Introduction

JOHN LENNON IN HIS OWN WRITE

(c) John Lennon, 1964

CONTENTS

Introduction

John Lennon in His Own Write

Partly Dave

No Flies on Frank

Good Dog Nigel

At the Denis

The Fat Growth on Eric Hearble

The Wrestling Dog

Randolf's Party

The Famous Five through Woenow Abbey

Sad Michael

I Wandered

A Letter

Scene three Act one

Treasure Ivan

All Abord Speeching

The Fingletoad Resort of Teddiviscious

Alec Speaking

Liddypool

You Might Well Arsk

Nicely Nicely Clive

Neville Club

The Moldy Moldy Man

* On Safairy with Whide Hunter

I Sat Belonely

Henry and Harry

Deaf Ted, Danoota, (and me)

A Surprise for Little Bobby

Halbut Returb

Unhappy Frank

On this Churly Morn

Victor Triumphs Again

and Mrs Weatherby Learns a Lesson

I Remember Arnold

* Written in conjugal with Paul

INTRODUCTION

At Woolton village fete I met him. I was a fat schoolboy

and, as he leaned an arm on my shoulder, I realized that he was

drunk. We were twelve then, but, in spite of his sideboards, we

went on to become teenage pals.

Aunt Mimi, who had looked after him since he was so high,

used to tell me how he was cleverer than he pretended, and

things like that. He had written a poem for the school magazine

about a hermit who said:

'as breathing is my life, to stop I dare not dare.'

This made me wonder right away - 'Is he deep?' He wore glasses

so it was possible, and even without them there was no holding

him. 'What 'bus?' he would say to howls of appreciative

laughter.

He went to Quarry Bank High School for Boys and later

attended to the Liverpool Art College. He left school and

played with a group called the Beatles, and, here he is with a

book. Again I think - 'Is he deep?' 'Is he arty, with it or

cultured?'

There are bound to be thickheads who will wonder why some

of it doesn't make sense, and others who will search for hidden

meanings.

'What's a Brummer?'

'There's more to "dubb owld boot" than meets the eye.'

None of it has to make sense and if it seems funny then

that's enough.

Paul

P.S. I like the drawings too.

JOHN LENNON IN HIS OWN WRITE

hello!

PARTLY DAVE

There once upon a time was a man who was partly Dave - he

had a mission in life. 'I'm partly Dave' he would growm in the

morning which was half the battle. Over breakfast he would

again say 'I am partly Dave' which always unnerved Betty. 'Your

in a rut Dave' a voice would say on his way to work, which

turned out to be a coloured conductor! 'It's alright for you.'

Dave used to think, little realizing the coloured problem.

Partly Dave was a raving salesman with the gift of the

job, which always unnerved Mary. 'I seem to have forgotten my

bus fare, Cobber,' said Dave not realizing it. 'Gerroff the bus

then' said Basubooo in a voice that bode not boot, not

realizing the coloured problem himself really. 'O.K.' said

partly Dave, humbly not wishing to offend. 'But would you like

your daughter to marry one?' a voice seem to say as Dave lept

off the bus like a burning spastic.

NO FLIES ON FRANK

There were no flies on Frank that morning - after all why

not? He was a responsible citizen with a wife and child, wasn't

he? It was a typical Frank morning and with an agility that

defies description he leapt into the barthroom onto the scales.

To his great harold he discovered he was twelve inches more

tall heavy! He couldn't believe it and his blood raised to his

head causing a mighty red colouring.

'I carn't not believe this incredible fact og truth about

my very body which has not gained fat since mother begat me at

childburn. Yea, though I wart through the valet of thy shadowy

hut I will feed no norman. What grate qualmsy hath taken me

thus into such a fatty hardbuckle.'

Again Frank looked down at the awful vision which clouded

his eyes with fearful weight. 'Twelve inches more heavy, Lo!,

but am I not more fatty than my brother Geoffery whose father

Alec came from Kenneth - through Leslies, who begat Arthur, son

of Eric, by the house of Ronald and April - keepers of James of

Newcastle who ran Madeline at 2-1 by Silver Flower, (10-2) past

Wot-ro-Wot at 4/3d a pound?'

He journeyed downstairs crastfallen and defective - a

great wait on his boulders - not even his wife's battered face

could raise a smile on poor Frank's head - who as you know had

no flies on him. His wife, a former beauty queer, regarded him

with a strange but burly look.

'What ails thee, Frank?', she asked stretching her prune.

'You look dejected if not informal,' she addled.

