In The Shade of the Old Apple Tree

In the shade of the old apple tree,
It was there where I sat on his knee,
He said, “Darling you’re mine: I think you’re devine.”
Neath the shade of the old apple tree.

“I can tell by the look in your eyes,”
“That we’ll soon give the town a surprise,”
“My wife you must be; I now implore thee.”
Neath the shade of the old apple tree.

To Mr Price

Of all the nagging wives there are,
I think you’ve got the worst,
Without a tooth and frizzy hair
I think your lives have been cursed.
I’d pawn her for 4d if I were you
And try afresh for someone new.

To Leonard Price

You are now a boy named Leonard Price.
Your styles and manners are very nice,
Your life has only just begun,
How oft you wish your schooldays done,
But when your age is 21,
And childhood days will all have gone,
You’ll tread in steps you’ve never trod.
Life’s many ways you’ll have to plod,
Your future life will then depend,
On how you live and how you spend.

Our Marrow Bed

Ah; Autumn is here and thy leaves have died,
But we had thy fruit, which cannot be denied.
For under the bed, in Mother’s back room,
Large marrows repose, awaiting their doom
We certainly had a very good crop,
They grew up in the garden at the very top,
Alas, the frost came and spoilt their growth,
Joe grew the largest, I would say on oath.

9th March 1937

Uncle Albert came to Codsall, twas on the 9th March,
Mother was busy washing – the linens about to starch.
Father was in bed with a cold in his head,
His limbs were all aching, he felt half dead.
In blankets and rugs he lay all a-sweat,
His mind was all flustered, he did nought but fret.
Night time came, he asked Uncle to stay,
In case in his sleep, out of bed he should sway.
His night was restless but his condition improving
For his pains in his limbs were slowly moving,
So in the morning when he awoke,
He certainly felt a different bloke.
He came downstairs, all fully dressed,
His voice was clearer, and so was his chest.

Here’s good luck to Uncle, Mom and Dad as well,
A long life and a happy one,
Till they all meet in, (heaven) ____.

Autumn

How beautiful the leaves are,
What wonderful hues;
Wait till the frost comes
To give us the blues.
It nips our fingers,
Freezes our toes,
Then Winter comes
And we are glad when it goes.
But Autumn; Dear Autumn;
Scattering carpets of leaves,
To rustle and flutter in the waves of the breeze.
It’s a treat to be out in the lanes in the eves,
To see the sunset amidst the trees.

To Mother and Father and Uncle Albert, on Holiday at Blackpool

Oh, to be at Blackpool, with you and Ma and Pa,
Alas, I cannot come dear,
The journey’s much too far.
I would the children were older,
I then would sally forth,
And with my bag and baggage,
I’d gaily travel North.

To Father and Mr Staples

Two old pals, staunch and true,
Members of a gang of men in blue.
Sit and chat of old times they had,
Some of them good, some of them bad.
How thin and pale they both have gone,
The bones of their bodies have nothing on.
And yet how they eat; they should look well
When they’re out walking, they look quite swell.
Ah; it’s the first of October, now see their faces,
Their troubles are o’er of them there are no traces.
Off to the Police Station; off to the Bank;
How smart they look; my word what swank.
Money for nothing now they’ve received,
Their wives will get it when they’re bereaved.

To Joan – My Niece

How do you do Joan – how are you going on?
Autumn’s been and come and gone.
And here am I just making prose,
I would ‘twere Summer, I’d send thee a rose.

Please write to me, my dear Niece,
While sitting waiting for Winter to cease:
Tell me thy secrets, tell me thy joys,
Send me some snaps of your favourite boys.

Bring one to see me, bring him to tea.
I’ll tell him how charming and nice you can be.
He’ll say, “Dearest Joan, I’m sure I adore you”
“Will you be mine, I now implore you?”

You’ll say, “Old boy, don’t talk such rot”
“For you, I am sure, I care not a jot”
“Don’t be ridiculous, don’t be absurd.”
“This is my answer, NO is the word.”

So Joan, if you get on a bus
And ride to Queens Square
You’ll see a Codsall bus waiting there.
Just step inside it and give the Conductor your fare.
To Birches Bridge and you’ll find me there.

