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Best Famous Marriott Edgar Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Marriott Edgar poems. This is a select list of the best famous Marriott Edgar poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Marriott Edgar poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Marriott Edgar poems.

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Written by Marriott Edgar |

Albert and the Lion

 There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much of the Ocean: The waves, they were fiddlin' and small, There was no wrecks and nobody drownded, Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.
So, seeking for further amusement, They paid and went into the Zoo, Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels, And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big Lion called Wallace; His nose were all covered with scars - He lay in a somnolent posture, With the side of his face on the bars.
Now Albert had heard about Lions, How they was ferocious and wild - To see Wallace lying so peaceful, Well, it didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller, Not showing a morsel of fear, Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle And pushed it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the Lion didn't like it, For giving a kind of a roll, He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im, And swallowed the little lad 'ole.
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence, And didn't know what to do next, Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert', And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!' Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom - Quite rightly, when all's said and done - Complained to the Animal Keeper, That the Lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it; He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?' Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!' The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?' Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert, 'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.
' Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller; I think it's a shame and a sin, For a lion to go and eat Albert, And after we've paid to come in.
' The manager wanted no trouble, He took out his purse right away, Saying 'How much to settle the matter?' And Pa said "What do you usually pay?' But Mother had turned a bit awkward When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' - So that was decided upon.
Then off they went to the P'lice Station, In front of the Magistrate chap; They told 'im what happened to Albert, And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his opinion That no one was really to blame And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing, 'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Sams Christmas Pudding

 It was Christmas Day in the trenches
In Spain in Penninsular War,
And Sam Small were cleaning his musket
A thing as he'd ne're done before.
They'd had 'em inspected that morning And Sam had got into disgrace, For when sergeant had looked down the barrel A sparrow flew out in his face.
The sergeant reported the matter To Lieutenant Bird then and there.
Said Lieutenant 'How very disgusting' The Duke must be told of this 'ere.
' The Duke were upset when he heard He said, 'I'm astonished, I am.
I must make a most drastic example There'll be no Christmas pudding for Sam.
' When Sam were informed of his sentence Surprise, rooted him to the spot.
'Twas much worse than he had expected, He though as he'd only be shot.
And so he sat cleaning his musket And polishing barrel and butt.
While the pudding his mother had sent him, Lay there in the mud at his foot.
Now the centre that Sam's lot were holding Ran around a place called Badajoz.
Where the Spaniards had put up a bastion And ooh.
.
.
! what a bastion it was.
They pounded away all the morning With canister, grape shot and ball.
But the face of the bastion defied them, They made no impression at all.
They started again after dinner Bombarding as hard as they could.
And the Duke brought his own private cannon But that weren't a ha'pence o' good.
The Duke said, 'Sam, put down thy musket And help me lay this gun true.
' Sam answered, 'You'd best ask your favours From them as you give pudding to.
' The Duke looked at Sam so reproachful 'And don't take it that way,' said he.
'Us Generals have got to be ruthless It hurts me more than it did thee.
' Sam sniffed at these words kind of sceptic, Then looked down the Duke's private gun.
And said 'We'd best put in two charges, We'll never bust bastion with one.
' He tipped cannon ball out of muzzle He took out the wadding and all.
He filled barrel chock full of powder, Then picked up and replaced the ball.
He took a good aim at the bastion Then said 'Right-o, Duke, let her fly.
' The cannon nigh jumped off her trunnions, And up went the bastion, sky high.
The Duke, he weren't 'alf elated He danced around trench full of glee.
And said, 'Sam, for this gallant action.
You can hot up your pudding for tea.
' Sam looked 'round to pick up his pudding But it wasn't there, nowhere about.
In the place where he thought he had left it, Lay the cannon ball he'd just tipped out.
Sam saw in a flash what 'ad happened: By an unprecedented mishap.
The pudding his mother had sent him, Had blown Badajoz off map.
That's why fuisilliers wear to this moment A badge which they think's a grenade.
But they're wrong.
.
.
it's a brass reproduction, Of the pudding Sam's mother once made.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Goalkeeper Joe

