The Rat and Other Poems

by Malcolm Whyman

  One day it blew a soapy sphere its characteristics were unclear,

  I prodded and I poked it but the bubble wouldn’t pop.

  To use correct terminology I detected an anomaly,

  So for close examination the procedure had to stop.

  I had to cease my popping while I pressed the knob for stopping,

  I pressed it and I pressed it but I couldn’t get it in.

  The machine just kept on going its massive bubbles blowing,

  It was then I panicked and dropped me bloody pin.

  The bubbles filled up seven floors and so we opened all the doors,

  But it wasn’t quite enough to do the trick.

  We threw the windows wide to let the bubbles get outside,

  Where they swiftly floated skyward fast and thick.

  They stopped the buses, trams and trains and grounded all the bloody planes,

  I was nearly in hysterics thinking Christ what have I done.

  Then a heavy shower of rain washed all the bubbles down the drain,

  And left the puzzled citizens blinking in the sun.

  The beggars in the market square had glossy beards and shiny hair,

  The Council House stood proud and gleaming white.

  The streets of Hyson Green had never been so clean,

  And many an unwashed window saw the light.

  I thought that I would soon be toast with nasty letters to the Post,

  But the hardy folk of Nottingham didn’t give two hoots.

  Their faces had a lovely sheen their cars were spotless and pristine,

  And they quite enjoyed their bubble bath courtesy of Boots.

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  The Kid from Allenbrooke

  Life is just a lottery some kids have all the luck,

  But it never seemed to happen for the kid from Allenbrooke.

  I met him on the highroad when he was just a pup,

  And through the passing years I watched him growing up.

  Restless and unruly trashing bins and sniffing glue,

  When I asked him why he said piss off it’s nowt to do with you.

  I told him better schooling would stand him in good stead,

  He told me bunking off was cool and he’d rather stay in bed.

  A spell of petty thieving soon got his collar felt,

  But fate was only playing out the hand that he’d been dealt.

  He sneaked into The Durham when he was seventeen,

  The booze the pills the music were the answer to a dream.

  Always the outsider dying to get in,

  He was treated like a loser who was never going to win.

  The years would not be kind to him but still he played the clown,

  While fit young bucks were coming up he was slowing down.

  The cool kids and the rude boys thought he was just a joke,

  And so he found a smaller pond down at the Royal Oak.

  Already twice a father he couldn’t settle down.

  Domestic life was boring and his life was on the town.

  Working didn’t suit him he was into dodgy stuff,

  For his clothes with fancy labels and his latest bit of fluff.

  He found a ready audience for his bluster and his barge,

  And there he sat from early doors giving it the large.

  He crossed an ugly customer and when it came to blows,

  He ended up in traction plus a bloody broken nose.

  He made his final journey from The Oak down to the Queens,

  And took his darts and pool cue to join the old has beens.

  He never saw the stolen car just heard the tyres squeal,

  And he never saw the face of his son behind the wheel.

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  The Man from Hyson Green

  He cut a dapper figure in these parts seldom seen,

  And all eyes turned to follow the man from Hyson Green.

  His suit, his shirt and shoes were of the finest cut,

  Lean and fit his figure the whole immaculate.

  A ruby studded Rolex glittered on his wrist,

  His rings were set with diamonds, his tiepin amethyst.

  He ignored the looks of envy, the chatter and the talk,

  For he’d passed this way before when he took his evening walk.

  He strode up Bentink Road and as he neared the top,

  He bought two cans of Special Brew from an all night corner shop.

  The shop girl said be careful wearing all that bling,

  As he put his cans of Special Brew in an old bag made of string.

  “It’s nice of you to worry but I think I’ll be alright”

  Said the man from Hyson Green as he stepped into the night.

  He paused for just a moment to straighten up his tie,

  And caught the skulking shadows from the corner of his eye.

  His gait began to falter, his head began to sink,

  And it looked to passers by as though he’d had too much to drink.

  If he heard the steps that followed or caught the weapons glint,

  The man from Hyson Green strode on and never gave a hint.

  He turned a darkened corner and tightened like a spring,

  And took a firmer grip upon his old bag made of string.

  Then the old bag went humming as he whirled it round his head,

  And gave the cans of special Brew the force of spinning lead.

  His pursuers turned the corner and heard a fearful drone,

  Too late the cans of Special Brew tore flesh and fractured bone.

  And almost as an after thought he gave them both the boot,

  Then deftly searched their pockets and relieved them of their loot.

  He turned and left them moaning, just two unlucky buggers,

  They’d met the man from Hyson Green whose trade was mugging muggers.

  As for the man from Hyson Green, he left no trace at all,

  Just two empty cans of Special Brew standing on a wall.

