(These poems work best if read out loud in a broad Yorkshire accent. Give it a try!)
The beauty contest
The beauty contest This, an astonishing story As 'appened in days way back when Women were birds (if they wanted) And men were allowed to be men. There were none of this Health, Safety nonsense, And if tha' lost a leg while at work, You'd 'ave to go 'oppit to 'dole queue And 'missus would call thee a berk. Well, back in them days, they 'ad contests For women as thought they looked nice, To parade in their best swimmin' cossies, Wi' perhaps just a splash of Old Spice. Lord Mayor of Bradford, were for'ard Thinking, said,"We'll 'ave one of those, Our city's a place full of women As don't 'ave a reet lot of clothes." They booked some celebrity judges, Johnny Craddock and his missus Fanny, The lady what cleaned the cathedral, And Jeremy Clarkson's old granny. Day of 'contest, there were dozens, As lined up, along 'canal side, Some, what were looking 'alf decent And others, a dozen foot wide. Sue from Holmewood looked fair tasty, She'd borrowed a fresh pair of teeth, But was given the boot 'ere the final For being a plumber called Keith. "What do you do, young miss, for a 'obby, "Well me, I like children," claimed Kate, And looking at size of 'er belly, Kiddies were what the girl ate. Wi' all 'er tattoos spelled correctly, Dorothy, were firm favourite, Till it come time for answering questions, When she said, she thought Clarkson were shit. Now in them days, there weren't many muslims Perhaps they 'ad got too much sense Than to turn up in 'igh 'eels and swimsuits, For the sake of a few rotten pence. Bradford's most beautiful ladies, And to tell thee the truth, some of 'worst, But who would be placed in the contest, And which lucky girl would get first? Judges were quite undecided, Some wanted Joan, some thought Jenny, So, when none of the girls was a looking, Then, slyly, they tossed up a penny. Third place, were Greta from Greengates, Second were fat, jolly Joan, And when Jenny screamed,"Fuck, I'm a winner," Everyone let out a groan. Disqualifying, 'only solution, 'Ead judge 'ad to do summat drastic First prize went to 'lock-keeper's daughter, A sweet little thing, Lucy Lastic.
Mrs Hobbo’s Pressie
Mrs Hobbo's Pressie Mrs Hobbo were coming up forty, A delicate age for a girl, When bits of the body head southwards And trimmings begin to unfurl. To say she were touch about it Would only be tellin' the truth. Hobbo needed to buy summat special To capture t'old lady's lost youth. His brains, Hobbo racked for a fortneet, What little he 'ad, any road, Till Dauphy Dog come to the rescue, Wi' a perfect idea, a la mode. Sexy lingerie, that were the answer, That's posh talk for knickers and bras. Much better than Hobbo's suggestion Of scotch and a box of cigars. There were only one shop in all Keighley, What 'ad necess'ry clout and finesse, The shop were of course Mark's and Spencer's What customers call M and S. Hobbo was required to do research, Before he set foot in the store, So, he waited till missus was shoppin' Then rooted round 'knicker-wear drawer. For her knickers, she'd need a size ten And her bras were a thirty six C, But I don't think she'd want that made public, So, we'll keep it between thee and me. One bright early morning, in Winter Hobbo sneaked 'issen in M and S. He'd never bought undies before this, And were under considerable stress. Furtively looking about 'im, He took from a pile, a wire basket. Being virgin, he needed directions, Being a man, he didn't dare ask it. Finally, in 'knicker department, And gobsmacked that there was so much choice, he made 'is selection, By looking, reluctant to touch. Once he 'ad sussed what he wanted, He bunged it in 'basket, right quick, Walked to checkouts at far side of store, Beginning to feel a bit sick. By now, a long queue started building As he waited to pay for 'is wares, And Hobbo grew redder and redder, Attractin' some giggles and stares. Eventually, red as a beetroot, He made it to front o' the queue, And a glamorous girl on the checkout Began putting 'purchases through. By 'olding each item up caref'lly, She checked all the sizes again, Says,"Some of these knickers are twelves, And some as you've picked, are a ten." Ten is 'right size muttered Hobbo, So she hands all the twelves to her mate, To change at the far side of store, As 'queue behind's getting irate. Full forty yards, top of her voice, Yells, "We don't have the tens in a white. We 'ave got, grey, green or raspberry. Would any of these be alright?" Holding each item aloft, For Hobbo to choose, mortified, He mumbles that any will do, And the queue behind Hobbo all sighed. Luckily folks started laughing, Not Hobbo, he wanted to hide, Though once he were safely back home, He started to see 'funny side. Mrs Hobbo were pleased with her pressie, Expecting, like last year, some socks, But the next time that she 'ad a birthday, She 'ad to make do wi' some chocs.