 Joe Dunn were a bobby for football 
He gave all his time to that sport, 
He played for the West Wigan Whippets, 
On days when they turned out one short.
He’d been member of club for three seasons And had grumbled again and again, Cos he found only time that they’d used him, Were when it were pouring with rain! He felt as his talents were wasted When each week his job seemed to be No but minding the clothes for the others And chucking clods at referee! So next time selection committee Came round to ask him for his sub He told them if they didn’t play him, He’d transfer to some other club.
Committee they coaxed and cudgelled him But found he’d have none of their shifts So they promised to play him next weekend In match against Todmorden Swifts.
This match were the plum of the season An annual fixture it stood, ‘T were reckoned as good as a cup tie By them as liked plenty of blood! The day of the match dawned in splendour A beautiful morning it were With a fog drifting up from the brick fields And a drizzle of rain in the air.
The Whippets made Joe their goalkeeper A thing as weren’t wanted at all For they knew once battle had started They’d have no time to mess with the ball! Joe stood by the goal posts and shivered While the fog round his legs seemed to creep 'Til feeling neglected and lonely He leant back and went fast asleep.
He dreamt he were playing at Wembley And t’roar of a thundering cheer He were kicking a goal for the Whippets When he woke with a clout in his ear! He found 'twere the ball that had struck him And inside the net there it lay But as no one had seen this ‘ere ‘appen He punted it back into play! 'Twere the first ball he’d punted in anger His feelings he couldn’t restrain Forgetting as he were goalkeeper He ran out and kicked it again! Then after the ball like a rabbit He rushed down the field full of pride He reckoned if nobody stopped him Then ‘appen he’d score for his side.
‘Alf way down he bumped into his captain Who weren’t going to let him go by But Joe, like Horatio Nelson Put a fist to the Captain’s blind eye! On he went 'til the goal lay before him Then stopping to get himself set He steadied the ball, and then kicked it And landed it right in the net! The fog seemed to lift at that moment And all eyes were turned on the lad The Whippets seemed kind of dumbfounded While the Swifts started cheering like mad! 'Twere his own goal as he’d kicked the ball through He’d scored for his foes ‘gainst his friends For he’d slept through the referee’s whistle And at half time he hadn’t changed ends! Joe was transferred from the West Wigan Whippets To the Todmorden Swifts, where you’ll see Still minding the clothes for the others And chucking clods at referee!

More great poems below...

Written by Marriott Edgar |

The Channel Swimmer

 Would you hear a Wild tale of adventure 
Of a hero who tackled the sea,
A super-man swimming the ocean,
Then hark to the tale of Joe Lee.
Our Channel, our own Straits of Dover Had heen swum by an alien lot: Our British-born swimmers had tried it, But that was as far as they'd got.
So great was the outcry in England, Darts Players neglected their beer, And the Chanc'Ior proclaimed from the Woolsack As Joe Lee were the chap for this 'ere.
For in swimming baths all round the country Joe were noted for daring and strength; Quite often he'd dived in the deep end, And thought nothing of swimming a length.
So they wrote him, C/o Workhouse Master, Joe were spending the summer with him, And promised him two Christmas puddings If over the Channel he'd swim.
Joe jumped into t' breach like an 'ero, He said, "All their fears I'll relieve, And it isn't their puddings I'm after, As I told them last Christmas Eve.
"Though many have tackled the Channel From Grisnez to Dover that is, For the honour and glory of England I'll swim from Dover to Gris-niz.
" As soon as his words were made public The newspapers gathered around And offered to give him a pension If he lost both his legs and got drowned.
He borrowed a tug from the Navy To swim in the shelter alee, The Wireless folk lent him a wavelength, And the Water Board lent him the sea.
His wife strapped a mascot around him, The tears to his eyes gently stole; 'Twere some guiness corks she had collected And stitched to an old camisole.
He entered the water at daybreak, A man with a camera stood near, He said "Hurry up and get in, lad, You're spoiling my view of the pier.
" At last he were in, he were swimming With a beautiful overarm stroke, When the men on the tug saw with horror That the rope he were tied to had broke.
Then down came a fog, thick as treacle, The tug looked so distant and dim A voice shouted "Help, I am drowning," Joe listened and found it were him.
The tug circled round till they found him, They hauled him aboard like a sack, Tied a new tow-rope around him, Smacked him and then threw him back.
'Twere at sunset, or just a bit later, That he realized all wasn't right, For the tow-rope were trailing behind him And the noose round his waist getting tight.
One hasty glance over his shoulder, He saw in a flash what were wrong.
The Captain had shut off his engine, Joe were towing the Tugboat along.
On and on through the darkness he paddled Till he knew he were very near in By the way he kept bumping the bottom And hitting the stones with his chin.
Was it Grisniz he'd reached?.
.
.
No, it wasn't, The treacherous tide in its track Had carried him half-way to Blackpool And he had to walk all the way back.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

