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*
AND EVERY
DOG HIS DAY *
ASSAULT AND BATTERY
*
BUMP IN THE NIGHT
* A GENTLE
APOSTROPHE
* JOLLY RIGHTS
MARCH *
MAIL FEVER
* ODE TO MISS
PRONUNCIATION *
OUGH!
The bright red warning-lights were fiercely flashing, left and right.
Across the busy road, the level-crossing gates came down.
A stately Rolls-Royce halted, engine running, first in line,
And, close behind, a young girl on a horse of chestnut-brown.
Behind the horse, a splendid brand-new Rover came to rest.
Beside it, poodle's lead in hand, Miss Busybody stood.
"Mummy and Diddums have to wait," she said, "for nasty train.
Patience, darling Diddums! Mummy knows you will be good."
The pampered poodle, all bedecked with ribbons pink and blue,
Decided, as dogs will, that he'd improve the shining hour
By lifting up his leg against that limousine's front wheel,
And generously bedewing it with a copious golden shower.
The driver's wife, affronted, reached across and pressed the horn.
The horse, in terror, reared and plunged. Its hooves began to fly.
It smashed the Rover's grille and headlights all to smithereens.
The angry driver shouted, and the girl began to cry.
Miss Busybody knew at once exactly what to do.
"I witnessed everything," she said, "The horse was not to blame.
Don't cry, my dear! It's plain to see, it was the driver's fault,
And you must sue him if you find your horse has been made lame.
Ask to see his license dear, and write down his address.
Whilst you're doing that, I'll copy down his number-plate."
Just then, the train passed safely by, and, as the way was clear,
The signalman in the signal-box began to raise the gate.
A piercing scream now rent the air. "Oh no! My darling Diddums!
He's tied up to the gate! My precious little dog will hang!"
Aghast, the crowd beheld the dog suspended by the neck.
The signalman saw, released the gate, and dropped it with a clang.
It fell upon the Rolls-Royce' roof, and made a fearful dent.
The Rolls, in motion, wrecked the gate, and slewed across the road.
A large three-wheeled milk-float fell over, smashing the other gate,
And added to the chaos by decanting half its load.
Police and Firemen came to help, all paddling in the milk.
Miss Busybody dashed to aid her poor half-strangled pet.
Ignoring in her haste the devastation she had caused,
She rushed her whimpering Diddums off to see the local vet.
The line was blocked for several hours, the signalman lost his job,
The road was closed, the shopkeepers were very cross indeed,
The insurance people had to pay out half a million pounds,
And all because that wretched Diddums cocked his leg and peed
A true story of my father
Comedy is inherent in the scheme of human life.
It's a funny old existence, and amid the toil and strife,
Even when the outlook's grim, the laughter will break through.
Here's my little story, none the worse for being true.
Nineteen-Eighteen seeing the end of 'TheWar to End All Wars',
The Prison-Camp at Holyport, Berkshire, opened its gates and doors;
But, as the Camp Staff worked on plans for mass repatriation,
A deadly influenza virus spread throughout the Nation.
Many thousands died, which led some people to conclude
That folk were weakened by long years of suffering, and poor food.
Several German prisoners died. Their sad graves lie there still.
Some Camp Staff died. Some took compassionate leave when kin were ill.
The doctor took precautions, among which he stipulated
The buildings and the many huts should all be fumigated.
When the Corporals' hut was cleared, six men, as it befell,
Were moved to the empty Punishment Block, where each was given a cell.
Each cell just held an Army bed, as supplied to 'Other Ranks',
Being two low folding-trestles. which supported three wide planks,
Upon which, on a palliasse of straw, the soldier lay.
Such was the sumpuous bed awaiting Corporal Hill that day.
When 'Last Post' was sounded, every cell was occupied.
Bare walls resounded to the snores. The doors stood open wide.
Reg Hill began to dream that he was crossing a prison-yard,
Attempting to escape, but had been noticed by the guard.
He saw that they had trained on him a most enormous gun.
With beating heart and leaden legs he did his best to run,
But when he was still fifteen paces from the outer wall,
Bearing down on him, he saw a huge black cannon-ball.
Five feet across it was, and bound to hit him, he'd no doubt.