A bit of a fuss
A bit of a fuss A Yorksher mill town name of Keighley, That's where this little story begins With a young shop assistant called Susan Full name 'at is, Sue Anne Provvins. She couldn't keep up wi' the ding rate When they put the poor lassy on 'tills, Sideways, she moved on to the butchers, To better 'er choppin' up skills. There, she mixed tripe wi' black puddin' In a way that was less than desirous. Before you could say 'Billy No-Mates' Sue Anne was the source of a virus. At first it were swept under 'carpet Her bosses were in-cred-you-luss, When folks started dropping like nine pins, Well, it started a bit of a fuss. 'Train through to Leeds were soon cancelled, Some said, "Whoa, tha's goin' too far, 'Ow can I go and see me old granny, It's alright for thee, tha's a car". The newshounds got ho'd of the story, And people were dying in lumps. Said Barnaby Bumble, a spokesman, "It's worse than when Johnny 'ad 'mumps". It quickly spread, all ovver Yorksher, Chaps took to a coverin' their face. In an effort to find who 'ad gorrit, They wrote a new app, 'Back to Base'. The old, and the poorly were shielded, By lockin' them into their 'ouses. Being stoic, because of the war years, They stayed there as quiet as mouses. The Mayoress of Yorksher were summoned, She divided us all into tiers, Some as could do as they wanted, And some as were kicked up their rears. Brains, working all sorts of 'ours, Were tryin' to come up wi' a cure, Then early one morning, Eureka! At nigh on a quarter to four. The guinea pigs they 'ad been feedin' To see what would live and would die, Had e'ten a mixture of gubbins But one, a survivor, ate pie. Strict trials were started, immediate To find which were 'best pie to eat. The one causing least complications, Were found to be taty and meat. Fact'ries ramped up their production, And taties were killed by the score, Five 'undred a week they were makin' But they guessed they were gonna need more. Now Yorksher, it does 'ave its skeptics Some, very 'ard to convince, Many preferred eatin' pasties, And some said, they'd sooner 'ave mince. So, a Positive Pie Eating programme, Which media 'ad dubbed P.P.E, Was rolled out, right ovver Yorksher And now, they are Sue Virus free.
Granddad's Legacy Me granddad were never sartorial He was, to be honest, a scruff Who frittered away most of his money On tobacco and 'osses and stuff. He always wore same 'orrid cardy A monstrosity med out o' cotton Dirty and threadbare and smelly This manky old thing were quite rotten. When younger, he worked down the jam mines Blasting out strawb'rries and plums Then he'd slope off to 'pub wi' his whippet And neck a few beers wi' his chums. He kept 'issen fit fer a pensioner Only five days a week on the sick And even well into his eighties He could sprint hundred yards wi' his stick. The old man just med it to hundred Then curled up his toes and he died I 'ad to break news to our granny Who I swear, on my life, nearly cried. He was given a good send off by Co-Op Folk travelled from near and from far They wheeled 'im to church in a barrer Which saved the expense of a car. For 'reading of 'will, we all gathered Tension, it were ramped up a notch Gran got his pigeons and slippers And dad 'is retirement watch. Granddad 'ad not forgot me though In a carefully weaved codicil He left me his stinky old cardy And that's all I got from 'is will. Now, if this were a fairy type story Tha' would treasure the cardy, not knock it Tha'd search through the garment for money And tha'd find summat grand in the pocket. Well, I did that, I searched it for goodies But the pockets were as empty as sin So I rolled the thing up in a bundle And left it outside for the bin. Me mum said, "Tha' can't leave it there lad What will folk say, get a grip. Anyway, this week's recycling Tha'll 'ave to tek thing to the tip". I set off to 'tip on me pushbike Pedals went round 'ell fer leather Got there and then 'eavens opened Typical wet British weather. I'm just going to chuck granddad's cardy When a dainty young thing caught me eye Deirdrie, the tip's supervisor Says, "Come 'ere lad, and keep thissen dry". Pretty soon, we found ourselves chatting Things come to a head, as they say Before I had time to say granddad I'm saying to her, name the day. My fiance were a real beauty Wi' her dimples and pimples and spots And a rash spread all ovver her body I spent many hours joining the dots. We were wed in 'same church as me granddad She, ten minutes late, not too tardy With me wearing, you'll nivver guess it A smart three piece suit, not that cardy. Osses: Horses Cardy: Cardigan Issen: Himself Barrer: Barrow Thissen: Yourself Wi': With