'Tis nothing but wart I have gained but twelve inches more

tall heavy than at the very clock of yesterday at this time -

am I not the most miserable of men? Suffer ye not to spake to

me or I might thrust you a mortal injury; I must traddle this

trial alone.'

'Lo! Frank - thou hast smote me harshly with such grave

talk - am I to blame for this vast burton?'

Frank looked sadly at his wife - forgetting for a moment

the cause of his misery. Walking slowly but slowly toward her,

he took his head in his hands and with a few swift blows had

clubbed her mercifully to the ground dead.

'She shouldn't see me like this,' he mubbled, 'not all fat

and on her thirtysecond birthday.'

Frank had to get his own breakfast that morning and also

on the following mornings.

Two, (or was it three?) weeks later Frank awakes again to

find that there were _still_ no flies on him.

'No flies on this Frank boy,' he thought; but to his

amazement there seemed to be a lot of flies on his wife - who

was still lying about the kitchen floor.

'I carn't not partake of bread and that with her lying

about the place,' he thought allowed, writing as he spoke. 'I

must deliver her to her home where she will be made welcome.'

He gathered her in a small sack (for she was only four

foot three) and headed for her rightful home. Frank knocked on

the door of his wife's mothers house. She opened the door.

'I've brought Marian home, Mrs Sutherskill' (he could

never call her Mum). He opened the sack and placed Marian on

the doorstep.

'I'm not having all those flies in my home,' shouted Mrs

Sutherskill (who was very houseproud), shutting the door. 'She

could have at least offered me a cup of tea,' thought Frank

lifting the problem back on his boulders.

GOOD DOG NIGEL

Arf, Arf, he goes, a merry sight,

Our little hairy friend,

Arf, Arf, upon the lampost bright

Arfing round the bend.

Nice dog! Goo boy,

Waggie tail and beg,

Clever Nigel, jump for joy

BECAUSE WE'RE PUTTING YOU TO SLEEP

AT THREE OF THE CLOCK, NIGEL.

AT THE DENIS

Madam: I have a hallowed tooth that suffer me grately.

Sir: Sly down in that legchair Madam and open your

gorble wide - your mouse is all but toothless.

Madam: Alad! I have but eight tooth remaining (eight tooth

left).

Sir: Then you have lost eighty three.

Madam: Impossyble.

Sir: Everydobby knows there are foor decisives two

canyons and ten grundies, which make thirsty two

in all.

Madam: But I have done everything to save my tooth.

Sir: Perhumps! but to no avague.

Madam: Ah! why did I not insult you sooner?

Sir: To late, it must be now or neville.

Madam: You will pull it out for me then?

Sir: No, madman, I will excrete it.

Madam: But that is very painfull.

Sir: Let me see it - Crack! there it be madarce.

Madam: But sir I wished to keep (was anxious to keep) that

tooth.

Sir: It was all black and moody, and the others are too.

Madam: Mercy - I will have none toeat with soon.

Sir: A free Nasty Heath set is good, and you will look

thirty years jungle.

Madam: (Aside) Thirty years jungle; (Aloud) Sir I am no

catholic, pull out all my stumps.

Sir: O.K. Gummy.

THE FAT GROWTH ON ERIC HEARBLE

One fat morning Eric Hearble wake up with an abnorman fat

growth a bombly on his head. 'Oh crumb,' said Eric Hearble, who

was a very very, surprised. Anyway he carried on as Norman for

why should he worried? All of suddy he heard a small little

voice calling him by name, 'Eric...Eric Hearble' it seemed to

say though I couldn't say for sure.

That night the very same voice spoke saying 'Eric, I am a

growth on your very head, help me, Eric.'

Soon Eric became very attached to his fat growth friend.

'Call me Scab,' the voice said and he was.

'Call me Eric,' Eric said naturly as he could. From then

on you never saw Eric without the big fat scab growth on his

head. And that's why Eric Hearble lost his job teaching

spasticd to dance.

'Were not having a cripple teaching our lads,' said Head-

master.

THE WRESTLING DOG

One upon a tom in a far off distant land far across the

sea miles away from anyway over the hills as the crow barcs 39

peoble lived miles away from anywhere on a little island on a

distant land.

When the harvest time came along all the people celebrated

with a mighty feast and dancing and that. It was Perry's (for

Perry was the Loud Mayor) job to provide (and Perry's great

pleasure I might add) a new and exciting (and it usually was)

thrill and spectacular performer (sometimes a dwarf was used),

this year Perry had surpassed himselve by getting a Wrestling

Dog! But who would fight this wondrous beast? I wouldn't for a

kick off.

