Linda Leinen is a thought-provoking blogger who authors the literary-oriented blog, The Task at Hand. She writes one blog post per week. I can’t emphasize enough how wonderful her works is; you should read it to convince yourself how good she really is.
In her excellent article dubbed, Chase Jarvis & A New Paradigm, Linda includes a few lines of a poem written by Rudyard Kipling which captivated me. Kipling was a blur in my mind, so I Googled the name to refresh my memory. I was interested in reading the full poem. Sure enough, I obtained the information I was looking for, and a lot more I might add.
- How the Whale Got His Throat
- How the Camel Hot His Hump
- How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin
- How the Leopard Got His Skin
- The Elephant’s Child
- The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo
- The Beginning of the Armadillos
- How the First Letter was Written
- How the Alphabet was Made
- The Crab that Played With the Sea
- The Cat that Walked by Himself
- The Butterfly that Stamped
The fifth story of the book—The Elephant’s Child—is where you will find the full poem that I mentioned before. I could not resist the temptation of sharing it with you. I firmly believe that great literature should be shared.
I Keep six honest serving-men:
(They taught me all I knew)
Their names are What and Where and When
And How and Why and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
I give them all a rest.
I let them rest from nine till five.
For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
For they are hungry men:
But different folk have different views:
I know a person small–
She keeps ten million serving-men,
Who get no rest at all!
She sends ‘em abroad on her own affairs,
From the second she opens her eyes–
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
And seven million Whys!
Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, in the Bombay Presidency of British India, and was taken by his family to England when he was five years old. He received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907.
Of the city where he was born—Bombay— he wrote:
Mother of Cities to me,
For I was born in her gate,
Between the palms and the sea,
Where the world-end steamers wait.
It is to be noted that Bombay is presently called Mumbai.
According to Bernice M. Murphy, “Kipling’s parents considered themselves ‘Anglo-Indians’ (a term used in the 19th century for people of British origin living in India) and so too would their son, though he spent the bulk of his life elsewhere. Complex issues of identity and national allegiance would become prominent features in his fiction.”
Kipling referred to such conflicts; for example: “In the afternoon heats before we took our sleep, she (the Portuguese ayah or nanny) or Meeta (the Hindu bearer, or male attendant) would tell us stories and Indian nursery songs all unforgotten, and we were sent into the dining-room after we had been dressed, with the caution ‘Speak English now to Papa and Mamma.’ So one spoke ‘English’, haltingly translated out of the vernacular idiom that one thought and dreamed in”.
Before I finish this story of Kipling’s honest serving men, I would like to include an interesting aspect of the life of this remarkable writer. It is related to his use of the Nazi swastika.
Many older editions of Rudyard Kipling’s books have a swastika printed on their covers associated with a picture of an elephant carrying a lotus flower. Since the 1930s this has raised the suspicion of Kipling being a Nazi-sympathizer, which is not true at all. Kipling used the swastika as it was an Indian sun symbol conferring good luck and well-being. He used the swastika symbol in both right—and left-facing orientations, and it was in general use at the time. Even before the Nazis came to power, Kipling ordered the engraver to remove it from the printing block so that he should not be thought of as supporting them.
And now you know the story behind the “six honest serving men” of Rudyard Kipling. Adieu!


I’m glad you mentioned of Linda Leinen here because we share the same opinion that she is an exceptional writer who belongs to the highest league in our world of blogging. Her replies in her commentary section are as excellent as her main posts too. There’s no ‘Like’ button to click in her site so I’ve remained an anonymous admirer since the first time I saw her in Bronxboy’s “Mostly Bright Ideas.” From then on, she’s kept on amazing me with her intelligence, writing talent and the amount of love and care she puts in her blog.
Omar, thank you for this wonderful piece about Rudyard Kipling. I still have to familiarize myself with most of his works. This is a good start though.
Great literature should be shared indeed.
It makes me happy to drop by here and read your every post.
Best to you….. Marj
Hi Marj:
I feel honored for being read by you Marj. We share the same taste for good literature which I consider “food for the soul.”
I agree with you that Linda is indeed an exceptional writer. On several occasions I’ve suggested to her to write a book. Haven’t been able to twist her arm; but perhaps in the future…you never know.
Thanks a bunch for dropping by,
Omar.-
I’m so pleased to know you’re a reader, Marj! And yes – I do take my comments section as seriously as my main post. I figure if someone makes the effort to leave a comment, they deserve a response. Besides – I love conversation, and comments sections on blogs are just another form of conversation.
It’s still possible to “like” my posts by clicking the button. The primary difference is that, while I get an email, the avatar of the person doing the “liking” doesn’t show up. There are a couple of reasons for that.
One is that, as soon as a post goes up, I get a clutch of “likes” within the first minute. Clearly, the people who’ve clicked the button haven’t had a chance to read much more than the title. They’re engaging in what’s called “like-spamming” – clicking the button to put their avatar on another blog, hoping it will drive traffic to their sites.
Other folks just want to say, “I’ve been here, and liked this, but don’t have time to leave a comment”. That’s fine – but I still don’t want the portrait gallery. This is my personal weirdness, of course. The truth is, I don’t ever click the “like” button on other people’s posts, either. I’m just in favor of comments.
I certainly appreciate yours, here!
I perfectly understand your reservations about the Like button, Linda. There’s nothing weird about that because a comment is a lot more personal and therefore much preferable. I had wanted to post a comment in your blog – to show my appreciation – but as I told Omar before, I’ve got to exercise some caution in clicking Like or making comments lest I might be misunderstood as another blogger plugger. ( I could be contented being merely a silent admirer of your wonderful blog.) You see, I am more of a reader than a writer.
By the way, Linda, aside from being a blogger of the first magnitude, you’ve got one of the coolest jobs on earth – as a boat varnisher. That’s really awesome.
I also owe you (your blog, to be precise) for leading me here to Omar, another talented writer, whose blog is truly one of my favorites.
There’s a great deal to be grateful for in having both of you as my blogging icons.
Sincerely, Marj
I just love Kipling, Omar, and I’m delighted to see this brief bio and reminder about his “Just So Stories” here. It’s nice that you still remember that Chase Jarvis post, too. Now, if we just could get our journalists to remember the five Ws and an H, we’d all be far better off!
And what a wonderful story about his being told to speak English to his parents. Wasn’t it Richard who was talking about beginning to dream in Spanish? How wonderful it must be to be truly proficent in multiple languages!
Morning Linda:
I remember many of your posts Linda. The Jarvis post was one of them and that led me to Kipling and him poem.
I’m full of hope that our someday our journalists in Panama would understand that the five Ws and and H will eventually them lead to the Truth. There are so many lies and half truths in the media that it’s scary.
Nice to read your daily comments, fresh and sparkling like the morning dew.
Omar.-