Conquering Billinge Hill
Conquering Billinge Hill Now, if tha's gorra taste for adventure And tha' likes an adrenaline thrill For a trip that'll set thee pulse racing Try to conquer the great Billinge Hill. Tha' mun pick a day when it's sunny St. Helens is often in cloud And if by some wonder, tha' meks it Tha' mun take a pic, standing proud. Tha'll need lots of specialist equipment If tha' wants to get nearer to 'sky This is no little lump that were talking This monster's six hundred foot high. Tha'll 'ave to mek base camp at 'chippy And stock up tha' sack wi' provisions Like porridge and bog roll and such like And a compass what works wi' precision. First feller to try it, a local Sadly, run out o' chips 'alfway up He could've made do wi' a cuppa But forgot to bring wi' him a cup. Mountaineers by the dozen 'ave tried it Sir Edmund explained, cun't be plainer Tha' mun have a good pair of fell boots And none of your fancy Nike trainers. Mek sure thee affairs 'ave been settled If tha's worth owt, tha'd best make a will There's more than just lives 'ave been lost In that lay-by, at bottom of 'ill. Mek sure tha' tells gran where tha's goin' In case tha' gets lost on the way And tha'd best take a clean pair of undies As tha'll not do it all in a day. If tha' meks it all 'way up to 'summit The view is a sight to behold Tha' can see all 'way back to the bottom And mek out my house, so I'm told. So, if tha' is one of 'handful what does it Plant a flag, tap it in wi' a whack Be reet careful on 'long journey homeward And give theesen pat on the back.
A cautionary tale
A cautionary tale In Yorksher they had 'reffy rendrum About whither to go it alone And since most of 'tykes, were all forrit The republic of Yorksher were born. First job, it were finding a boss type Nessy tated all 'ands to the pump They scoured the cobbles of Bradford To find billionairess, Donna Crump. The slogan,'Mek Yorksher great ag'in Was summat they an't 'eard in years And the prospect of more dry stone walling 'Ad grown men, crying into their beers. On 'first day, she signed loads of papers Twelve before going to bed Some of it really important And some, what she even 'ad read. At first it were all hunky dory She built up considerable funds By scrapping the decimal system And printing their own Yorksher punds. Soon, some were beginning to doubt her Too big fer 'er boots, too offhand To establish 'erself as 'world leader She shook, Mayor of Lancashire's 'and. About twelve months 'afore re-election The Black Pudding Plague swept the Dales But Donna were sniffy about it Said it only killed people from Wales. Her supporters were told not to worry And Donna refused to wear 'mask Sadly, thousands who listened to 'lady Were carted away in a casque. Her four years in office passed quickly What with eatin' tinned peaches and such When they put an old man up ag'in her Well, Donna thought that a bit much. The vote were about fifty-fifty Wi' towns going one way, then t'other When it looked like t'old feller 'ad edged it Crump 'ad to ring up 'er big brother. Find me a shed load of voters Don't care who, don't care how And as for the votes fer the old bloke Well they shouldn't count anyhow. The countin' dragged on fer a month T'old feller were given a win But Crump were as stubborn as pigshit Dug 'er heels in, and wouldn't give in. Crump supporters, invaded the town 'all Wi' a noise fit to wekken the queen up They med such a mess wi' their boots on It took 'em all weekend, to clean up. Eventually, sense were restored though And Yorksher came back into 'fold As a warning to future republics Is this little parody told.
