Oliver, a Boy
My mother's name was Seraphine
A sadder child was never seen
Her duty was to serve the table
Of newly widowed Mrs. Grable
Her husband Mr. Grable died
To keep the British gratified
For which the lady, born and bred
Was brought to stay with Master Ted
Their lineage was the House of Bean
A family favored by the Queen
When epic wars left many dead
The House of Bean was spared instead
For serving well Her Majesty
The Beans were blessed with property
And one small subject, good and clean
The lowly servant, Seraphine
When Seraphine was just a child
Her Master Ted met Mr. Wilde
A gentleman from Derbyshire
In need of servant class for hire
In Derbyshire he kept a farm
A new estate with country charm
That came with dairy cows and sheep
And one large lake two fathoms deep
He lived in lonely solitude
Without a wife to share his food
The class that served so faithfully
Was not a fitting company
When Seraphine was strong and able
She dug the grave of Mrs. Grable
And thought about a different house
To serve within a different blouse
For Seraphine had seen the day
When Master Bean refused to pay
The twenty pounds he paid before
Although she labored even more
She knew the way to break his sway
Was leave his house without delay
In search of better work and food
And just a bit of gratitude
But Bean would always tell her no
Because he feared that she would go
And tell the queen most truthfully
About the time she worked for free
She thought about a running mate
Another maid to share her fate
But all the other maids were proud
To be among the servant crowd . . .
When all their work was duly done
And shadowlands replaced the sun
The manor maids were then excused
To crawl in beds where they recused
Though waifish girls of every type
Were thus inclined to sit and gripe
They quickly found that like before
The cheeky ones were shown the door
Now Seraphine, just might have stayed
But all the rest were duly paid
Who thus, redeemed, and paid at last
Did not object to be outclassed
For manor work was hard to find
And prostitution was the grind
That left you sick and often dead
But rarely meant you got ahead
The girls shared a laugh or two
As servant maids are prone to do
But sheer exhaustion proved to be
The ending to their revelry
Though Seraphine could join the crew
Who went to bed and promptly too
She quietly topped off her sack
Without a thought of coming back
A dreamer on the kitchen crew
Was dreaming with a window view
When suddenly the breaking dawn
Betrayed the maiden on the lawn
The kitchen boy released a shout
That startled everyone about
And made the Manor Lady scream
And wake the Master from his dream
A bobby who was passing by
Was startled by their anguished cry
And hurried with a worried frown
To find the Master in his gown
The Master told a mournful story
That even sold the Morning Glory
And made the bobby blow his whistle
Enough to kill a bed of thistle
A 'Peeler' by the name of Cook
Approached his calling by the book
And made a vow to Master Bean
To capture cunning Seraphine...
***
This intermission that we take
Is meant to help you stay awake
Through what I say and for the sake
Of everyone who needs a break...
Continued in part 2 . . .
Copyright © Bryan Norton | Year Posted 2020
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