RANDOLF'S PARTY

It was Chrisbus time but Randolph was alone. Where were

all his good pals. Bernie, Dave, Nicky, Alice, Beddy, Freba,

Viggy, Nigel, Alfred, Clive, Stan, Frenk, Tom, Harry, George,

Harold? Where were they on this day? Randolf looged saggly at

his only Chrispbut cart from his dad who did not live there.

'I can't understan this being so aloneley on the one day

of the year when one would surely spect a pal or two?' thought

Rangolf. Hanyway he carried on putting ub the desicrations and

muzzle toe. All of a surgeon there was amerry timble on the

door. Who but who could be a knocking on my door? He opend it

and there standing there who? but only his pals. Bernie, Dave,

Nicky, Alice, Beddy, Freba, Viggy, Nigel, Alfred, Clive, Stan,

Frenk, Tom, Harry, George, Harolb weren't they?

Come on in old pals buddys and mates. With a big griff on

his face Randolff welcombed them. In they came jorking and

labbing shoubing 'Haddy Grimmble, Randoob.' and other hearty,

and then they all jumbed on him and did smite him with mighty

blows about his head crying, 'We never liked you all the years

we've known you. You were never raelly one of us you know, soft

head.'

They killed him you know, at least he didn't _die_ alone

did he? Merry Chrustchove, Randolf old pal buddy.

THE FAMOUS FIVE THROUGH WOENOW ABBEY

It was holiday time for the famous five by Enig Blyter;

Tom, Stan, Dave, Nigel, Berniss, Arthur, Harry, Wee Jockey,

Matoombo, and Craig? For the past 17 years the fabled fibe had

been forming into adventures on varicose islands and secrete

vallets with their famous ill bred dog, Cragesmure. Their

popular Uncle Philpole with his popular curly white hair and

his rugged red weather battered face and his popular

fisherman's boots and his big junky sweater and his littel

cottage.

'Gruddly Pod, Gruddly Pod,' the train seemed to say,

'Gruddly Pod, we're on our hollidays,' and they were. Pon

arrival they noticed a mysterious stranger who bode no ill?

'Oi what's this 'ere,' he said from behind.

'We're the famous fire by Greenod Bladder,' replied Tom,

Stan, Dave, Nigel, Berniss, Arthur, Harry, Wee Jocky, Matoombo,

and Craig?, and they were.

'Don't you dare go on the mysterious Woenow Abbey Hill.'

That night by the light of their faithful dog Cragesmure,

they talked Craig and Mtoombo into foing the dirty worj. Soon

they were at Woenow Attlee grazine upone an olde crypped who

turned round to be the furtive stranger.

'Keep off the grass,' he asked frae a great hat.

Matoombo sprange and soon overpowdered the old crypt with

a halfhelsie. Craig? quickly fried the old crypt together.

'Wart is the secrete of Woebeat Dobby?' Craig? asked.

'Yer can beat me but ne'er ye'll learn the secrete,' he

answered from a green hut.

'Anything you say may be used in Everton against you,'

said Harry. And it was.

SAD MICHAEL

There was no reason for Michael to be sad that morning,

(the little wretch); everyone liked him, (the scab). He'd had a

hard days night that day, for Michael was a Cocky Watchtower.

His wife Bernie, who was well controlled, had wrabbed his

norman lunch but he was still sad. It was strange for a man

whom have everything and a wife to boot. At 4 o'clock when his

fire was burking bridely a Poleaseman had clubbed in to parse

the time around. 'Goodeven Michael,' the Poleaseman speeg, but

Michael did not answer for he was debb and duff and could not

speeg.

'How's the wive, Michael' spoge the Poleaseman

'Shuttup about that!'

'I thought you were debb and duff and could not speeg,'

said the Poleaseman.

'Now what am I going to do with all my debb and duff

books?' said Michael, realizing straight away that here was a

problem to be reckoned with.

I WANDERED

On balmy seas and pernie schooners

On strivers and warming things

In a peanut coalshed clad

I wandered happy as a jew

To meet good Doris Fing.

Past grisby trees and hulky builds

Past ratters and bradder sheep

In a resus baby stooped

I wandered hairy as a dog

To get a goobites sleep

Down hovey lanes and stoney claves

Down ricketts and sticklys myth

In a fatty hebrew gurth

I wandered humply as a sock

To meet bad Bernie Smith

A LETTER

Sir,

Why are there not more pidgers and writty about our

favorit group (Berneese und zee Rippers). There are thirty-nine

of them, you know. We like it cause Alec jumb about and shoes.

Pleese send a stabbed undressed envelope of Bern and Ern

dancing and doing their splendid to entertain a most deserting

group and we hope this fires you as you keeler.