We aim to please
We aim to please Now this here's a delicate subject Appertaining to only us blokes As a poet, I cannot ignore it And it's often the subject of jokes. I'm talking of bodily functions But I'll be as discreet as I can Womenfolk don't 'ave to read this Though I bet, they will sneak a quick scan. It's all got to do with the diff'rence What me mam used to call 'dangly bits A woman has need of the toilet For the 'ole operation, she sits. We first find this thing, in our nappies Such a treasure, for any young boy Then what does your mam go and tell you It's a present, but it's not a toy. As lads we are given a bucket Which we tip upside down, so we reach We balance a'top, and rest on the rim Missus, watch where you go with that bleach. Growin' up, we are taken to visit This white shiny thing, the urinal The smell when you walk through the door Can best be described as caninal. At home, there is nothing, quite like this Instead, we must target the pan It's gen'lly a two handed job And we aim it as best as we can. Now here, lies the crux of the problem As we stand there, with hands occupied Not a care in the world, and we whistle Then, the lid on the bog, starts to slide. A dilemma of piddling proportions How do I, take this matter in hand Without pissing all over the bathroom Thereby risking, my wife's reprimands. Quick as a flash, 'ere the lid falls 'Leg lifts, an' I catch it wi' knee But far from an ideal solution Me 'ands are now covered in wee. So ladies, when choosing a toilet Pick one, wi' a lid what stays put Don't 'ave them what drop down whilst streaming Q.E.D, I think, open and shut.
Dauphy saves the day!
Dauphy saves the day! Our Queen, is a popular lady Who lives, in a glamorous 'ouse But, before she become rich an' famous Poor girl were as shy as a mouse. Mam sent 'er to stay up in Yorksher Where there's loads of sound people to meet And English is spoke like it should be So, 'princess could learn to talk reet. Tha' might think, am pulling tha' leg like But am telling thee, this as a fact Yes, I know now, she gen'lly talks posh For the public, but that's all an act. Moving on now, she's stuck in t'old palace Locked down, at Buck House, in tier ten The jigsaws had got a tad tedious And they'd run out of bog roll,again. So, 'butler were sent for provisions T'instructions, precise and specific Get 'soft stuff, not crappy old Izal What slides round yer bum, it's horrific. This, being the middle of Winter T'old butler pulled on 'is warm wellies And as he were passing 'er windder She shouted out, get me some smellies. It were at the main gate he 'it 'problem The lock were froze solid, wun't shift Butler scratched 'ead, stood there ditherin' Cos he new Liz'd give 'im short shrift. Luckily, passing that day Were Hobbo and Dauphy, out walking 'Ow can I 'elp thee, asked Dauphy 'Pon my life! Is that Yorksher yer talkin'? I can't budge yon gate, moaned the butler 'Lock on it's solid, it's froze I've got an idea said Dauphy Which I'll tell thee, in rhyme not in prose. See, as look for some grass around 'ere pal Well, a' mun as well search for a ghost And the council are such flippin' cheapskates That I've given up 'ope of a post. Consequently, I am a bustin' And it's too short to tie in a knot If I pee on yon lock, I've a notion Our problems are solved, like as not. 'Butler took up the suggestion So that man and beast both had relief 'Servant went off, and did 'shopping Brought pies back, two pork and one beef. 'Course the Queen, she were ovver the moon She'd 'ad to be wipin' wi' Times 'Mail might 'ave been more appropriate But 'Queen wiped wi' this, cos it rhymes. Hobbo love, this dog's an 'ero That Dauphy's looked after us right Next time it's me birthday, I'll dub thee In other words,make thee a knight. Dauphy...Canine British Empire E'en corgis don't get C.B.E Dauphy, a little ungrateful Says, Queen love, it's near time for tea. So everyone 'ad a reet slap up Dauphy 'ad well earned 'is snooze 'Butler cracked gin bottle open Sir Hobbo and 'Queen went on 'booze. reet; right tha'; you, your Izal; a shiny brand of toilet paper windder; window wun't; wouldn't smellies; perfumed products a' mun: I might
The true story of the Bradford Boar
