(These poems work best if read out loud in a broad Yorkshire accent. Give it a try!)
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 dag 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.
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.
Where there’s a will
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."