The Lion and Albert

 There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much of the Ocean: The waves, they were fiddlin' and small, There was no wrecks and nobody drownded, Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.
So, seeking for further amusement, They paid and went into the Zoo, Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels, And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big Lion called Wallace; His nose were all covered with scars - He lay in a somnolent posture, With the side of his face on the bars.
Now Albert had heard about Lions, How they was ferocious and wild - To see Wallace lying so peaceful, Well, it didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller, Not showing a morsel of fear, Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle And pushed it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the Lion didn't like it, For giving a kind of a roll, He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im, And swallowed the little lad 'ole.
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence, And didn't know what to do next, Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert', And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!' Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom - Quite rightly, when all's said and done - Complained to the Animal Keeper, That the Lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it; He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?' Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!' The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?' Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert, 'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.
' Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller; I think it's a shame and a sin, For a lion to go and eat Albert, And after we've paid to come in.
' The manager wanted no trouble, He took out his purse right away, Saying 'How much to settle the matter?' And Pa said "What do you usually pay?' But Mother had turned a bit awkward When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' - So that was decided upon.
Then off they went to the P'lice Station, In front of the Magistrate chap; They told 'im what happened to Albert, And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his opinion That no one was really to blame And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing, 'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'

Written by Marriott Edgar |

The Recumbent Posture

 The day after Christmas, young Albert
Were what's called, confined to his bed,
With a tight kind of pain in his stummick
And a light feeling up in his head.
His parents were all in a fluster When they saw little lad were so sick, They said, 'Put out your tongue!', When they'd seen it They said, 'Put it back again - quick!' Ma made him a basin of gruel, But that were a move for the worse; Though the little lad tried hard to eat it, At the finish he did the reverse.
The pain showed no signs of abating, So at last they got Doctor to call.
He said it were in the ab-domain And not in the stummick at all.
He sent up a bottle of physick, With instructions on t' label to say, 'To be taken in a recumbent posture, One teaspoon, three times a day.
' As Ma stood there reading the label Pa started to fidget about.
He said 'Get a teaspoon and dose him, Before he gets better without.
' 'I can manage the teaspoon' said Mother A look of distress on her face.
'It's this 'ere recumbent posture.
.
.
I haven't got one in the place.
' Said Pa, 'What about Mrs Lupton?.
.
Next door 'ere - you'd better ask her; A woman who's buried three husbands Is sure to have one of them there.
' So they went round and asked Mrs Lupton, 'Aye, I know what you mean,' she replied, 'I 'ad one on order for 'Orace, But poor dear got impatient and died.
' She said, 'You'd best try the Co-Op shop, They'll have one in stock I dare say; ' Fact I think I saw one in the winder Last time I was passing that way.
' So round they went to the Co-Op shop, And at the counter for household supplies; Pa asked for a recumbent posture And the shopman said 'Yes sir.
.
.
what size?' Said Ma, 'It's for our little Albert, I don't know what size he would use, I know he takes thirteen in collars, And sixes, four fittings, in shoes.
' 'If it's little lads size as you're wanting,' Said the shopman, 'I'm sorry to say, We nobbut had one in the building, And that one were sold yesterday.
' He sent them across to a tin-smith, Who said, 'I know what you've in mind; If you'll draw me a pattern, I'll make one.
' But Pa'd left his pencil behind.
They tried every shop they could think of, They walked for two hours by the clock, And though most places reckoned to keep them, They'd none of them got one in stock.
The last place they tried was the chemist, He looked at them both with a frown.
And told them a recumbent posture Were Latin, and meant lying down.
It means 'Lying down' - put in Latin Said Father, 'That's just what I thowt.
' Then he picked up a side-glance from Mother, And pretended he hadn't said nowt.
'They're not dosing my lad with Latin.
' Said Mother, her face looking grim, 'Just plain Castor Oil's all he's getting And I'm leaving the posture to him.
'