The true story of the Bradford Boar Tell me a true story Granddad About life in the good olden days When gran still had all her own teeth And you weren't so set in your ways. Okay, well I'd just met yer granny At a time when the Dead Sea were living Pontius was not quite a pilot And nobody had heard of just giving. Gran were a taster for Marmite Her palate refined, no mistake And I worked part time at the butcher's 'Best seller were dinosaur steak. We lived in a city called Bradford Yorkshire it were, through and through And people were living in terror Of a boar what 'ad bunked it from 'zoo. Now this, to you, might not sound scary A fat bellied, oversized porker but the tusks on it could 'ave cut glass And it swore like a native New Yorker. Now, to kill it, there were a reward Of maybe three guineas, I think Which then would by house and a car And a kitchen wi' posh fitted sink. So, eager to make a few bob I come up wi' a dead cunning plan Into Bradford Beck, I would lure it Then chuck it in 'butchering van. Six gallons of custard and gravy In buckets, were laid for a trap I was armed wi' me stick, just in case like Then hid behind 'bush for a nap. The clock on 'Town Hall had struck midnight I woke up to a blood curdling sound The boar had kicked all 'buckets ovver And were 'aving a reet feast on 'ground. Like a bullet, I sprung from me crouch And pushed it in 'beck wi' me stick Bradford Beck ain't the cleanest of watter And it drownded the boar pretty quick. Now granddad ain't daft, as you know lad I knew I were in for 'reward But I wanted the boar's meat for 'butcher's So I cut out its tongue wi' a sword. The Lord Mayor, he were delighted And happy wi' tongue as his proof I bought gran a house with the money Wi' extension that 'ad a flat roof. I became what you might call an 'ero Folk came from all ovver the land To purchase their Bradford Boar Burgers And say that they'd shaken me hand.
The ballad of Adolf and Winnie
"Winnie," said young Churchill's mother As they sauntered along by 'canal "You don't seem right settled at 'arrow I think what you need's a pen pal." "There's a boy from a nice Austrian fam'ly As I'm told that is looking for fame You're sure to have plenty in common Adolf 'itler's the little lad's name." "I don't want a pen pal," sulked Winston His mouth turning down in a pout "Besides, I don't speak any German And he won't know no English or nowt." "It will better your school education" Insisted mother, a woman called Jen "Your CV will look well impressive When you become a great leader of men." So Winston began to write Adolf Of the 'I am well, hope you're well' kind To which Adolf responded politely "Yes, I'm tickety-boo you will find." At first it went all nicey-nicey They'd write once a month, thereabouts But as'itler grew up he grew dafter And Churchill began voicing doubts. Things worsened between them right sharpish When Winston became the P.M His letters to Adolf censorious Using words that were quick to condemn. "You can't blame the Jews for your problems How dare you say, all is their fault? And as for invading poor Poland Your armies should grind to a halt." The Fuhrer were quick to respond though Not scared to call 'shovel a spade So Winnie gave him 'V is for vict'ry' To show 'Germans as we weren't afraid. The battle swung one way then t'other As things tend to do in a war With 'absence of good refereeing It was hard keeping track of the score. Dunkirk, Winston claimed was a vict'ry And 'Battle of Britain an' all But Adolf 'ad u-boats and Nazis So really, it was more like two-all. Churchill demanded surrender Sick to his teeth of the wars "If you don't then I'll bring in the allies And my mates are bigger than yours." Then up stepped the Yanks with their money Glenn Miller in 'mood wi' his swing Big guns, bigger wallets, biggest voices Nylon stockings 'as made the girls sing. Their boss were called Eisen 'Ower Or Ike to his pals, such as Winnie He insisted on being in charge like Leaving Winston in iger-nominy. Thousands of brave men in ships Were sent off to Normandy, France Many lost their lives in the fighting But the allies left nothing to chance. They sent over food, tanks and soldiers Who the French ladies met with a cheer When 'itler saw 'size of this army He knew he had plenty to fear. Adolf scurried away from the fighting And whilst Germany was turned upside down This coward, who Winston stood up to Wed his lover and mistress Frau Braun. 'Allies found Adolf's bunker in Berlin The place were a bit of a mess Churchill's letters were lying on 'doormat Stamped, "No longer at this address." So, if someone suggests you a pen pal As they're bound to do sooner or later Be sure to check out their credentials Don't get stuck with a nasty dictator.
