Mad Meg of the Moors they call her
And she’s always dressed in white
And she’s looking for a bus stop
As she wanders through the night.
You can hear her hideous mutter
Oh my lord, oh dear, good heaven
Where have they moved the stop
For the number twenty seven.
They say she was left behind
From a charabanc in 1922
Stopping for the conveniences
Then swiftly passing through.
It was a works Christmas outing
With such a disastrous end
Poor Meg sadly parted
From both family and friends
She doesn’t wander often,
Has been seen by very few,
But it signifies misfortune
For the unlucky ones who do.
The late Bertie Higgins
Said he crossed her path,
And thirty seven years later
Died violently in his bath.
Mad Meg of the Moors they call her
And she’s always dressed in white
And she’s looking for a bus stop
As she wanders through the night.
We received our invitation
To an old time music hall.
Where gentlemen wore Sunday's best
And ladies; to the nines.
Relaxing in the saloon bar,
Exchanging pleasantries.
Pre theatre drinks of cocktails,
With beers and fine French wines.
Then ushers wearing waistcoats,
Flat caps and polished boots
Announced in fifteen minutes,,
It would be showtime soon.
With bright lamplights, slowly fading low,
A wedding march played, then on with the show,
For our granddaughter, to be married on stage.
After all the photographs, and brushing tears away,
Waiting in the wings, until the fat lady sings,
Was a vintage charabanc, made in the good old days
Transporting us in time, with an ageless grace
To a wonderful feast, where we did celebrate.
It did not seem to be, that so long ago,
A pretty little girl, was sitting on our knee.
Nostalgic moments, for us to recall.
Safely locked inside, our abiding memory.
England my England sets standards anew
Coveted ideals drooled over by hordes
an empire elated shall forever be true
Gilded by conquest stronger men knew
The Romans Saxons Vikings and Nords
England my England sets standards anew
Perched on red charabanc tourism grew
Drinking fine history of ladies and lords
an empire elated shall forever be true
England is England where all blood is blue
Timeless memory through poetic chords
England my England sets standards anew
Traditions so loyal old mingle with new
Pirated treasures kept still in their hoards
an empire elated shall forever be true
England my English country right through
of contrasting pageantry given by wards
England my England sets standards anew
an empire elated shall forever be true
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