As he read the papers while swinging gently in his hammock, Satiricus wondered why the Doubting Thomish would go marching in the midday sun. But when he saw the British High Commish in the front, he realised what was going on. He fell asleep humming the Noel Coward tune, “Mad dogs and Englishmen”, which explained it all:
In tropical climes there are certain times of day
When all the citizens retire
To take their clothes off and perspire
It’s one of those rules the greatest fools obey
Because the sun is far too sultry and one must avoid its ultry-violet ray
The natives grieve when the white men leave their huts
Because they’re obviously, definitely nuts!
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun
The Japanese don’t care to
The Chinese wouldn’t dare to
Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly from twelve ‘til one
But Englishmen detest a siesta
In the Philippines
They have lovely screens
To protect you from the glare
In the Malay States
There are hats like plates
Which the Britishers won’t wear
At twelve noon the natives swoon and no further work is done
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun
It’s such a surprise for the Eastern eyes to see
That though the English are effete
They’re quite impervious to heat
When the White Man rides every native hides in glee
Because the simple creatures hope he
Will impale his sola topee on a tree
It seems such a shame
When the English claim the Earth
That they give rise to such hilarity and mirth
Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun
The toughest Burmese bandit
Can never understand it
In Rangoon the heat of noon
Is just what the natives shun
They put their Scotch or rye down
And lie down
But in Georgetown
Where the sun beats down
To the rage of man and beast
The English Commish
And his faithful Thomish
Merely gets a bit more creased
In Stabroek
At twelve o’clock
They foam at the mouth and run
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun
