows. However, internally, Abdul did it for precisely such, but he also felt, compared to the rest of the Squad, that he was an outsider, and his race did him no favors; thus, he instinctively kept his distance. However, he still politely accepted the tea after some initial refusal. It gave him respite that the old lady cared so deeply for him, just like the rest of the group.
Away from the front door, there were numerous ways of entertainment in the lovely home. There were plenty of books on shelves, board games, and even a radio, but sadly, Jan had yelled at all of them, exclaiming the radio was off-limits. However, in mercy, Jan allowed them to use the old gramophone near the furnace. Regardless, Jan attempted to mask his sympathy into simply coincidence, claiming the gramophone sounded like shit anyways. The rest of the group joyfully occupied the bottom half of the shack beside Sergeant Lotfi, who tried to converse with Jan. Jan wanted nothing to do with the Sergeant. Yet, Sergeant Lofti followed the increasingly infuriated older man, who shuffled away to other places in the house and pretended to do essential chores. Finally, the charade ended upstairs, where Jan finally snapped: "If I wanted a fucking duckling, I'd have a pen to put them in, but do you see a pen!?"
Sergeant Lotfi attempted to muster a response but was overruled by Jan's continuous yelling. The muffled shouts through the home's old flooring caused most of the soldiers downstairs sitting or standing around a reasonably large dinner table to snicker as their Sergeant was barraged with insults. However, besides eavesdropping on the yelling upstairs, the second most pressing event was the platter of sandwiches Lakia hurriedly placed as she quickly scampered upstairs to cool down her frustrated husband; evidently, she was the only thing that ever calmed him down. Meanwhile, the soldiers who weren't preoccupied with the yelling had quickly begun grabbing slices, and soon, it became a shouting match between Salar Santel and Ahron Fanto. Both were Ohmyidans, corporals, great friends, and talkative and loud. The two had quickly become the Squad's favorites, considering they could make any dull topic fun and, despite their behavior, were outstanding soldiers. However, it was also well known each could eat well above their weight if given the chance.
After the two took advantage of the distraction, Salar quickly hollered, watching one of his precious pre-determined sandwiches being dragged away by a wretched hand. "Ay- What are you doing? That was mine!"
"-Quiet you!" Ahron half-whispered, not wanting to alert the rest. Still, he quickly yanked the sandwich slice to his side of the table, shoved it into his haversack, and secured another piece of his haul. Next, he went after a portion he had grabbed just before and crammed it into his mouth, the fresh food that wasn't hardtack pleasure to his tastebuds.
Unfortunately, the clamor of the two quickly grabbed the attention of the rest of the soldiers, who then started grabbing their slices off the platter, eating them, and creating many other disagreements that were now being shouted at one another. At the same time, Ahron's thievery was halted by the body of another soldier blocking his reach. He sank into his chair, ate his current sandwich more slowly, and apathetically blurted to a clueless Salar. "Geez- See, now you done and ruined it..!" Which was quickly replied to by another third-party voice, "Shut it, glutton!"
Meanwhile, two preoccupied Zarous, smaller than the rest, were away from the table and had grown fixated on the gramophone near the furnace. At the same time, the pair were periodically observed with concealed curiosity by Abdul, who was still near the door. Nevertheless, one of the Zarous, who messed with the pieces of the gramophone, went by Sumehra Keles. He was more serious than his other squad members, yet he was still beloved, especially by Ahron Fanto, whom he served under as an assistant machine gunner. The other Zarou, a corpsman named Iltay Stapelia, wasn't part of the Squad but rather was a part of the platoon. However, he made frequent trips to check in on the loud sounds from the home. An excuse that he quickly began to manipulate due to the fantastic meals Lakia provided and the company the Squad gave. At the moment, Itlay was hunched over, swiping his paws through the box of records stored under the gramophone. With every flick and shuffle, the medic murmured "no" in a prolonged attempt to find a record that caught his interest. Sumehra avoided scrutinizing or hurrying the corpsman, but it was difficult as he hoped Jan wouldn't appear and make a new rule against using the gramophone and subsequently ruin their fun.