He thought his final hour had come, and with a desperate shout,
Which echoed down the corridor and roused his mates from sleep,
He gathered all his strength and made a quite prodigious leap.
The trestles collapsed, and sent the three planks clattering to the floor.
He cracked his head against the hard brick wall, which made him roar.
His anxious mates in great alarm came running to his aid,
And cursed him for a fool for all the racket he had made.
Sweet maid, why dost thou punctuate
With such extreme exuberance?
One exclamation mark may serve.
A second, mere protruberance.
One mark for "Oh!" and "Ah!" and "Ow!"
Partakes of sanctioned rightness.
What one might say of three, or four,
Would sadly strain politeness.
The Bard himself used no such trick
To furnish forth his art;
And, with respect, I think thou hast
No greater to impart.
By happy choice of word, and sense,
Thy reader may discern
With ease all that thou would'st convey.
Language will serve thy turn.
T'will signal all he needs to know
Of atmosphere and mood;
What 'voice' to give, what emphasis, -
When violent, when subdued.
But e'en the use of one such mark
Can oft be one too many,
And truly, t'would give less offence
Never to use any.
"I liked thy poem". Here the sense
Is plain, and gratifying.
"I liked thy poem!" shews surprise,
Half the praise denying.
"To think that one as dull as thou,"
(It says) "could write so well!
I hardly deemed thee capable!!
I scarce thought thou could'st spell!!!"
At once, it elevates your self,
Disparaging the other.
Thou, lofty critic, deem'st his works
T'were commonly best to smother.
To multiply to two, or three,
Or more, makes matters worse.
Sweet maiden, list to my complaint,
And be no more perverse.
An estimated five thousand marchers, carrying banners bearing the
now-familiar emblem of the scarlet skull-and-crossbones, converged on Trafalgar
Square today to hear speeches from leading campaigners.
Nick Lightfinger, present Secretary of the Jolly Rights Society, made
a rousing speech in which he called upon Parliament to legalize all forms
of theft. "We do not pass judgement upon our fellow-citizens over the
manner in which they choose to make their livings," he said, "so why should
they presume to pass judgement upon us? We have as much right to choose
our mode of living as they have. The fact that our life-style differs
fundamentally from theirs is no proof that ours is in any way inferior.
Let me quote to you the words of our Vice-President, the Chancellor
of the Exchequer, who rejoices in the fact that his fore-name, 'Norman',
commemorates one of the most celebrated acts of Jollity in history, - the
appropriation of England from the Saxons. 'It is scandalous,' he says,
'that under the antiquated laws of this country we are subject to arrest
and even to imprisonment merely for trying to exercise our rights.' Our
case is soon to come before the International Court of Justice, and we trust
that justice will be done to our cause, adding a further success to our victory
last month in the European Parliament, where we secured substantial subsidies
for our members suffering hardship during the difficult times of the present
recession."
He was followed at the microphone by Dr.Alex Comfortless, who demonstrated
that the universal law of theft is a fundamental fact of the natural world.
"It may be argued," he said, "that there is an undoubted right of
possession which initially accrues to the hunter who kills the game, to the
gatherer who amasses a store of food, and to the worker who by his labour
produces that which is of value; but this right is patently over-ruled
by the nobler maxim which declares that possession is nine-tenths of the
law, and which obviously implies that possession may legitimately pass from
one to another. Let us not behave like lions, with an uncivilized and
savage possessiveness, but let us rather emulate our brothers, the apes,
who happily steal from one another and accept their fellow-thieves with cheerful
resignation, recognizing in a civilized manner their right to exercise
their superior cunning or strength in whatever manner they please."
Next to speak was the eminent psychiatrist, Dr.Couch. "From
my experience in my Harley-Street practice," he said, "I can tell you that
I have identified some of the most prominent people in the land as being,
in their innermost, unalterable nature, Jolly. I expect it soon to
be affirmed by Science that there is a gene possessed by these people which
determines their orientation. I cannot of course breach professional
etiquette by naming those of my patients who are still living, but I may
say now, following his tragic and untimely death, that Robert Maxwell, though
a worthy exponent of our philosophy, was by no means the most notable amongst
them. I have given all of them the same advice as I gave him, - that
if they wish to achieve peace of mind, and to avoid lasting damage to their
psychological health, they must resist all temptations to repress their natural
tendencies, accept their destiny, and declare themselves to be jolly. Few
have yet done so, and that is partly why I have been persuaded to lend my
weight to these proceedings, so that as this movement gains strength they
may set themselves free from the burden of secrecy, and rather take a pride
in openly adopting the life-style for which their inborn nature befits them.