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Little Aggie

 When Joe Dove took his elephants out on the road
He made each one hold fast with his trunk
To the tail of the elephant walking in front
To stop them from doing a bunk.
There were fifteen in all, so 'twere rather a job To get them linked up in a row, But once he had fixed 'em Joe knew they'd hold on, For an elephant never lets go.
The pace it was set by the big 'uns in front, 'Twas surprising how fast they could stride, And poor little Aggie, the one at the back.
.
.
Had to run till she very near died.
They were walking one Sunday from Blackpool to Crewe, They'd started at break of the day, Joe followed behind with a bagful of buns In case they got hungry on t'way.
They travelled along at a rattling good pace Over moorland and valley and plain, And poor little Aggie the one at the back Her trunk fairly creaked with the strain.
They came to a place where the railway crossed road, An ungated crossing it were, And they wasn't to know as the express was due At the moment that they landed there.
They was half way across when Joe saw the express- It came tearing along up the track- He tried hard to stop, but it wasn't much good, For an elephant never turns back.
He saw if he didn't do something at once The train looked like spoiling his troupe, So he ran on ahead and he waggled tho buns To show them they'd best hurry up When they caught sight of buns they all started to run, And they soon got across at this gait, Except poor little Aggie-the one at the back, She were one second too late.
The express came dashing along at full speed, And caught her end on, fair and square She bounced off the buffers, turned head over heels, And lay with her legs in the air.
Joe thought she were dead when he saw her lyin' there, With the back of her head on the line He knelt by her side, put his ear to her chest, And told her to say " ninety-nine.
" She waggled her tail and she twiggled her trunk ; To show him as she were alive; She hadn't the strength for to say "ninety-nine," She just managed a weak "eighty-five.
" When driver of th' engine got down from his cab Joe said "Here's a nice howdedo, To see fifteen elephants ruined for life By a clumsy great driver like you.
" Said the driver, "There's no need to mak' all this fuss, There's only one hit as I've seen.
" Joe said, "Aye, that's right, but they held on so tight You've pulled back end off t' other fourteen.
" Joe still walks around with his elephant troupe, He got them patched up at the vet's, But Aggie won't walk at the back any more, 'Cos an elephant never forgets.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Sam Goes To It

 Sam Small had retired from the Army,
In the old Duke of Wellington's time,
So when present unpleasantness started,
He were what you might call.
.
.
past his prime.
He'd lived for some years in retirement, And knew nowt of war, if you please, Till they blasted and bombed his allotment, And shelled the best part of his peas.
'T were as if bugles called Sam to duty, For his musket he started to search, He found it at last in the Hen house, Buff Orpingtons had it for perch.
Straight off to the Fusilliers' depot, He went to rejoin his old troop.
.
.
Where he found as they couldn't recruit Him, Until his age group was called up.
Now Sam wasn't getting no younger, Past the three score and ten years was he, And he reckoned by time they reached his age group, He'd be very near ten score and three.
So he took up the matter with Churchill, Who said, "I don't know what to do, Never was there a time when so many, Came asking so much from so few.
" "I don't want no favours" Sam answered, "Don't think as I'm one of that mob, All I'm asking is give me the tools, lad, And let me help finish the job.
" "I'll fit you in somewhere," said Winnie, "Old soldiers we must not discard.
" Then seeing he'd got his own musket, He sent him to join the Home Guard.
They gave Sam a coat with no stripes on, In spite of the service he'd seen, Which considering he'd been a King's sergeant, Kind of rankled.
.
.
you know what I mean.
He said "I come back to the Army, Expecting my country's thanks, And the first thing I find when I get here, Is that I've been reduced to the ranks.
He found all the lads sympathetic, They agreed that 'twere a disgrace, Except one old chap in the corner, With a nutcracker kind of a face.
Said the old fella, "Who do you think you are? The last to appear on the scene, And you start off by wanting promotion, Last come, last served.
.
.
see what I mean?" Said Sam, "Wasn't I at Corunna, And when company commander got shot, Didn't I lead battalion to victory?" Said the old fella, "No.
.
.
you did not.
" "I didn't?" said Sam quite indignent, "Why, in every fight Wellington fought, Wasn't I at his right hand to guard him?" Said old chap, "You were nowt of the sort.
" "What do you know of Duke and his battles?" Said Sam, with a whithering look, Said the old man, "I ought to know something, Between you and me.
.
.
I'm the Duke.
" And if you should look in any evening, You'll find them both in the canteen, Ex Commander-in-Chief and ex Sergeant, Both just Home Guards.
.
.
you know what I mean?