Ultimately, Itlay pulled a record from the dusty box, the title in a foreign language but with Dirian labels and branding. He balanced the record case against his palm like a platter and traced his right thumb on every word. "T-i-p-p-e-r-a-r-y?" He clicked his tongue in frustration and looked up at Sumehra, who looked equally puzzled. "What do you think it is?" Itlay exclaimed to Sumehra, trying to talk over the clamor from the table.
Sumehra reached over the medic and lifted the needle of the gramophone turn table. He then gestured for Itlay to hand him the record. "There is only one way to find out. You've taken as long as it is."
Itlay chuckled, mumbling, "Fine, fine." He gingerly slid the record from its case and slowly handed it to Sumehra as if it were a loaded rifle.
Sumehra couldn't help but smile, the gramophone brought him good memories, and even if the music by chance was terrible, it was better than silence or listening about sandwich thieves and fatasses. Grasping the record more firmly than his counterpoint, he slowly placed the record onto the turntable and flipped the brake off. Reaching farther across the gramophone, he gave it a few cranks and watched as the record began to spin. Soon after, he grabbed the needle and placed it on the edge of the record, giving off a loud scratchy noise.
Itlay gritted his teeth as he went to cut it off, yet stopped as the scratching noise got softer, and above crunchy static, instruments played, one being distinguishable as a trumpet. The yelling from the dining table began to soothe as the clashing voices began to hush one another as the group slowly turned their heads and bodies toward the Zarou, who awkwardly stared back at the group of soldiers. Yet, nobody said anything, and everyone intently listened, even Abdul, who stared at the gramophone while it began the song.
"Up from tiny Faroe came a Gaelian man one day."
"All the streets were paved with gold, sure everyone was gay."
"Singing songs of Piccadillies, Shrand, and Esther Square."
"Till Paddy got excited, and then he shouted to them there."
"All the streets were paved with gold, sure everyone was gay."
"Singing songs of Piccadillies, Shrand, and Esther Square."
"Till Paddy got excited, and then he shouted to them there."
None of them comprehended the words, besides a few like Shrand, a state and city in Diria, Esther Square, a famous plaza in the city of Shrand, and Piccadillies, a type of flower. Nonetheless, the language was something most had never heard in depth, with some believing it was either Galran or Gaelic. Soon after the fourth line, Jan came downstairs, his wife quickly following. The grumpy man quickly froze, his wife grabbing his arm softly while he looked at the group of soldiers at his table listening intently to the song, and the two Zarous who gazed turned to stare back at Jan, thinking they were in deep shit for using the gramophone. Sergeant Lotfi also eventually appeared from upstairs, holding his patrol cap to his chest, upset about what happened upstairs. However, his demeanor also changed, hearing the music as he joined the other soldiers at the table.
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"It's a long way to go."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"To the sweetest girl I know."
"Goodbye, Piccadillies."
"Farewell, Esther Square."
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"But my heart's right there."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"It's a long way to go."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"To the sweetest girl I know."
"Goodbye, Piccadillies."
"Farewell, Esther Square."
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"But my heart's right there."
"It's a long way to go."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"To the sweetest girl I know."
"Goodbye, Piccadillies."
"Farewell, Esther Square."
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"But my heart's right there."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"It's a long way to go."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"To the sweetest girl I know."
"Goodbye, Piccadillies."
"Farewell, Esther Square."
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"But my heart's right there."
Jan quickly shuffled to the table, his seemingly swift movements disappearing and being replaced by the speed of those similar to his age. The song faded into varying instrumental tones as he grabbed the back of a chair. The soldier who occupied it quickly gave his seat up for the old man, and Jan leaned forward toward the direction of the gramophone. His wife promptly joined him as the soldier who gave his chair to Jan forced another soldier to give up their seat to Lakia. Jan slowly let himself grin from nostalgia as Itlay and Sumehra looked at each other and, without talking, communicated to one another to slowly back away so as not to ruin the moment.
"Paddy wrote a letter to his Gaelian Molly O'."
"Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know."
"If I make mistakes in spelling, Molly, dear," said he."
"Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me."
"Saying, "Should you not receive it, write and let me know."
"If I make mistakes in spelling, Molly, dear," said he."
"Remember it's the pen that's bad, don't lay the blame on me."
As the record reached the fifth stanza, the soldiers in the room realized the second and third stanzas would repeat. Gradually, a shy voice began to rise from the table, butchering the pronunciation of the language used on the record but keeping in with the song's rhythm. Others would quickly join in as the timidness to sing the song faded, and it seemed their host didn't care that they were ruining the music playing on his gramophone.
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"It's a long way to go."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"To the sweetest girl I know."
"Goodbye, Piccadillies."
"Farewell, Esther Square."
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"But my heart's right there."
"It's a long way to go."
"It's a long way to Tipperary."
"To the sweetest girl I know."
"Goodbye, Piccadillies."
"Farewell, Esther Square."
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"But my heart's right there."
The room's excitement became intoxicating as the soldiers continued to get louder and louder, seemingly forgetting about the war outside. Even Abdul, alert near the door, began to let his guard down and hum the cheery tune of the song. Lakia gently whispered to her husband, inaudible to anyone besides herself and Jan, as the shouts and jeers of the soldiers laughing and making fun of each other dominated everything besides the music, their thick accents blanking the language they didn't know nor speak. Yet, as the sixth stanza began to play, the soldiers completely fell out of rhythm, the words more complex and unique to the song, yet surprisingly, Jan started to sing the music in the proper language weakly, his voice at first cracking under emotion, then fusing into the melody's cheerful tune as the soldiers around him quickly cheered him on, clapping and stomping.
"Molly wrote a neat reply to Gaelian Paddy O'."
"Saying, "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so."
"Leave the Sands and Piccadillies, or you'll be to blame."
"For love has fairly drove me silly, hoping you're the same."
"Saying, "Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so."
"Leave the Sands and Piccadillies, or you'll be to blame."
"For love has fairly drove me silly, hoping you're the same."
The room buzzed with excitement as everyone shouted the song's lyrics with glee, even through the awful pace and understanding of the unknown lyrics that came through. Their tones were so loud that other squads in other buildings most likely heard them, yet the satisfaction it gave superseded all doubts and worries. Even Sergeant Lotfi had joined, wrapping his arm around the shoulder of a private who awkwardly sang with the cheerily roaring NCO.
"It's a long way to Tipperary!"
"It's a long way to go!"
"It's a long way to Tipperary!"
"To the sweetest girl I know!"
"Goodbye, Piccadillies!"
"Farewell, Esther Square!"
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary!"
"But my heart's right there..!"
"It's a long way to go!"
"It's a long way to Tipperary!"
"To the sweetest girl I know!"
"Goodbye, Piccadillies!"
"Farewell, Esther Square!"
"It's a long, long way to Tipperary!"
"But my heart's right there..!"
The song's final seconds were loaded with physical and verbal emotion as even Jan, his voice yelling out, his hands clapping, his energy coming back, stood up with other soldiers who kept exciting the old man. Lakia also hummed the song as she watched her husband, whom she loved so dear, slip into his youthful age when they first met. The gramophone began to end with a slow and stable crackle as the soldiers cheered, laughed, joked, and gave each other handshakes while looking around and outside the windows, ensuring their enjoyment didn't alert or cause unwanted consequences. Jan looked at Itlay and Sumehra and back at the gramophone. Itlay looked at Sumehra and shrugged, then walked to the gramophone and chuckled. "There is no arguing with him, is there?" Shumehra nodded back in agreement.
Jan then looked at the soldiers, who had almost resumed their previous activities, such as eating. His eyebrows furrowing, he lifted his arms and began yelling in his harsh voice. "This time, you'll sing all of it correctly! In exchange, I'll tell you what the lyrics mean!"
The soldiers looked at each other, then to their Sergeant, who nodded and gestured for the men to look back to the enthusiastic Jan. Quickly, a voice from the group spoke up. "One more time couldn't hurt, surely?" Noisy laughter followed as the song began to play once again.