Something just snapped
This, an historical story Bits of which, might ring a bell Of a well famous engineer feller Called Isambard Kingdom Brunel. As a child he were awfully clever By the time this young lad had reached eight Given tough geometrical problems The answers he'd soon calculate. He drove his mum barmy at mealtimes By sculpting his mash into ships Tunnelling through his potatoes Or building a bridge wi' his chips. Izzy clearly was showing potential But 'is parents left nothing to chance For exceptionally good qualifications He were sent to a Uni' in France. For his first job he worked wi' his father Ambitious their mission and aims Folk commented,"This can't be done Tunnellin' through 'mud under 'Thames." "Something just snapped,"foreman shouted Dirty water came flooderin' in Leaving many poor kids wi' no parents And mothers wi' no next of kin. It took them a couple of weeks like To clear up the mess wi' some mops Then Izz took a look at the problem Said 'workers,"Lad's brain nivver stops." 'Fuffle valve in the wotsit 'ad jammed Causing 'shank shaft on 'giggler to shake Which led to a build up of pressure And the thingummy bobby to break. Izzy soon 'ad the thingummy mended By binding it up wi' duct tape WD40 was sprayed on the giggler And everything functioned ship-shape. Next job were the Great Western Railway From London right through to welsh Wales Something's just snapped said 'same foreman As carriages slid from their rails. This time it were 'multiplicator On 'camshaft 'ad had too much choke Bending 'needle in 'oojamaflip thing Meaning 'silly mid-on rod 'ad broke. Izzy sorted the problem right sharpish Getting hands and face covered in grime Though long before great British Railways His engines were seldom on time. Clever Izzy designed several projects At a work rate that could not be capped And always wi' duct tape kept 'andy As precaution, least something else snapped. When his ship the Great Britain were finished He became a celebrity star Sporting dirty great mutton chop sideburns And a big fat Havana cigar. Izzy'd taken to carrying a knapsack To keep all his bits an' his bobs Screwdrivers an' spanners an' duct tape An emergency repair kit for knobs. Izzy's photo were always in 'papers Not Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram His missus did not like the coverage "That bag makes you look like your mam." "I've made you a titfer," she told him "You resemble an aristocrat." Mr Brunel were 'ighly delighted "Now that's what I call a top 'at." The chapeau were all he could wish for No need any more, for his sack He could fill it with all sorts of gubbin's And still 'ave some room for a snack. So, wi' Clifton Bridge under construction When something just snapped once again He'd fish in the 'at for the answer This Brit with his ginormous brain. Then, when the problem were sorted He'd dig in his 'at, as you do Bring out a pork pie, or a sarnie And an 'ot flask of strong Yorkshire brew.
Shaken, not stirred
Stanley, a butcher's assistant Lived at home with his mum, and his gran A dog, fifteen cats and a budgie And a lodger from Uzbekistan. The dog was a mongrel, named Scruffy Stan fed him 'scrag end' from the store 'Cats got bits of fish from the chippy 'Bird, seed, from the pet shop next door. They all rubbed along pretty nicely And 'lodger 'elped out wi' his keep They'd sit round 'gas fire watching telly Until granny and mum fell asleep. From his gran, Stan had picked up a problem Shaking hands, like the leaves on a tree This made eating and drinking a problem And soup were a catastroph-ee. 'Butcher's patience had finally run out When young Stan cut his hand, with a yelp "That's umpteenth time, only this week lad I think you need medical 'elp." Before he could visit the doctor's His mum checked out how he were dressed "We don't want no tittlin' or tattlin' I've laid out on 'bed 'Sunday best." Stanley sat doodlin' in 'surg'ry A bit feeling down in the dumps Wi' 'coughers and 'sniffers and such like And a boy wi' a bad case of mumps. His first diagnosis was Parky's Which came as a bit of a shock But after some prodding and poking He was sent to a specialist doc. "You've something called ee-senshul tremor," Stan was told,with some justification "It's not a life threatening condition We'll put you on strong medication." The specialist prescribed him three tablets One yellow, one white and one red Two to be taken at mealtimes And one with his cocoa at bed. Medicated, he shook