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Albert Down Under

 Albert were what you'd call “thwarted”.
He had long had an ambition, which.
.
.
Were to save up and go to Australia, The saving up that were the hitch.
He'd a red money box on the pot shelf, A post office thing made of tin, But with him and his Dad and the bread knife, It never had anything in.
He were properly held up for bobbins, As the folk in the mill used to say, Till he hit on a simple solution - He'd go as a young stowaway.
He studied the sailing lists daily, And at last found a ship as would do.
“S.
S.
Tosser:, a freighter from Fleetwood, Via Cape Horn to Wooloomooloo.
He went off next evening to Fleetwood, And found her there loaded and coaled, Slipped over the side in the darkness, And downstairs and into the hold.
The hold it were choked up with cargo, He groped with his hands in the gloom, Squeezed through bars of what felt like a grating, And found he had plenty of room.
Some straw had been spilled in one corner, He thankfully threw himself flat, He thought he could hear someone breathing, But he were too tired to fret about that.
When he woke they were out in mid-ocean, He turned and in light which were dim, Looked straight in the eyes of a lion, That were lying there looking at him.
His heart came right up in his tonsils, As he gazed at that big yellow face.
Then it smiled and they both said together, “Well, isn't the world a small place?” The lion were none other than Wallace, He were going to Sydney, too.
To fulfil a short starring engagement In a cage at Taronga Park Zoo.
As they talked they heard footsteps approaching, “Someone comes” whispered Wallace, “Quick, hide”.
He opened his mouth to the fullest, And Albert sprang nimbly inside.
'Twere Captain on morning inspection, When he saw Wallace shamming to doze, He picked up a straw from his bedding, And started to tickle his nose.
Now Wallace could never stand tickling, He let out a mumbling roar, And before he could do owt about it, He'd sneezed Albert out on the floor.
The Captain went white to the wattles, He said, “I'm a son of a gun”.
He had heard of beasts bringing up children, But were first time as he'd seen it done.
He soon had the radio crackling, And flashing the tale far and wide, Of the lad who'd set out for Australia, Stowed away in a lion's inside.
The quay it were jammed with reporters, When they docked on Australian soil.
They didn't pretend to believe it, But 'twere too good a story to spoil.
And Albert soon picked up the language, When he first saw the size of the fruit, There was no more “by gum” now or “Champion”, It were “Whacko!”, “Too right!” and “You beaut!”.
They gave him a wonderful fortnight, Then from a subscription they made, Sent him back as a “Parcel for Britain”, Carriage forward, and all ex's paid!

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Henry the Seventh

 Henry the Seventh of England
Wasn't out of the Royal top drawer,
The only connection of which he could boast,
He were King's nephew's brother-in-law.
It were after the Wars of the Roses That he came to the front, as it were, When on strength of his having slain Richard the Third He put himself up as his heir.
T'were a bit of a blow to the Barons When Henry aspired to the Throne, And some who'd been nursing imperial hopes Started pushing out claims of their own.
But they didn't get far with their scheming, For the moment the matter were pressed A stroke of the pen took them off to the Tower, Where a stroke of the axe did the rest.
A feller they called Perkin Warbeck Was the one who led Henry a dance, To make sure that nowt awkward should happen to him He worked from an office in France.
He claimed to be one of the Princes As were smothered to death in the Tower.
His tale was that only his brother was killed And that he had escaped the seas ower.
Henry knew the appeal of the Princes Was a strong one for Perkin to make, And he reckoned he'd best have a chat with the lad And find out the least he would take.
In reply to his kind invitation Perkin said he'd he happy to call, But he'd bring his own escort of ten thousand men And a hundred pipers an' all.
This reply put the King in a passion He swore as he'd stop Perkin's fun, Then he offered a fortune per annum to him As could tell him how his could be done.
Then up spoke the bold Lambert Simne The King's private scullion he were, He said: "Just one word in thy ear 'ole, O King, I've a plan as will stop all this 'ere.
" Then he took the King up in a corner, Where no one could hear what they said, He hadn't got far when King started to laff And he laffed till he had to he bled.
T 'were a plan to anticipate Perkin, By getting in first with these tales, Start another rebellion before he arrived And take the wind out of his sails.
And so Lambert Simnel's rebellion Made its fateful debut in the North Experts disagree who he made out to be, John the Second or Richard the Fourth.
T 'was surprising how many believed him They flocked to his flag like one man, For in them days the folk would do owt for a change, And their motto was, " San fairy ann.
" It were quite a success this rebellion Till t'were routed by Henry at Stoke, And Lambert were taken and made to confess That his parents was working class folk.
The public forgave this deception, The thing that made them proper mad Was a twopenny increase on every one's rates To pay for the fun they had had.
And so when Peter Warbeck came over Expecting his praise to be sung, He was greeted, defeated, escheated, unseated, Maltreated and finally hung.
And the Baron went back to his castle, The Peasant went back to his herd, Lambert Simnel went back to his scullion's job Because Henry went back on his word.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Jonah and the Grampus