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  Trap a Slapper Night

  You can keep your singles clubs, divorced and separated.

  The sights of all those hang dog looks will leave you quite deflated.

  You only have to try it once you’ll soon see that I’m right,

  So get down to the Palais on Trap a Slapper Night.

  Age is no impediment you’ll find the one for you.

  There’s callow youths of 18 years with grannies 72,

  But better not get legless you could wake up with a fright,

  When you turn to face your partner after Trap a Slapper Night.

  She may not be a beauty queen nor yet your heart's desire,

  But you don’t look at the mantelpiece when you poke the fire.

  In all their perfumed finery they set the room alight,

  So raise a glass to the gallant gals on Trap a Slapper Night.

  Looks were not an issue as round the room we sped,

  And few were left to wander home and seek an empty bed.

  Many a bride her husband’s pride could trace her great delight,

  To those ladies of experience on Trap a Slapper Night.

  A young man who can barely shave is seeking a connection.

  He needs a helping hand to steer him in the right direction.

  He’ll be taken to a bosom and before the morning light,

  Some lass will make a man of him on Trap a Slapper Night.

  Arm in arm at midnight in one great Palais glide,

  Come the morning very few would find their needs unsatisfied.

  Brash and bold with hearts of gold they put the blues to flight,

  They knew the score and stormed the floor on Trap a Slapper night.

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  The Doctor

  I went to the Doctor he said “How do you do?”

  I said “I’m feeling peaky that’s why I’ve come to you”.

  He said “I’ve a question to ask you right awa
y,

  How many fags do you smoke in a day?”

  “Ten fags a day, ten fags a day”.

  “We can’t have you smoking ten fags a day,

  My advice to you is stop it right away,

  If you want longevity there’s a price to pay”.

  I gave up smoking, it wasn’t very nice but if you want

  Longevity you’ve got to pay the price.

  I went to the Doctor he said “How do you do?”

  I said “I’m feeling peaky that’s why I’ve come to you”.

  He said “I’ve a question to ask you right away,

  How many pints do you drink in a day?”.

  “Three pints a day, three pints a day”.

  “We can’t have you drinking three pints a day,

  My advice to you is stop it right away.

  If you want longevity there’s a price to pay”.

  I gave up drinking it wasn’t very nice but if you want

  Longevity you’ve got to pay the price.

  I went to the Doctor he said “How do you do?”

  I said “I’m feeling peaky that’s why I’ve come to you”.

  He said “There’s a question I’ll ask you right away,

  How much sex do you have in a day?”

  “Three times a day, three times a day”

  “We can’t have you bonking three times a day”

  “My advice to you is stop it right away,

  If you want longevity there’s a price to pay”.

  I gave up sex it wasn’t very nice but if you want

  Longevity you’ve got to pay the price.

  I went to the Doctor when I was old and grey,

  I was thinking of taking a little holiday.

  “Little holiday, what can I say, we’ve got a little nursing

  Home, it’s not far away, not far away, one hundred pounds a day.

  “There we’ll make you comfy till you fade away”.

  “Not far away, one hundred pounds a day and you’ll make

  Me comfy till I fade away”.

  I popped into me local to buy a bag of crisps,

  And there were all the regulars taking all the risks,

  There sat the Doctor, it filled me with alarm he was

  Drinking and smoking, a girl upon each arm.

  I had three double whiskies and then a big cigar,

  And made a date for Friday with the maid behind the bar.

  I said to the Doctor “I’m doing as you do. I’ve lead a life of misery listening to you!”.

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  The Nottingham Lads

  The Nottingham Lads have sailed away,

  To fight on a foreign shore,

  And they’ve said farewell to the poor relief,

  And the dust of the factory floor,

  And they’ve said farewell to the terraced row,

  And the outside privy’ stench,

  They’ve taken a chance on a trip to France,

  And the wrath of a German trench.

  You’ll hear them tell that war is hell,

  And a soldier’s life is harsh,

  Then smile and say that life was cheap,

  On the streets of Narrow Marsh,

  And a new recruit gets a khaki suit,

  And eats three times a day,

  And many’s the pail of Shipstones Ale,

  You can buy on a soldiers pay.

  They were under fire in the mud and wire,

  When the gas came drifting in,

  And a letter from the colonel,

  Informed the next of kin.

  They died for king and country,

  Though they’d never met the king.

  Whose country had they died for,

  They never owned a thing.

  In the musty gloom of a terraced room,

  There’s a medal cast in lead,

  And the rain has dripped where the gothic script,

  Says a Nottingham lad lies dead.

  It wasn’t the thrall of Kitcheners call,

  Or the flag that made him stray,

  Just the khaki suit of a new recruit,

  And three square meals a day.