like a jelly More discussion, and consideration The hospital theatre were beckoning For a bit of a brain operation. At the hozzie they gave him a checkup His ticker was tocking so slow That knocking him out for the surg'ry Was a lux'ry he'd have to forego. Six hours with no anaesthetic! Two big 'oles in his 'ed, Stan were stressed Sticking 'lectrodes and probes in his noggin And a pacemaker thing in his chest. A fancy remote he were given Big improvements is what he were hoping 'Operation did help him a bit And with eating his food, he was coping. Soon, Stan was back at the butcher's Let loose with this 'uge boning knife A 'glass half full' kind of person Who looked on the bright side of life. So, pleased with the little improvements He gave 'budgie a peck on its beak Granny's bird had the avian flu though Stanley curled up his toes within 'week. His mum, mortified at his passing Had checked Stan's insurance again One payment short on the premium She'd have to make do wi' free pen. The family were very upset Played his favourite song at the wake The group were 'The Swinging Blue Jeans,' The record was 'Hip' Hippy Shake.' Shakin' Stanley it said on his 'eadstone Shook his last, no more 'Rattle and Roll' 'All shook up' on a permanent basis And may God rest his shiverin' soul. To his wonderment, Stan went to 'eaven Passed the Man in the Moon and the stars Gave Orion the 'unter his belt back And took a sharp right after Mars. When he reached 'pearly gates, Stan were baffled Saint Peter had asked for a word "I've got you a job in the bar, son God's Martinis are shaken, not stirred."
The icing on the cake
Bill Ogden adored his girl Annie Loved her with all of his 'eart They'd only been courting for six months When he promised 'Till death do us part.' The way to man's 'eart goes the saying Is feeding him good things to eat And when William got married to Annie He knew he were in for a treat. See, Annie loved cooking and baking 'Twas truly her passion and pride A bit of a gourmand was William What more could he want from 'is bride? She conjured up pasties and pastries Cooking food that was fit for a king Baked cakes that were light as a feather Sweet puds that could make 'is 'eart sing. As William grew fatter and fatter Annie's expertise started to grow She began by exhibiting wares Near to Thirsk, at the Borrowby Show. The cheese and onion pie got a mention Her chutneys came in with two thirds First prize for her Dutch apple pie though And Annie was strugglin' for words. Her signature dish was established Perfecting it show after show This pie always nabbed the top prize Leaving contenders with nowhere to go. Bill worshipped his wife's home-made cooking In the kitchen, he'd often be found Feeding his face with her goodies As his belly grew ever more round. Of all of the shows held up North The biggest, and so most prestigious Annie pursued the 'Great Yorkshire' With a drive that were almost religious. This show is the Creme de la creme A real agricultural force To exhibit your baking or jams Your gin, or your spuds, or an 'orse. It was an era, post 'foot and mouth' Many livestock were tragically dead But also a time before Covid Had raised up its 'orrible 'ead. Annie knew that she could have played safe With her old apple pie reci-pee But Victoria Sponge was her choice To broaden her cook's repartee. Practice makes perfect they say And Bill was in 'throes of delight Each cake tasted hot from the oven Until Annie had got it just right. Come the big day, she were nervous 'Reputation had drawn a big crowd 'Judge frowned when she say Annie's offering "Icing on 'cake's not allowed." A dusting of sugar's permitted But paragraph three clearly stated Victoria sponge is not iced And poor Annie was 'umiliated. "I'm afraid rules are rules," preached the judge "It is something we cannot re-visit. I'll still try a small slice or two My dear, this is simply exquisite." Gutted and crying was Annie Bill tried of his best to placate "Get your coat on my treasure, we're leaving You're coming with me. Harro-gate." Now Harrogate's a beautiful town Like Leeds,only smaller and posh Bill escorted his wife into Betty's And treat her to well fancy nosh. Their high tea were served silver service The waitresses pampered and fussed Served fancies all smothered in icing And sandwiches shorn of their crust. Holding hands, Bill met his wife's eyes "My darling, please make no mistake I love you with all of my 'eart You are my icing on 'cake.