 I'll tell you the story of Jonah,
A really remarkable tale;
A peaceful and humdrum existence he had
Until one day he went for a sail.
The weather were grand when they started, But later at turn of the tide The wind started blowing, the water got rough, And Jonah felt funny inside.
When the ship started pitching and tossing He tried hard his feelings to smother, At last he just leant his head over the side And one thing seemed to bring up another.
When the sailors saw what he were doing It gave them a bit of a jar; They didn't mind trippers enjoying theirselves, But thowt this 'ere were going too far.
Said one "Is there nowt you can think on To stop you from feelin' so bad?" And Jonah said "Aye, lift me over the side And chuck me in, there's a good lad.
" The sailor were not one to argue, He said "Happen you know what's best.
" Then he picked Jonah up by the seat of his pants And chucked him in, as per request.
A Grampus came up at that moment, And seeing the old man hard set, It swam to his side and it opened its mouth And said "Come in lad, out of the wet.
" Its manner were kindly and pleading, As if to say R.
S.
V.
P.
Said Jonah "I've eaten a kipper or two, But I never thowt one would eat me.
" The inside of Grampus surprised him, 'Twere the first time he'd been behind scenes; He found 'commodation quite ample for one But it smelled like a tin of sardines.
Then over the sea they went cruising, And Jonah were filled with delight; With his eye to the blow-'ole in t'Grampus's head He watched ships that passed in the night.
"I'm tired of watching," said Jonah, "I'll rest for a minute or so.
" "I'm afraid as you wont find your bed very soft," Said the Grampus, "I've got a hard roe.
" At that moment up came a whale boat, Said Jonah, "What's this 'ere we've struck?" "They're after my blubber," the Grampus replied, "You'd better 'old tight while I duck.
" The water came in through the spy-'ole And hit Jonah's face a real slosher, He said, "Shut your blow-'ole!" and Grampus replied "I can't lad, it needs a new washer.
" Jonah tried 'ard to bail out the water, But found all his efforts in vain, For as fast as he emptied the slops out through the gills They came in through the blow 'ole again.
When at finish they came to the surface Jonah took a look out and he saw They were stuck on a bit of a sandbank that lay One rod, pole or perch from the shore.
Said the Grampus, "We're in shallow water, I've brought you as far as I may; If you sit on the blow 'ole on top of my head I'll spout you the rest of the way.
" So Jonah obeyed these instructions, And the Grampus his lungs did expand, Then blew out a fountain that lifted Jo' up And carried him safely to land.
There was tears in their eyes when they parted And each blew a kiss, a real big 'un, Then the Grampus went off with a swish of it's tail And Jonah walked back home to Wigan.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