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  Cuts

  She’s laid up by the basin, where the old boats go to die,

  Forgotten and abandoned like the cuts she used to ply.

  She was made for bulk and tonnage,

  And built with style and grace,

  Then stranded in the shallows by history’s changing pace.

  We legged her through the tunnels and we hauled her through the locks,

  Down to gas street basin and up to Shardlow Docks.

  Back and forth to Leicester with leather meal and grain,

  And I’m waiting for the day we’ll see the likes of her again.

  I was thirty years her skipper as my father was before,

  Too numerous to mention were the cargoes that she bore.

  The life blood of a nation an endless running stream,

  Her sisters forged the future long before the age of steam.

  First there came the railways they took our heavy loads,

  Then the screaming diesels and the love affair with roads.

  It can’t go on forever one day I know I shall,

  See the heavy freight returning to the river and canal.

  Never mind your fibreglass and your floating caravans,

  And your cruisers made of steel no thicker than tin cans.

  Give me that old Bolinder and capacity to spare,

  And I’ll show you the story of the tortoise and the hare.

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  Steeplejack

  I’ve been a Steeple jack most of me life,

  On the chimneys of Nottingham town.

  And though the show’s free when you look up at me,

  Remember that I’m looking down.

  When I’m out on the town with me feet on the ground,

  I’m a drunken and quarrelsome sod.

  On top of a stack with the wind in me back,

  Is the closest that I get to God.

  Plasters and Brickies, Plumbers and Chippies,

  All sleep like a log in their beds.

  But wouldn’t you have a nightmare or two,

  If your life always hung by a thread.

  So raise up your glass to the stacks of the past,

  And drink to bold Steeple jacks all.

  Always remember the higher you climb,

  The further you’re likely to fall.

  I gave my heart to those smokey old tarts,

  The long the short and the tall.

  But it’s easy to see they’ll be no work for me,

  Now that chimneys have started to fall.

  The days have gone by when the stacks touched the sky,

  And I treated each one like a friend.

  For year after year my old friends disappear,

  Soon there won’t be a chimney to mend.

  Now time has passed on and the chimneys have gone,

  And I think of those days with a frown.

  For my contribution to cut down pollution,

  Was helping to knock ‘em all down.

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  Raymond's Song

  Raymond’s given up the booze cruel circumstance has claimed him,

  He should have done it years ago and no-one would have blamed him.

  For shame the devil tell the truth,

  His was a drunken mis-spent youth.

  Poor Francis is the living proof that no-one could restrain him.

  On his sofa Raymond lies his cocoa gently steaming,

  The lids fall on his tired eyes and he is softly dreaming,

  Of mammoth feats of yester year,

  Gussling umpteen pints of beer,

  His eyes were bright his mind was clear,

  Last Orders had no meaning.

  Lock-ins were his stock in trade he never backed a loser,

  The fiercest landlord h
e’d persuade,

  To serve another few, sir.

  Raymond had mysterious powers,

  For finding pubs with after hours,

  And still his reputation towers above your common boozer.

  We hear his voice along the bar,

  Complaining of short measure.

  We shuffle around to make some room,

  And welcome back our treasure,

  We say “we’ve missed you in the snug

  Your stories and your goodnight hug”.

  He lifts his pint and gives a shrug,

  Saying “now repent at leisure”.

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  Notts Allotmenteers

  While tending their allotment young Tony and old Lou,

  Old Lou was 83 and young Tony 62.

  They were doing double digging to plant their Jersey Royals,

  When young Tony stuck his spade in and up shot a spout of oil.

  They capped it with a pumpkin and retired to their shed,

  Old Lou said to young Tony, “It's time to use our head”.

  “Give it to the Government” young Tony said “No fear,

  We’ll treble all the pensions of the Notts Allotmenteers”.

  A meeting was arranged at the association hut,

  Where thousands then assembled and the motion to them put,

  There was not a voice dissenting and they raised three ringing cheers

  For trebling all the pensions of the Notts Allotmenteers

  The news it soon reached Parliament, where the House of Commons sat

  The party leader rose to speak, a pompous autocrat

  He said “We will not tolerate this blatant lawlessness,

  Don’t bother with the Police Force, send in the S.A.S”.

  The S.A.S attacked at dawn but never fired a shot,

  The Allotmenteers hit them with everything they’d got

  They’d built some mighty catapults like siege engines of war,

  With ammunition plentiful from vegetables stored.

  They fired beetroot, spuds and turnips, cauliflowers and Swedes,

  Rotten, soft tomatoes and peas as hard as beads.

  The force elite was swiftly beat by beanpoles hurled like spears,