CASABIANCA was written by Felicia Hemans in 1826 and first published in the August edition of the New Monthly Magazine that year. It is supposed to relate the events of a real incident during the Battle of the Nile in 1798 aboard the French ship Orient when Giocante, the young son of the commander Louis de Casabianca, refused to leave his post – with such tragic results. Generations of schoolchildren learned the original poem by heart, but undoubtedly preferred any one of the numerous parodies it inspired. Here, below Hemans’s immortal original, are some of them.
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle’s wreck
Shone round him o’er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rolled on – he would not go
Without his Father’s word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud – ‘say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?’
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
‘Speak, father!’ once again he cried,
‘If I may yet be gone!’
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
‘My father! must I stay?’
While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound –
The boy – oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea! –
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part –
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
Martin Gardner
The boy stood on the burning deck,
The flames ’round him did roar;
He found a bar of Ivory Soap
And washed himself ashore.
Anon.
The boy stood on the burning deck
And wished he hadn’t been born.
His mother said he wouldn’t have been
If the johnny hadn’t torn.
Anon.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
His feet were covered in blisters.
He had no trousers of his own [or His trousers burnt right off his legs]
And so he wore his sister’s.
Only Fools and Horses
The boy stood on the burning deck
His pockets full of crackers
One slipped down his trouser-leg
And burnt off both his… kneecaps!
Colin Thompson
The boy stood on the burning duck
A stupid thing to do
Because the duck was roasting
On the barbecue.
Casabazonka
Spike Milligan
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled –
The twit!
Anon.
The boy stood on the burning deck
Smoke billowing through the air
‘I can’t stand it any more!’ he cried,
And sat down on a chair
Anon.
The boy stood on the burning deck
Eating a thre’penny Walls,
Till a bit fell down his trouser leg
And paralysed his kneecap.
The boy stood on the burning deck
His lips were all a-quiver
He gave a cough, his leg fell off
And floated down the river.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Picking his nose like mad.
He rolled it into little balls
And flicked them at his dad.
The boy stood on the burning deck
His head was in a whirl.
He put his head between his legs
And wished he was a girl. (submitted by Dave Stewart)
The following two kindly submitted by Dauvit:
The boy stood on the burning deck.
Alas, he is no more
For what he thought was H2O
Was H2S04.
The boy stood on the burning deck
Playing a game of cricket.
The ball ran up his trouser leg
And hit his middle wicket.
This one from Seyom Derf submitted October 2015
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Shouting to passing ducks.
“I wish I’d joined the RAF
This being a sailor sucks!”
The boy stood on the burning deck.
‘What ho!’ the captain shouted.
‘Roast kid ain’t to be sneezed at!
We’ll dine while we’re about it!’
(submitted by George H Davis 111)
And finally – if you can bear it (if not, avert your eyes) – a particularly unpleasant one (by Anon.) submitted by Mr R Plummer.
The boy stood on the burning decks
Approached by Gary Glitter
Who then took off his naval kecks
And woofed him up the shutter.
My uncle was quite a wag and came up with:
The boy stood on the burning deck;
His mind was all a-whirl;
His hair and eyes were full of smoke;
His arms were full of girl.
The boy stood on the burning deck
His lips were all a-quiver
He gave a cough, his leg fell off
And floated down the river.
I recall a childhood version:
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Picking his nose like mad.
He rolled it into little balls
And flicked them at his dad.
The boy stood on the burning deck
His head was in a whirl
He put his head between his legs
And wished he was a girl
Thanks Andrew but this one is already there – albeit with a slightly altered last line!
The boy stood on the burning deck
playing a game of cricket
the ball ran up his trouser leg
and hit his middle wicket
the boy stood on the burning deck
alas, he is no more
for what he thought was H2O
was H2S04
My dad, a Lancastrian, taught me..
The boy stood on the burning deck
Eating peas… A penny a peck.
Did he wash his dirty neck?
Did ‘e eck!
The boy stood on the burning deck.
His arse towards the mast,
He wouldn’t move an inch from there,
until sir Walter past.
So Walter was an evil man.
He threw the boy a plum.
And when he went to pick it up.
He wopped it up his bum.
Now this boy wasn’t anybody’s fool
He turned a double somersault
And broke the Walters tool.