An admirrer.

Afan

SCENE THREE ACT ONE

(Scene) A broadshouldered room containing hugh fireplace facing

a large big windy, a giant-size desk is covered in all type of

many business paper and great disorder to look on. There are

three or four or five chairs faceing the desk. One are occupied

by a scruddy working clog, cap in hook what is gesticulated

greatly but humble toward a big fat catipalyst boss. A white

man carefully puts coal on the fire and steps back toward a

giant door which seems to lead somewhere else. A cat smarting

in the corner by the fire leaps up and smiles all on the

carpet. A photy of Fieldimarcher Loud Montgammery solving a

prodlem looks down on the two men, each of them looking up at

it trying to place him.

A dog is quietly gnawing at a pigmy under the giant desk.

The time is half past three on the old grandbladder clock by

the windy.

Fatty: 'It's harf parst three Taddpill, and the men haven't

done a strike. Why can't we settle this here and now

without resorting to a long union discussion and going

through all that bit about your father.'

Scruddy: 'Why don't yer shut yer gob yer big fat get or I'll

kick yer face in. Yer all the same you rich fat

Bourgies, workin' uz poor workers to death and getting

all the gelt and going to France for yer 'olidays.'

Fatty: (going all red and ashen)

'But listen Taddpill you're only working two hours a

day now, and three days a week and we're losing money

as it is, and here you are complaining again about

screw screwing and I'm trying to help you. We could

have built our factory somewhere else where men like

to work, but Ho no here we are government-sponsored

and all that.'

Scruddy: 'Why don't yer shut yer gob yer big fat get or I'll

kick yer face in. Yer all the same you rich fat

Bourgies, workin' uz poor workers to death and getting

all the gelt and going to France for yer 'olidays.'

(Enter a coloured woman singing a coloured song, On

her back is a great bundle.)

Mammy: 'Pope dat barge, left that bail'

(She unloads her bundle on the right of the desk.)

Fatty: (Impatiently)

'What is it Mammy, can't you see I'm haveing a prodlem

with Taddpill and you come in here all black and sing-

ing? And get that bundle of ruddish away from my big

desk!'

Mammy: 'O.K. Kimu sahib bwana, massa'

(she lifts the bundle and eats it)

'Sho' was naice'

Fatty: 'Anyway what was it mammy?'

Mammy: 'Dat was yo' little daughter, by yo secind wife KIMU

SAHIB'

Fatty: (colouring)

'But I'm not married, old Mammy'

(Mammy clasps her hands to her head horryfried)

'Oh Lord, I've jes' eaten a bastard!'

(She runs round the room crossing herself, and singing another

verse. Scruddy stands up replaceing his cap firmly on his head

- walking toward the door he half turns like in the films and

shakes his fist.)

'Get this black woman out of this factory before the

men find out, or yer'll 'ave a strike on yer fat

Bourgie 'ands. I'm tellin yer that for nothin' yer old

bum!'

(Scruddy walks out of the room leaving Fatty - Mammy and

fourteen little Jewish children all singing together a kind of

hymn.)

T H E E N D

TREASURE IVAN

In a little seashore pub in Bristow, a ragged gathering of

rags are drinking and makeing melly (before sailing to sea in

serge of grate treashy on a sudden Isle far across the ocean).

'Belay there me 'earty scabs,' says Large John Saliver

entering. Pegging along towards some old saviours whom have

soled the several seas.

'Where be the Parable you normally 'ave on your shoulder,

Large John?' Asks Blind Jew looking up.

'Never ye mind' reponds Large John 'And anyways where be

your white stick?'

"Ow the 'ell should I know when oi can't see?'

All of a suddy Small Jack Hawkins creep in unobtrugell

with a siddy grip on his head.

'Ha ha aa aar Jack lad' says Large John in a typical

mariner marino.

Soon they were heady fir the harboar with Cpt Smellit and

Squire Trelorgy. That morgan they sailed with a hearty breeze

behind.

Large John began to look upon Jack as a son or something,

for he was ever putting his arm about him and saying 'Ha

Haaaaar', especially with a Parable on his shouldy. One day,

however, Small Jack Hawkins was just happening in a barret of

abbeys when he over-heated Large John and several other savi-

ours planting to botany against the Captain.

'Lung Ho' cry a voice from the pidgeon tow on high, 'Lung

Ho and alls well!' Yes and it were true - a little Ivan, cyril

carpet agaist the horivan with palmist trees and cockynuts.

'I wouldn't be surprised if there was not a beardy old man

hobbing from rock to rock.' Thought Disreali Hands who'd seen

the film, and there was.