The Battle of Hastings

 I'll tell of the Battle of Hastings, 
As happened in days long gone by,
When Duke William became King of England, 
And 'Arold got shot in the eye.
It were this way - one day in October The Duke, who were always a toff Having no battles on at the moment, Had given his lads a day off.
They'd all taken boats to go fishing, When some chap in t' Conqueror's ear Said 'Let's go and put breeze up the Saxons;' Said Bill - 'By gum, that's an idea.
' Then turning around to his soldiers, He lifted his big Nonnan voice, Shouting - 'Hands up who's coming to England.
' That was swank 'cos they hadn't no choice.
They started away about tea-time - The sea was so calm and so still, And at quarter to ten the next morning They arrived at a place called Bexhill.
King 'Arold came up as they landed - His face full of venom and 'ate - He said 'lf you've come for Regatta You've got here just six weeks too late.
' At this William rose, cool but 'aughty, And said 'Give us none of your cheek; You'd best have your throne re-upholstered, I'll be wanting to use it next week.
' When 'Arold heard this 'ere defiance, With rage he turned purple and blue, And shouted some rude words in Saxon, To which William answered - 'And you.
' 'Twere a beautiful day for a battle; The Normans set off with a will, And when both sides was duly assembled, They tossed for the top of the hill.
King 'Arold he won the advantage, On the hill-top he took up his stand, With his knaves and his cads all around him, On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.
The Normans had nowt in their favour, Their chance of a victory seemed small, For the slope of the field were against them, And the wind in their faces an' all.
The kick-off were sharp at two-thirty, And soon as the whistle had went Both sides started banging each other 'Til the swineherds could hear them in Kent.
The Saxons had best line of forwards, Well armed both with buckler and sword - But the Normans had best combination, And when half-time came neither had scored.
So the Duke called his cohorts together And said - 'Let's pretend that we're beat, Once we get Saxons down on the level We'll cut off their means of retreat.
' So they ran - and the Saxons ran after, Just exactly as William had planned, Leaving 'Arold alone on the hill-top On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.
When the Conqueror saw what had happened, A bow and an arrow he drew; He went right up to 'Arold and shot him.
He were off-side, but what could they do? The Normans turned round in a fury, And gave back both parry and thrust, Till the fight were all over bar shouting, And you couldn't see Saxons for dust.
And after the battle were over They found 'Arold so stately and grand, Sitting there with an eye-full of arrow On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

The Jubilee Sovreign

 On Jubilee Day the Ramsbottoms
Invited relations to tea, 
Including young Albert's grandmother- 
An awkward old .
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party, was she.
She'd seen Queen Victoria's accession And `er wedding to Albert (the Good) But she got quite upset when young Albert Asked `er `ow she'd got on in the Flood.
She cast quite a damper on't party, But she warmed up a bit after tea, And gave Albert a real golden sovereign She'd been saving since last Jubilee.
It `ad picture of Queen on't one side And a dragon fight on the reverse, And it smelled of camphor and cobwebs Through being so long in `er purse.
Albert `andled the coin, and `e kissed it And `e felt the rough edge with `is tongue; For `e knew by the look of `is father That it wouldn't be `is very long.
"I`ll show you a trick wi' that sovereign," Said Pa, `oo were `overin' near- And `e took and pretended to eat it, Then brought it back out of `is ear.
This magic filled Albert with wonder, And before you could say "Uncle Dick", `E'd got the coin back from `is father And performed the first part of the trick.
When they all saw where the money `ad gone With excitement the relatives burned; And each one suggested some process For getting the money returned.
Some were for fishing with tweezers, While some were for shaking it out; "If we only got back a few shillings," They said "`twould be better than nowt.
" They tried `olding Albert `ead downward And giving `is shoulders a clump- `Till his uncle, `oo worked for a chemist Said "There's nowt for it but stomach pump.
" Well, they `adn't a stomach pump `andy, But Pa did the best that `e could With a bicycle pump that they borrowed But that weren't nearly so good.
So off they went to the doctor `Oo looked down `is throat with a glass; `E said "This'll mean operation- I fear that `e'll `ave to `ave gas.
" "`Ow much is this `ere goin' to cost me?" Said Father, beginning to squirm.
"I'm afraid that it comes out expensive- The best gas is eight pence a therm.
There's my time, six shillings an hour; You can't do these things in two ticks- By rights I should charge you a guinea, But I'll do it for eighteen and six.
" "Wot, eighteen and six to get sovereign?" Said Father, "That doesn't sound sense I'll tell you, you'd best keep young Albert And give us the odd eighteen pence!" The doctor concurred this arrangement, But to this day he stands in some doubt As to whether he's in eighteen shillings Or whether he's eighteen pence out.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