To Dolly - My Niece

It certainly seems a very bad case
For the Codsall Bus you do not face.
What have I done to keep you away.
Is there an answer? Cannot you say?
Please think it over, give me a call,
Get on your bike; mind you don’t fall.
Old Connolly’s wine may get to your head.
Try drinking less, eat more instead.
Tis over seven months since you came thro’ my door.
A very sad case I’m sure to deplore.
Need you a guide or a Special Bus?
If you don’t come to see me, you are a mean little puss.
For this occasion I’ll have my hair waved,
I’ll get out my satins, that for years I’ve saved.
You’ll see by my prose that a welcome awaits you
So bike it or bus it before I forsake you.

If I Were Rich

If only I had lots of dough,
Around the world I first would go.
Then back again to settle down,
In a quiet country place, just out of town.
I’d help the poor, both big and small,
Upon the aged and sick I’d call.
Ah, then how great t’would be to live,
To laugh and love and freely give.

The International Crisis in Spain – 1936

Thy splendours oh; Spain, have now been shattered
For midst buildings grand, bombs have now been scattered.
Alas; for thy people, they know not their fate,
Some try to flee, but lo, they’re too late.
The insurgents and Rebels with Internationals too
Are running a country, which was once grand to view;
With Franco as leader of the Rebel Force.
The world looks on; the war takes its course.
We know not yet how things may trend
The European peace, ‘twill certainly not mend.
If only wars on earth could cease,
We then would have eternal peace.

The Constitutional Crisis, December 1936

How useless is our King’s own voice;
He loves Mrs Simpson, she’s his choice.
But he must be criticised by Archbishop Lang
By Mr Baldwin and all his gang.

It must be terrible to be a king,
To let the world know everything.
It would have been better by far, not to have loved at all,
Than build up castles, which no doubt will fall.

The crisis now, seems rarely over,
Mrs Simpsons in France, she crossed from Dover.
With Rogers her friends, she now is resting
Her love for the king, the world is testing.

To be a king with lots of money,
Is certainly, not to him, all honey.
He no doubt wishes he was only a man,
Then his private affairs the world could not ban.

The latest sensation the king has created
Is the news that the throne he has now abdicated.
In favour of his brother, the Duke of York.
Over the whole wide world it is now the talk.

In exile now, he has sailed from our shores.
The step he has taken he no doubt deplores.
But as true citizens all, with one accord we must sing
Here’s health to His Majesty, and God Save the King.

“After Winning A Fortune From Littlewoods”

My hair was permed, it had a glorious sheen,
I drove to the shops in my limousine.
“Just wait a few moment James,” said I,
“A few fur coats I am going to buy.”
“Some evening gowns, also, I must choose”
“And of course James, a dozen pairs of elegant shoes.”
“Yes ma’am,” said he, with such a gracious air,
As though I were the wife of a millionaire.
What a life to live with lots of dough,
Due to the efforts of Poor Old Joe.

Darby and Joan

Just like a Darby and Joan
You two sit there on your own,
Father’s not sure,
Whether the sewer,
Tis worth bothering with after all.
Mom sites there at her ease,
Rubbing her hand on her knees.
She’s sick of drains and also all mains,
She says “Frank, do just as you please,”
“Monday will come soon enough.”
The men have brought all their stuff
So tip up your glass,
Of Guinness or Bass,
And so take the smooth with the rough.

A Night Of Folly

Last night, alone, I rallied forth,
My direction was neither South nor North;
Alas; a friend I met and we went West,
This friend I knew as one of the best.
But oh; dear oh; what a night we had.
Both of us went from good to bad.
We ventured a cocktail with a Mr Green
At 12 we knew not where we had been.
At 7a.m. my alarm clock rang,
And awoke me like a firework bang.
My mother roared, my father cussed;
All at once there was a hell of a dust,
Where had I been the night before?
My mind was vague, it was only a blank,
Mr Green was a soldier; any old rank.
But where else we went and what we had,
I do not know, but I feel so bad.

To Mrs Daw

What a time you have in store,
Cooking, cleaning, jobs galore.
Unless of course you may be blest
With wealth from someone’s treasure chest.
Ah; what would you do, if such were so?
Faint first, then to the shops you’d go.
But such may never be your lot,
So be content with what you’ve got.

Twilight Meditations

I sat alone in the twilight,
Thinking of my life
My many joys and sorrows,
My friendships and my strife;
An unexpected friend arrived,
My thoughts no longer reigned,
She told me of her worries,
Of a lover she had gained.
I wished that she would leave me
Alone that we may be
Just silent mediations,
The twilight house and me.