The first lungboot ashore contained Large John Saliver

Small Jack and some others what were numerous and sweaty to be-

hold. Anyway they landed on the Ivan and an owld loon jumps out

calling himself Sten Gunn and he's been living all over the

treasure for years because cruel old Captaive Flint has put the

Black Pot on him and you know what happens with a black pot.

So after a bit of stockade and that they sail home to

Bristow where they're all arrested for development and Jack

Hawkins turns round to be a thirty two year old midget and

Large John Saliver has to pay for a new woody leg because they

run from fireplace on the Ivan. Sten Gunn turns round to be a

young man in the prime of minister and Tom the faithful cat

returns to Newcastle.

ALL ABORD SPEECHING

1. Speak you Clear and Nasal, for distance.

'Ron cordially begs to inform Mam all is forgiven.'

Many peoble express great height with the word Mam.

2. Sing you with long voice.

For discharge

Deep breathing is Nescafe for a dark voice, deep breed-

ing and in haley is very impotent for broadcastle and outlying

ariels... visibility nil in Rockall and Fredastaire?

Practice daily but not if you're debb and duff.

3. For sample, the word frenetically wrote, must be

charged grammatically with bowel pronouned strangely.

eg. 'While talking on you my Ivans are getting cold,

and you know, as well as I do, that we must strive the Ivan

while it is hat.'

Regarth in Oxfam they speak 'Aivan' but in Caimbilge

'Oivan'- the bowel thus strethed pronuned - piglo.

Practice davy but not if your Mutt and Jeff.

THE FINGLETOAD RESORT OF TEDDIVISCIOUS

Peckle and Braces (Granarthur)

------------------------------

How many body peoble wash 'Peotle and Plaices'? In a

recent Doddipottiddy Poll a roaming retorter intervined asking -

'Do you like Big Grunty better more than Gray Burk'?

To these questiump many people answered

'On the other hand who are we to judge? I mean who are we'?

Panorasthma (BBC)

-----------------

The self same questium was asked through some more kind

worjing folk about -

'Do you prepare Rinkled Dinglebone or Tichie Bimplebean'?

To this inquest many people answering.

'Who the hell is Pimpled Dinkletoes? Anyway Who is he?'

This Disproves the Piltdown Retord that:

----------------------------------------

a) Their all washing the rabio.

b) Are their too many adversements on I.T.B.?

That seems to be the crutch of the matter. As far as I'm

conceived they're foing a grate jobe. But retarding the BBBC's

Doddumental Frogrammes - excelent even if they say so theyselfs.

c) 9 1/2 peodle wash I.T.B.

And they wash BBBBC. Every bodypeogle else read the Deadly

Excess or the Davey Grail, except Godfree Wind.

ALEC SPEAKING

He is putting it lithely when he says

Quobble in the Grass,

Strab he down the soddieflays

Amo amat amass;

Amonk amink a minibus,

Amarmylaidie Moon,

Amikky mendip multiplus

Amighty midgey spoon.

And so I traddled onward

Careing not a care

Onward, Onward, Onward.

Onward, my friends to victory and glory for the thirtyninth.

LIDDYPOOL

Reviving the old tradition of Judro Bathing is slowly but

slowly dancing in Liddypool once more. Had you remembering

these owld custard of Boldy Street blowing? The Peer Hat is

very popularce for sun eating and Boots for Nude Brighter is

handys when sailing. We are not happy with her Queen Victorious

Monologue, but Walky Through Gallery is goodly when the rain

and Sit Georgie House is black (and white from the little

pilgrims flying from Hellsy College). Talk Hall is very

histerical with old things wot are fakes and King Anne never

slept there I tell you. Shout Airborne is handly for planes if

you like (no longer government patrolled) and the L.C.C.C.

(Liddypool Cha Cha Cha) are doing a great thing. The Mersey

Boat is selling another three copies to some go home foreigners

who went home.

There is a lot to do in Liddypool, but not all convenience.

YOU MIGHT WELL ARSK

Why were Prevelant ze Gaute, unt Docker Adenoid getting so

friendly? You might well arsk. Why was Seldom Loyled sagged?

Why did Harrassed MacMillion go golphing mit Bod Hobe? Why is

Frank Cunnings and and the T.U.C. against the Commen Margate?

You might well arsk. Why is the Duck of Edincalvert a sailing

mit Udda Fogs? Why did Priceless Margarine unt Bony Armstrove

give Jamaika away? You might well arsk. Why won't Friendly

Trumap give his Captive his pension.