Canute the Great

 I'll tell of Canute, King of England,
A native of Denmark was he,
His hobbies was roving and raiding
And paddling his feet in the sea.
By trade he were what's called a Viking, Every summer he'd visit our shore, Help himself to whatever he wanted, And come back in the autumn for more.
These trips always showed him a profit, But what stumped him to know was this 'ere.
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.
Where the English folk got all the money, He came and took off them each year.
After duly considering the matter, He concluded as how his best course, Were to have an invasion of England, And tap the supply at its source.
He got other Vikings to join him, With a promise of plunder and spoil, And raked up atrocity stories, To bring all their blood to the boil.
They landed one morning at Weymouth, And waited for fight to begin, While their foe, Ethelred the Unready, Found his army and got it fell in.
When the battle were done, Crown of England, Changed heads, so the history book states, From Ethelred's seven-and-a-quarter, To King Canutes six-and-five-eights.
The Vikings was cheered as the winners, Ethelred, he went somewhere and died, And Canute, to his lasting atonement.
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Made the widow, Queen Emma, his bride.
She started to teach him his manners, To drink without wetting his nose, Put his hand to his mouth and say "Pardon!", Every time the occasion arose.
She said his companions was vulgar, His habits more easy than free, Made him promise no more to disgrace her, By paddling his feet in the sea.
At the time this 'ere promise meant nothing, It were made in the cool of the spring, But when summer came in with a heat wave, T' were a totally different thing.
He moved his court down to the seaside, Where they took off their shoes and their socks, And rushed to the water and left him, Alone on his throne on the rocks.
Said one, "Come on King, have a paddle, I'll look after your sceptre and crown.
" He replied, "Nay, I promised the missus, And I can't let the old.
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lady down.
" "No need to do that," said the Tempter, "The tide's coming in, as you see; You promised you wouldn't go to it, But you can't stop it coming to thee!" And that's how it happened.
.
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that later, When Emma came over the sands, She found Canute knee deep in water, Trying to shush the sea back with his hands.
For not letting on that he'd seen her, He was chiding each wave as it came, Saying, "Thus far, my lad, and no further!" 'Til Emma said, "What is this game?" He replied, These 'ere flatterers told me, That the sea would obey me, and so, I'm giving them this demonstration, To show what a fat lot they know.
" "You're doing quite right," shouted Emma, "It's time someone made them look small!" Then she took off her shoes and her stockings, And started to paddle an' all.

Written by Marriott Edgar |

The Burghers of Calais

 It were after the Battle of Crecy- 
The foe all lay dead on the ground- 
And King Edward went out with his soldiers
To clean up the places around.
The first place they came to were Calais, Where t' burghers all stood in a row, And when Edward told them to surrender They told Edward where he could go.
Said he, " I'll beleaguer this city, I'll teach them to flout their new King - Then he told all his lads to get camp-stools And sit round the place in a ring.
Now the burghers knew nowt about Crecy- They laughed when they saw Edward's plan- And thinking their side were still winning, They shrugged and said- " San fairy Ann.
" But they found at the end of a fortnight That things wasn't looking so nice, With nowt going out but the pigeons, And nowt coming in but the mice.
For the soldiers sat round on their camp-stools, And never a foot did they stir, But passed their time doing their knitting, And crosswords, and things like that there.
The burghers began to get desperate Wi' t' food supply sinking so low, For they'd nowt left but dry bread and water, Or what they called in French "pang" and "oh" They stuck it all autumn and winter, But when at last spring came around They was bothered, bewitched and beleaguered, And cods' heads was tenpence a pound.
So they hung a white flag on the ramparts To show they was sick of this 'ere- And the soldiers, who'd finished their knitting, All stood up and gave them a cheer.
When King Edward heard they had surrendered He said to them, in their own tongue, "You've kept me here all football season, And twelve of you's got to be hung.
" Then up stood the Lord Mayor of Calais, "I'll make one" he gallantly cried- Then he called to his friends on the Council To make up the rest of the side.
When the townspeople heard of the hanging They rushed in a crowd through the gate- They was all weeping tears of compassion, And hoping they wasn't too late.
With ropes round their necks the twelve heroes Stood proudly awaiting their doom, Till the hangman at last crooked his finger And coaxingly said to them-" Come.
At that moment good Queen Phillippa Ran out of her bower and said- Oh, do have some mercy, my husband; Oh don't be so spiteful, dear Ted.
" Then down on her knee-joints before them She flopped, and in accents that rang, Said, "Please, Edward, just to oblige me, You can't let these poor burghers hang.
The King was so touched with her pleading, He lifted his wife by the hand And he gave her all twelve as a keepsake And peace once again reigned in the land.