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Last night I got to see about 5 minutes of a show about snipers on the history channel - before my oldest wanted me to come and reread Capek's Insect Play with her.
Three months ago I doubt I wouldn't have spent even 5 seconds watching such a program, but living in this area (northern virginia, usa), I've recently acquired a vague interest in the subject.
Anyway, a factoid I picked up was that while the British did not invent sniping, that the word sniper came from the habit of hunting the elusive snipe by British soldiers in India. Apparently, one had to be an expert marksman to actually hit one of them.
As I came into the program very late and left off very early, I'm not sure how it got to that point, but they were saying that apparently snipers had been very effective in the US civil war. (Not clear whether sniping started in the civil war or whether we were just damned good at it.) In any case, we dropped our sniping programs after the war, but the europeans had been thoroughly impressed - particularly the germans and english. The English decided to put together their own program and they wanted to get the best people involved. They made the brilliant observation that the men who helped the nobles hunt would make good snipers, since they had the patience, skill at tracking, stealth, etc., so they inducted some of them into their program. It was these Scottsmen who gave us the Ghillie Suit according to the program. Interestingly, I looked the word up and it's a variant of gillie which is a Scottish word for a fishing and hunting guide.
I refused to refer to our recent pair of bushwhackers as 'snipers,' because I thought it lent to much an air of professionalism to their activities. It was interesting to me to learn even this trivial amount of factual information on the subject.
k
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Joined: Jan 2001
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
Joined: Jan 2001
Posts: 13,858 |
"sniper first attested 1824 in the sense of "sharpshooter."" Snipe are small birds with very
erratic flight. My father could hit them with a shotgun, but I could not. Challenging, but
in retrospect regrettable, since there was no meat on them, and they did no harm.
I think the Civil War use of snipers is related to that War seeing the first extensive use of
rifles instead of muskets, the rifle being far more accurate.
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Joined: Aug 2000
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Pooh-Bah
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Pooh-Bah
Joined: Aug 2000
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"Ghillie" is the gaelic word for "servant", although modern usage is entirely for the servant who goes out with you, carrying your gun, pointing out where the grouse or salmon or trout is lying, helps you point your gun at it, or where to wave your rod, tells you when and where to fire or strike, and then substitutes "one he caught earlier" (Brit "Blue Peter" in-joke) so that you can go home boasting of your prowess as a hunter.
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Joined: Mar 2001
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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This is one of the most powerful character studies in song ever written, by a true troubadour, of course. Sniper, by Harry Chapin, is 9:50 minutes long and is the title cut of his album/CD, Sniper and Other Love Songs, an excellent album, nary a weak cut. Of course, the words alone can never due the composition or his interpretation justice, here are the lyrics:
Artist: Harry Chapin
Song: Sniper
It is an early Monday morning,
the sun is becoming bright on the land.
No one is watching as he comes walking,
two bulky suitcases hang from his hands.
He heads towards the tower that stands in the campus,
goes through the door and starts up the stairs.
The sound of his footsteps, the sound of his breathing,
the sound of the silence, for no one was there.
I didn't really know him.
He was kinda strange.
Always sort of sat there.
He never seemed to change.
He reached the catwalk, he put down his burden.
The four-sided clock began to chime.
Seven AM, the day is beginning,
so much to do and so little time.
He looks at the city where no one had known him.
He looks at the sky where no one looks down.
He looks at his life and what it has shown him.
He looks for his shadow. It cannot be found.
He was such a moody child, very hard to touch.
Even as a baby he never smiled too much. No no. No no.
"You bug me," she said.
"Your ugly," she said.
"Please hug me," I said but she just sat there,
with the same flat stare that she saves for me alone
when I'm home,
when I'm home,
take me home.
He laid out the rifles, he loaded the shotgun.
He stacked up the cartridges along the wall.
He knew he would need them for his conversation.
If it went as he planned then he might use them all.
He said, "Listen you people, I've got a question.
You won't pay attention but I'll ask anyhow.
I've got a way that will get me an answer.
I've been waiting to ask you 'til now.
Right now!
Am I?
I am a lover whose never been kissed.
Am I?
I am a fighter whose not made a fist.
Am I?
If I'm alive then there's so much I've missed.
How do I know I exist?
Are you listening to me?
Are you listening to me?
Am I?"
The first words he spoke took the town by surprise.
One got Mrs. Gibbons above her right eye.
It blew her through the window, wedged her against the door.
Reality pouring from her face, staining the floor.
He was kinda creepy,
Sort of a dunce.
I met him at the corner bar.
I only dated the poor boy once,
Just once.
That was all.
Bill Wedon was questioned as stepped from his car.
Tom Scott ran across the street but he never got that far.
The police were there in minutes, they set up barricades.
But he spoke right on over them,
in a half-mile circle
in that dumbstruck city his pointed questions were sprayed.
He knocked over Danny Tison as he ran towards the noise,
and just about then the answers started coming,
sweet, sweet joy!
Thudding in the clockface, whining off the walls.
Reaching up to where he sat, their answering calls.
Thirty-seven people got his message so far.
Yes he was reaching them, right where they are.
They set up an assault team, they asked for volunteers.
They had to go and get him, that much was clear.
And the word spread about him on radio and TV.
In appropriately sober tones they asked "WHO CAN HE BE?"
He was a very dull boy.
Very taciturn.
Not much of a joiner.
He did not want to learn. No no. No no.
"They're coming to get me.
They don't want to let me stay in the bright light too long.
It's getting on noon now, it's goin to be soon now.
But oh, what a wonderful song!
Mama, won't you nurse me.
Rain me down the sweet milk of your kindness.
Mama, it's getting worse for me.
Won't you please make me warm and mindless.
Mama, yes you have cursed me.
I never will forgive you for your blindness.
I HATE YOU!
The wires are all humming for me.
And I can hear them coming for me.
Soon they'll be here but there's nothing to fear.
No, not any more though they've blasted the door."
As the copter dropped the gas, he shouted: "Who cares!"
They could hear him laughing as they started up the stairs.
They stormed out of the doorway, blinking at the sun,
With one final fusillade their answer had come....
Am I--there is no way that you can hide me.
Am I--though you have put your fire inside me.
Am I--you've given me my answer can't you see?
I was. I am.
And now, I WILL BE."
© 1973 by Harry Chapin
(all punctuation, italics, and bolding by Chapin)
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