NICELY NICELY CLIVE

To Clive Barrow it was just an ordinary day nothing

unusual or strange about it, everything quite navel, nothing

outstanley just another day but to Roger it was somthing

special, a day amongst days... a red lettuce day... because

Roger was getting married and as he dressed that morning he

thought about the gay batchelor soups he'd had with all his

pals. And Clive said nothing. To Roger everything was

different, wasn't this the day his Mother had told him about,

in his best suit and all that, grimming and shakeing hands,

people tying boots and ricebudda on his car.

To have and to harm... till death duty part... he knew it

all off by hertz. Clive Barrow seemed oblivious. Roger could

vizualize Anne in her flowing weddy drag, being wheeled up the

aisle, smiling a blessing. He had butterfield in his stomarce

as he fastened his bough tie and brushed his hairs. 'I hope I'm

doing the right thing' he thought looking in the mirror, 'Am I

good enough for her?' Roger need not have worried because he

was 'Should I have flowers all round the spokes?' said Anne

polishing her foot rest. 'Or should I keep it syble?' she

continued looking down on her grain haired Mother.

'Does it really matter?' repaid her Mother wearily wiping

her sign. 'He won't be looking at your spokes anyway.' Anne

smiled the smile of someone who's seen a few laughs.

Then luckily Anne's father came home from sea and

cancelled the husband.

NEVILLE CLUB

Dressed in my teenold brown sweaty I easily micked with

crown at Neville Club a seemy hole. Soon all but soon people

accoustic me saying such thing as

'Where the charge man?' All of a southern I notice boils

and girks sitting in hubbered lumps smoking Hernia taking Odeon

and going very high. Somewhere 4ft high but he had Indian Hump

which he grew in his sleep. Puffing and globbering they drugged

theyselves rampling or dancing with wild abdomen, stubbing in

wild postumes amongst themselves.

They seemed olivier to the world about them. One girk was

revealing them all over the place to rounds of bread and

applause. Shocked and mazed I pulled on my rubber stamp heady

for the door.

'Do you kindly mind stop shoveing,' a brough voice said.

'Who think you are?' I retired smiling wanly.

'I'm in charge,' said the brough but heavy voice.

'How high the moon?' cried another, and the band began to

play.

A coloured man danced by eating a banana, or somebody.

I drudged over hopping to be noticed. He iced me warily

saying 'French or Foe'.

'Foe' I cried taking him into jeapardy.

THE MOLDY MOLDY MAN

I'm a moldy moldy man

I'm moldy thru and thru

I'm a moldy moldy man

You would not think it true.

I'm moldy till my eyeballs

I'm moldy till my toe

I will not dance I shyballs

I'm such a humble Joe.

ON SAFAIRY WITH WHIDE HUNTER

In the jumble...the mighty jumble... Whide Hunter sleeps

tonight.

At the foot of the bed, Otumba kept wogs for poisonous

snacks such as the deadly cobbler and apply python.

Little did he nose that the next day in the early owls of

the morecombe, a true story would actually happen.

Otumba awoke him with a cup of teeth, and they lit up to-

ward the jumble.

'Aint dat Elepoon Pill?' said Wipe Hudnose, 'wearing his

new Basuti?'

'Could be the Flying Docker on a case.'

'No, he's walking,' said Otumbad in Swahily which is not

arf from here as the crow barks. All too soon they reached a

cleaner in the jumble and set up cramp.

Jumble Jim, whom shall remain nameless, was slowly but

slowly asking his way through the underpants, (underware he was

being washed by Whide Hungry.)

'Beat the bus, Otumba,' commanded Wheat Hoover.

'No! but mable next week it will be my turn to beat the

bus now standing at platforbe nine.'

Jumping Gym, who shall remain norman, spotted Whit Monday

and the Barking Doctorine shooting some rhinostrils and

hippoposthumous and Otumbark.

'Stop shouting those animoles.' Bud it hab no inflience

upod them. They carried on shotting alligarters, wild boats,

garriffes, lepers and Uncle Tom Cobra and all... Old Buncle Ron

Gobble and all... Bold Rumple, Bom Dobby and all... Bad

Runcorn, Sad Toddy and all.

I SAT BELONELY

I sat belonely down a tree,

humbled fat and small.

A little lady sing to me

I couldn't see at all.

I'm looking up and at the sky,

to find such wondrous voice.

Puzzly puzzle, wonder why,

I hear but have no choice.

'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',

I potty menthol shout.

'I know you hiddy by this tree'.

Dut still she won't come out.

Such softly singing lulled me sleep,

an hour or two or so

I wakeny slow and took a peep

and still no lady show.