In closing, I would point out that the founder of one of the world's
greatest religions was a friend to fraudulent tax-gatherers, praised a steward
who fiddled the books, and chose to spend his last hours upon earth in the
company of two Jollies."
In his closing address, Nick Lightfinger called upon all those who
are aware of their fellowship with the Society to abandon their secrecy and
to 'come out'. "My friends and fellow-Jollies," he said, "Now Iwill
conclude by giving you a great piece of news, just received. Our President,
Nigel Lawson, has today begun a campaign to have Jolly Rights included in
the next manifesto of the Conservative Party."
This announcement was greeted by loud cheering and waving of
banners, and the singing of the Society's campaign song, 'The Lincolnshire
Poacher', but during the singing an altercation appeared to break out amongst
the platform party. Lightfinger was seen to seize a banner and to strike
Assistant Secretary Pincher Martin, who fell unconscious to the ground. It
took the Police twenty minutes to restore order. Our reporter was later
informed that Martin, having severed the cables, had attempted to steal the
microphone, and in the scuffle which followed, Dr.Couch's wallet was seen
to fall from Lightfinger's pocket.
After the Square had been cleared, it was discovered that one of
Landseer's famous lions was missing, all four of the bronze bas-reliefs
surrounding Nelson's Column had been stolen, all the bronze sculptures had
disappeared from the fountains, and two bronze equestrian statues had been
removed from their plinths. A large helicopter was seen hovering nearby,
but the Police have refused to comment upon the rumour that an attempt was
made to remove the statue of Nelson from the top of his column.
ASSAULT AND BATTERY
30 iii 1945
I met a piece of homework named Antonia.
Her surname, more's the pity, can't be shonia.
I cannot make it knownia.
I said to her, "You shouldn't be alonia,
Sitting in the park by a begonia,
For you will catch pneumonia."
Said she, "Kind sir, the grass has just been monia.
Grass longer than one inch is never gronia,
So you won't hear me monia."
I said, "I'll sit near you upon this stonia.
Tell me the number of your telephonia."
She struck, and I lay pronia.
With all of you Iwish to pick a bonia, -
All growing youths, and all you who have gronia.
You must not trust Antonia.
Algernon Featherstone-Haugh
Would laugh and sing and plaugh
To chase dull care awaugh
Throughout the daugh.
Gertrude Flora Smellie,
Who lived in Ellie,
Being very fond of mellie,
Consumed it frellie.
Angus John McLeod
Was very justly preod
Having risen from the creod
Into a cleod.
Fitzgerald Archibald Cholmondeley
Was tall, dark, and colmondeley,
Yet looked upon life glolmondeley
And brooded rolmondeley.
MAIL FEVER
(With apologies to John Masefield)
Wishful rather than autobiographical - for the College Magazine, The
Westminsterian, May 1948
I must go down to the Post again,
To the pillar-box scarlet must I,
And run like hell with my postcard,
For the Postman's standing by;
And all I ask is a patient smile,
An open sack;
O dinner-Bell, please do not ring,
Until I get back.
I must go down to the Post again.
A letter of true love have I,
Addressed to my best beloved,
My Mabel, coy and shy;
And all I ask in my postcard here,
My message meek, -
Will she come with me to Hamlet
On Wednesday this week?
I must go down to the Post again,
For the call of my future bride
Is a wild call, and a clear call;
She cannot be denied.
And all I ask is a twopenny stamp -
(Two penny ones would do) -
She must not come here on Tuesday -
I've a date with sweet Sue.
The raging seas were mighty rough
As onward the gallant ship did plough,
Bounced about by crest and trough, -
The gallant Duke of Marlborough.
The vessel's skipper, lean and tough,
His arm as strong as oaken bough,
Said, as the foul smoke made him cough
And choke, "We'll see the convoy through."
They came to harbour soon, although,
The crew said, not quite soon enough;
But when they got their well-earned dough
Their celebrations were quite thorough
Throughout the borough.
Ough!