One
damp, December afternoon,
I
biked out through Stroud’s featureless streets,
Out
along the Slad Valley to Bull’s Cross:
Past
pollarded willow trees all along the road,
Past
well wrapped farmers stacking logs in a dripping coppice,
Past
chapels turned to guesthouses,
Their
graveyards full of cars,
Past
families cutting mistletoe from high, tall branches,
Long
handled secateurs silhouetted
Against
a setting sun’s cloudscape,
Past
rooks, copse-calling in the gathering dusk,
Until,
all was silent and still,
As twilight
turned to darkness,
That
moment,
When
all life seems suspended,
A
brief moment of seeming equipoise;
I
listened to the silence
And
then turned for home –
And
when I got back to Stroud,
Nocturnal
winter-spring had sprung,
Every
window was now ablaze
With
lights and trees and candles,
Doors
were hung with stars and wreaths
Of
holly and mistletoe:
Christmas
has come!
Mum
and dad are singing again!
Cold
season’s magic!
This note below is from my brother, ten years ago, when mum still used to perform this song (she would have been a hundred this year):
‘My mother told me that she bought this play as a sixpenny publication in Woolworths. The family may well have put a strong West Country influence on the rendition which shows in my recollection.’
CHRISTMAS
WAITS
In our village, Christmas Eve,
I sez to zeveral mates:
"Now look 'ere, mates", I
sez,
Sez I,
"Now ‘ow about some
Waits?"
We gets zum carols, lairns ‘em up,
and on an evenin' wintry,
We muffles up and zallies forth to
try it on the Gintry.
"Good King Wenceslas looked
out,"
We zings we with splendid power,
Zeveral neighbours looked out too,
To see what all the row were,
We zings forte (sounded like an
‘underd),
Even in the soft bits 'ow we
thundered,
Bill, our bass, 'e 'urt 'is face, we
thought that it was torn,
Yet all agree there were none like
we, to 'ail thee, 'appy morn.
Perkins took the treble line (a
lovely voice 'e's got),
I were tenor, Bill were bass, and
Fred sang all the lot,
'E wandered up and down the scale,
And though 'e rather marred it
Cuz 'e never knewed the words, and so
'e "lah-lah-lahed" it,
"Lah-lah-lah-lah looked
out", ‘e sings with splendid power,
Zeveral neighbours looked out, too,
To see what all the row were,
We zings forte (sounded like an
'undered),
Even in the soft bits 'ow we
thundered,
Every verse got worse and worse,
And though we all felt worn,
Yet all agree there were none like
we, to 'ail thee, 'appy morn.
Still we never got no cash, which didn't seem quite just,
Zeein' we'd stood there for hours, a-singin' fit to bust,
Then our policeman, old Bob Bates, comes down, a-scowlin'
proper,
"Good old Bob", young Perkins cries, "At
last we've got a copper!"
Good King Wenceslas last looked out, we zings with
splendid power,
Zeveral neighbours looked out too, to zee what all the row
were,
Then a change came on the situation,
Bob got nasty and took us to the station.
"Look 'ere, Bates, we're Christmas Waits,"
I says to him with scorn.
He said, with a sneer,
"Now wait in here
And ‘ail thee 'appy morn.”
The
piece below was mum and dad’s Christmas special – they used to perform this in
fancy dress as a duo and remembered the lines perfectly, almost to the end of
their lives.
Little Nell
It was a
dark and stormy night
When my
Nelly went away
And I'll
never forget her
Till my
dying day
She was just
16
And the
village queen
and the
prettiest trick
That the
valley ever seen
The farm
ain't the same since me Nelly went away
The rooster
died and the hen won't lay
But in this
window I'll put a light
40 below
zero, gosh what a night
Who's that a
knocking at the door?
It's your
own Little Nell
Don't you
know me anymore?
What
happened to the actor guy,
Who used to
call you Honey
Did he leave
you all alone when you hadn't any money?
Oh, he's a
slick town guy and he lies with ease
And he's got
more money that a dog has fleas
But he left
me alone when I was most forlorn
The very
night that my little Dumbell was born.
Is that
there Dummy?
Well it
ain't no other
The
gosh-darned image
Of his gosh-darned mother.
Hoity Toity
my fair beauty
Or you'll
come to harm
Cos I hold
the mortgage
On your
gash-darned farm.
Give me back
my Dummy.
Your Dummy?
My Dummy.
Your Dummy?
My Dummy.
Who's this a
comin’?
It sounds
like a mule.
I ain't no
mule you gash-darned fool
,
Can't you
tell by me badge
I'm the constibule
Now what's
the harm?
Do please tell.
Well he
ain't done right by my Little Nell.
Yes I have.
You have not.
Yes I have.
You have not.
Well he's spoilt me farm and ruined me daughter.
Well he's spoilt me farm and ruined me daughter.
Well I guess
I'll have to fine him a dollar and a quarter.
Which all
goes to prove the price of sin -
And tomorrow
night we play East Lynn.
No comments:
Post a Comment