Then suddy on a little twig

I thought I see a sight,

A tiny little tiny pig,

that sing with all it's might.

'I thought you were a lady'.

I giggle,- well I may,

To my surprise the lady,

got up - and flew away.

HENRY AND HARRY

Henry was his father's son and it were time for him to

leave school and go into father's business of Brummer Striving.

It wert a farst dying trade which was fast dying.

'But Brummer Striving is a farst dying business, Father,'

said young Henry, a young lad. His dad, Harry replied quickly.

'None of thy nonsence, Henry. All thy fathers before-have

and before even that before me were Brummers and that's a

fact.' With that he pulled his stumps nearer the fire.

'Tell me again father about how you got those prize stumps

was it not with a Brummer Towdry?' said young teenage Henry.

'Why do you always ask about my stumps, Son,' said Harry

to Henry with a reasurring.

'Because it's a story I love to hear, Father - and besides

it's not every one what has a real cripple for a father.'

'There's something in what you say, I dare say,' said

Henry eyeing his son proudly; thinking. 'My son's a Brummer if

I ever saw one,' and he had.

'I want to be a golfer, Dad,' said Henry hopefully without

a laugh.

'You're a Brummer, Son, so get it straight,' said dad

Harry.

The next day Henry could not be seen or heard about the

quaint little slum and dad Harry was beginning to worry. It's

not like him, Mother,' he said to a right old hag who was

living with them.

'Blast his hide,' said mother, with an accent.

As you might have guessed, teenage young Henry had run

around from home and left.

'I'll show that stump,' said Henry to himself, for there

was no one with him. Well, it just so happened man that teenage

young Henry could not get a golfing job anywhere especially

Golfing.

'It seems I'm a born Brummer like dad Harry says I am,'

said Harry quietly for no one was listening to him. So he

humbled his way homeward like any other teenage Henry would who

couldn't get a golfing job. He spotted the slum of his

childhood and said out loud 'Crub' which put it in a nutshell.

'Mother, Mother, it's me, teenage young Henry, I'm home,'

he said hopeing to be noticed. But hag mother just kept on

digging as if she had not noticed him and she hadn't. 'Mother,

Mother, it's me' he said repeating himself whilst thinking - 'I

wonder what she's digging, it can't be the sounds man.' Still

the old wretch kept on digging and also singing to herself - a

song you don't often hear now a days. 'Mother, Mother,' said

peristant teenage Henry, who was beginning to be a bit of a

drag.

'Can't you see I'm burying Soft Harry, your father,' said

hag Mother at last.

'All I wanted was a civil answer,' replied Henry assuming

responsibility.

DEAF TED, DANOOTA, (AND ME)

Thorg hilly grove and burly ive,

Big daleys grass and tree

We clobber ever gallup

Deaf Ted, Danoota, and me.

Never shall we partly stray,

Fast stirrup all we three

Fight the battle mighty sword

Deaf Ted, Danoota, and me.

With faithful frog beside us,

Big mighty club are we

The battle scab and frisky dyke

Deaf Ted, Danoota, and me.

We fight the baddy baddies,

For colour, race and cree

For Negro, Jew and Bernie

Deaf Ted, Danoota, abd me.

Thorg Billy grows and Burnley ten,

And Aston Villa three

We clobber ever gallup

Deaf Ted, Danoota, and me.

So if you hear a wonderous sight,

Am blutter or at sea,

Remember whom the mighty say

Deaf Ted, Danoota, and me -

(sometimes we bring our friend, Malcolm.)

A SURPRISE FOR LITTLE BOBBY

It was little Bobby's birthday today, and he got a

surprise. His very fist was jopped off, (The War) and he got a

birthday hook!

All his life Bobby had wanted his very own hook; and now

on his 39th birthday his pwayers had been answered. The only

trouble was they had send him a left hook and ebry dobby knows

that it was Bobby's right fist that was missing as it were.

What to do was not thee only problem: Anyway he jopped off

his lest hand and it fitted like a glove. Maybe next year he

will get a right hook, who knows?

HALBUT RETURB

(a play)

Fourteen yearz now I halb been wading for sweet Halbut to

return from the wars (little does she know Halbut Hare returbs

suddenly to make an honest womb of her.)

H: 'Aim home Rosebeen, from the war y'know.'

R: 'Did yow git thee butter Halbot?'

H: 'Ai've brort ya a negru Rosebeen from the war y'know.'

R: 'For me my very own for me Halbot?'

H: 'Ai was always thinking on you Razebeem my own.

R: 'Show me this very negru Helbout from the war, this is

really living.'

H: 'No.'