So Waldo has a new one now
It’s made of solid brass.
And how I pity the next door bugger.
Who gets it up his arse.
My Dad used to recite:
The boy stood on the burning deck
his feet were covered in blisters
His trousers burnt right off his legs
and now he wears his sisters.
Little boy stood on the burning deck.
Eating peanuts by the peck
Along came a little girl dressed in blue
Asked if she could have a peck or two.
My father often said:
The boy stood on the burning deck
Eating peanuts by the peck
My father loved this version:
The boy stood on the burning deck
His pant were made of cotton
The fire crept up his hairy legs
And burnt his big white bottom
the boy stood on the burning deck
his face as black as charcoal
he put his head between his legs
and whistled up his arsehole.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
His feet were full of blisters,He was Eating peanuts by the peck,While the win Blew through his whiskers.
My Dad taught me this version,in the 1940’s,when I was 8 or 9! Have never forgotten it!!
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Shouting to passing ducks.
“I wish I’d joined the RAF
This being a sailor sucks!”
The boy stood on the burning deck
His back was to the mast;
He would not face the other way
until the mate had passed.
Not mine: heard it at school y5 years ago.
TBSOTBD / His back against the mast / He wouldn’t leave the fiery wreck / ‘Til Oscar Wilde had passed / But Oscar was a wily bird; / He threw the lad a fritter / And as he bent to pick it up / Whoomph ! Right up his shitter.
TBSOTBD / Eating an ice from Walls /
A ‘lectric shock / Ran up his sock / & paralysed his , yes, kneecaps then.
Back in the ’50’s my grandfather would recite:
The boy stood on the burning deck,
His feet were full of blisters.
He did not care about shoes
Because they were his sister’s.
The boy stood on the burning deck;
He was a cunning nipper.
He filled his arse (or mouth) with broken glass
And circumcised his skipper.
Told to me by one of my elderly residents at my care facility.
I seem to recall Benny Hill doing a version:
The boy stood on the burning deck
The flames rose up his legs
And now he hates fried sausages
And he cannot stand boiled eggs
In Hemans’ and other tellings of the story, young Casabianca refuses to desert his post without orders from his father.
The boy stood on the burning deck, “What ho!” the captain shouted. “Roast kid ain’t to be sneezed at! We’ll dine while we’re about it!”
I remember this version from my schooldays (about 1950) when we all followed a radio adventure programme called “Dick Barton,Special Agent”.
Jock stood on the burning deck
While Snowy blew the hooter,
And who came round the corner
But Dick Barton on a scooter.
The boy stood on the bburning deck
The flames were all a’flicker
A flame shot up his trouser leg
And cost him half a knicker
The boy rode on the burning bike
His overalls on fire
He didn,t reach the nearest gate
The flames had burnt the tyre
The papers said it was a jam
The carby caught the throttle
The little bike,the little man
Spread out amongst the wattle
But if you go down by the creek
A burnt brown patch of chunder
Bears witness to that fateful day
The rider lost lost his THUNDER!
My beloved grandfather, who was born around 1889, took devilish delight in reciting his version of one of Casablanca’s stanzas to me as a little girl. Granddaddy’s version followed: “The boy stood on the burning deck. A mighty lad was he. ‘The reason that I don’t sit down… Is ’cause it’s hot, you see!'”
I know this post is old in internet time, but I just wanted to mention the parody that brought me here! The amazing Shaw and Lee in a rare Vitaphone short from the 1920’s.
fbclid=IwAR2694LPfFaD6cJ2XfhoZZG5uJDUdKjTOnIjt4n0BcwlfBvlzTIRTIFQRCg at about 2:38.
A cat sat on the burning deck.
The hair was all around his neck.
Dandruff.
My granny Mary’s version was;
The boy stood on the burning deck,
his pocket full of crackers.
One fell down his trouser leg,
and blew off both his knackers.
The boy stood on the burning deck
eating peanuts, by the peck,
the fire leapt up and bit his chin
but he kept tucking the peanuts in
I learned this version from one of my fellow Cub Scouts, while waiting to go on in a Gang Show.
The boy stood on the burning deck
The deck was made of brass.
He did a double somersault
And landed on his. Ah!
You must have been mistaken,
You must have been misled.
He did a double somersault
And landed on his head!