Tommy's Birthday When Tommy Ramsbottom turned eighteen He said to his mum and his dad "I don't want a present or nothing I'm off for a drink with the lads." The Ramsbottoms lived on the 'social' And struggled to make both ends meet But they stuck twenty quid in his pocket And told him to, "Have a good neet." He met all his mates round the corner At a pub called the 'Satin and Lace' Tom struggled to grow any whiskers So he took some I.D, just in case. Our young hero wasn't a drinker He gen'ly just had one or two But this was his birthday remember And he managed to sink quite a few With bravado he said to the barmaid A lass wi' a lovely big smile "Could I have one of those pickled eggs love? I haven't had one for a while." His hunger was partially sated They started a mini pub-crawl When 'clock on 'town 'all chimed out ten Then,"Let's go and eat," was the call. Our Tommy had never 'ad curry And the menu was quite complicated He was drunk, but not daft, was the lad He sat, and he watched, and he waited. Tommy's buddies had been here before They all seemed to know what to do And fair split their sides when he said "I'll 'ave same as him, vindaloo." Well, after a couple of mouthfuls He were sweating and mopping his 'ed And afraid he'd be poorly at 'table He rushed to the lavvy instead. It were there that our Tommy met Hughie After which, he were feeling much better Then off to the nightclub they went A swish place, called 'La Vienetta.' The drinks were expensive in there It was almost ten bob for a beer And with 'glitter ball spinning on 'ceiling Tommy started to feel a bit queer. Tommy spied a young lady in 'club His mates said,"Yon girl is a cracker." But with curry escaping his pores He had no chance of getting a smacker. His romantic intentions cut short Tommy thought he would call it a night And waving drunken tarrahs to his friends He staggered home feeling 'not right.' Once home his dad went ballistic Because Tom had forgotten his key "Sorry dad, I'm desperate for 'toilet," Tommy's attempt at quick repartee. Following morning though, Tommy felt rotten Met his pals for black coffee at Gregg's His 'ed and his stomach protested Never again, would he eat pickled eggs.
You'll have heard of Albert and 'lion At the zoo, how he poked in its ear With 'is stick with its 'orses 'ead 'andle And 'ow 'lion made 'lad disappear. It was penned by one Marriott Edgar Not sure that it's totally true A British tradition the monologue For telling a tall tale or two. This then, is the story of Doris A frail little lady from 'ull And Joseph, her fisherman 'usband 'Andsome when younger, but dull. When Doris met Joe in her twenties She thought him 'a bit of a dish' But since working away on the trawlers All he could talk of was fish. Sadly, Joe passed away in the Autumn They'd been married for fifty six years Though she'd not miss his moods, or his washing She managed to shed a few tears. He'd left her no money or nothing Joe was 'ardly a millionaire And Doris had toasted their parting With a small glass of vin ordinaire. What he had left her though, were a parrot Called Polly, an African Grey This parrot could swear like a sailor Vocab'lary badly astray. The bird was some comp'ny for Doris They'd sit and they'd have a good chat Until Doris developed arthur-itis And the council coughed up wi' a flat. "No pets," council lady insisted Handing 'keys to her new maisonette 'Where there's a will, there's a way' though So t'old lady were not too upset. She covered Poll's cage in a blanket And smuggled her into the flat What with gas central 'eating and carpets Doris treasured 'er new 'abitat. Old 'abits die 'ard with a parrot Who soon took to swearing again When 'neighbours began to ask questions Doris guessed, they were going to complain. But, at just passed three in the morning Doris fell out of bed, on t'floor "Get up, get up," Poll' was squawking As smoke trickled through 'bedroom door, Doris weren't a girl given to panic (The parrot were 'ighly impressed) Pulling clothes quickly over her nightie She rushed from the flat, barely dressed. She managed to wake all her neighbours The firemen brought cheering throughout But standing there, bird cage a danglin' Doris knew that her secret were out. The fire had been caused by her cooker. Commented senior fireman, Paul "Thanks to Doris's lightening reactions The extent of the damage is small." The neighbours rolled up their shirt sleeves As the clean up immediately began Elbow grease, and Fairy, (original) Soon had Doris's flat spic and span. Poor Doris was all of a dither When 'council called later that day "I'll see what I can do," said the lady "Because, where there's a will, there's a way." Guide dogs are let in by the council From the rules, they are simply excluded Whilst a dog for a dis-abled person Is allowed, and expressly included. These pooches are called 'elper canines Doris still has her pet, to this day It is 'ull's very first 'elper parrot Because, "Where there's a will, there's a way."