R: 'What strange grurth has taken you Halford, am I not

your very own?'

UNHAPPY FRANK

Frank looked at the table hardly daring to look at the

table.

'I hate that table,' he said 'Bloody owld table in my

house.' Then he looked at the clock. 'Damn that clock in my

house,' said Frank, for it was his house you know. After a

little bit his eye came across his very mother's chair. 'Don't

like that chair one bit,' he showbedy. 'Just look at that

garbet all filby and durby. How am I supposed to look affaffter

all this garby ruddish. Wart am I but a slave tow look upon

with deesekfrebit all all the peegle larfing and buzing me in

front of all the worled. How can I but garry on? How? Hab I no

live of my own to do but wart I must ever jub gleenig and

looking areftor theese damn owld house of my own?' Frank went

over to his dubb old mother, whomn was stikl liffing with him.

'What are you larfing at you dubb owld boot?'

'Havn' I nuff treble without you kakking in the korber?'

With that Frank stub up and kicked her plainly on the head.

'Take that for larfing you budd oled griff.' 'I hate that

boot,' he said smiling quirkley to themselves.

'I'm going to sell this daft shed and you to aswell, also

Mummy.'

So he sold it all and left the country and settled down in

another country which he did not loke half as much as his dear

old home in England with his dear old quaint old luvly mother

what he (Frank) lost due to a bad harvest. Which judd go to

show what happens.

ON THIS CHURLY MORN

Small wonder on this churly morn

I crivy like a black

To think wot I should be farlorn

Through knorb this packymack

I may be blink down booltoad

With ne'er a thorty skive

But I'll december barrold

To save my good bad Ive

To them perhap be nicky

I smirk but querry jump

With all this alfy hicky

I do but strive a hump

Knock down ye smallish hoqky

Am I the bairly oat?

With all your davey cockey

I'll always keep afloat.

Will I the baggy Dutch man

And haughty bygraves too

To all I give a limpage

To do what they will do.

They rabble till they're tatter

Don't creem the midnight hour

Big Doris flitter flatter

And blacky blackpoo tower

Rephy graun and gratty

Graddie large but smail

She will not brant a fatty

Room to swing a snail

Bilt zeitung dairy apple

Of geltzie sniedypye

Groppy gribble grapple

Varoum the reason why?

Ye bottle ginny derick

And all who sail without

My tall but little Eric

Shall ne'er but cast a clout!

Remplenish thou thy cravie

With all that bodes within

Fall gather barge and davie

The lamb within a bin.

God Speed

VICTOR TRIUMPHS AGAIN AND MRS WEATHERBY LEARNS A LESSON

It were a small village, Squirmly on the Slug, and vile

ruperts spread fat and thick amongst the inhabidads what libed

there.

One victor of these gossipity tongues had oft been Victor

Hardly, a harmless boot, whom never halmed nobody. A typical

quimmty old hag who spread these vile ruperts was Mrs Weatherby

- a widow by her first husbands.

'They're holding a Black Matt down at Victors pad,' was

oft heard about the village - but I never heard it. Things like

this were getting Victor down, if not lower.

'Why but why do they say these bad things about me when I

have but never halmed or speak bad,' he would say, but I never

heard him.

'He's drawing bad Christians on the graves,' Mrs Weatherby

would spread. The whole village was alarming.

'We can't have all this,' said the Vicar, who was a

Christian. 'We'll have to set a trap and catch this fowl fiend

what desicated our church.'

Once and forearm plans were made to prove who it were

playing the Darryl with the church. On Thursday or Monday a

little group of thirty-two people, all dictionaries of the

Counsil, and the Parcel and the Vicar all hid noticeably

amongst all the other dead things lying about.

'This will catch him, God willy,' thought a man with Oxfam

on his face.

After eight hours or so they all noticed that nothing had

happened - and they began to wonder - why? after all hadn't

they had the information from a reliable sore?

I REMEMBER ARNOLD

I remember Kakky Hargreaves

As if 'twer Yestermorn'

Kakky, Kakky Hargreaves

Son of Mr. Vaughan.

He used to be so grundie

On him little bike

Riding on a Sundie

Funny little tyke

Yes, I remember Kathy Hairbream

As if 'twer yesterday

Katthy, Kathy Hairbream

Son of Mr. May

Arriving at the station

Always dead on time

For his destination

Now He's dead on line

(meaning he's been got by a train or something)

And so we growt and bumply

Till the end of time,

Humpty dumpty bumply

Son of Harry Lime.

Bumbleydy Hubledy Humbley...

Bumdley Tum. (Thank you)

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 1067