The Weir
Down the lane, not far from home
A place where many children roam
There is a house that stands alone
Built in wonderful Dorset stone
By the side a river runs by
Winding, flowing, water level quite high
A footpath winds along by its side
Although the river is quite wide
On a bend, next to the house, a weir
Gushes water, fairly near
To the footpath where the children walk
Sometimes forgetful as they talk
Little Jenny Mayweather, just our years old
Walking with her mum, wrapped up warm against the cold
Was skipping and dancing near the river behind a hedge
And approached the weir too near the edge
Tripped and fell over the side
Her Mum screaming realising she may have died
Taken by the water, at this point, a gushing, raging pool
But just by chance Tommy Blenkinsopp , on his way home from school
Heard the screams and ran, hearing Jenny’s name
To the point from whence the sound came
Seeing the girl going under the water for the last time
Raced to the edge and dived straight in, double quick time
With no thought to his own safety at all
He went under the water, like a cannon ball
Hearing the screams further help came and found
Mum shouting, she’s in the water, my god she’s drowned
As onlookers waited with baited breath on the bank
May realising what had happened their hearts sank
But just then Tommy surfaced with little Jenny under his arm
As the police arrived, someone had raised the alarm
Though not moving, she was saved by Tommy’s selfless act
Lucky for Jenny, he was the first to react
As they were dragged from the weir everyone cheered
As Jenny opened her eyes coughing and spluttering
Tommy walked away under his breath just muttering
About how stupid it was to walk by the weir
That someone would fall in was people’s greatest fear
Jenny’s mum looked round to thank Tommy Blenkinsopp
But he had walked away down to the village shop
Where his mum and dad ran the store
And soaking wet walked through the door
His mum went mad, what have you done
Thinking he had got soaked out having fun
Just then P C Jones walked through the door
As his Mum and Dad gave him what for
NO, No said P C Jones, he saved the day
Lucky for little Jenny he had walked home that way
Everyone by now had reached the door
And little Jenny stood in the door
A big smile upon her face
And cheers rang out all over the place
A life was saved thanks to Tommy’s brave act
And Jenny’s mum was thankful that’s a fact
So now there’s a fence along the pathway
To stop anything like this happening another day
And Tommy and Jenny, well guess what happened in later years
They fell in love, were married, many of the guests in tears
Because they remembered the day that Jenny nearly drowned
And how lucky it was Tommy was around
They lived happy ever after and that’s a fact
Just shows what can happen if you react
Quickly to any given incident
And forward thinking can prevent
Accidents from happening, like the message this one is sending
So always keep this thought in mind, not always is there a happy ending
McCaffrey
McCaffrey, a champion golfer in his own mind
All bluster and bullshit, you know the kind
Like the fisherman who’s big one’s always got away
He will never change, even at the end of the day
One-day last autumn, maybe at the end of the summer
Anyway, for McCaffrey it turned out to be a bummer
Playing eighteen holes in the championship match
Tried to look good playing off scratch
Everything went smoothly out on the first nine
Holed out the thirty six in thirty nine
Out on the tenth all went to pot
He hit a large Kangaroo with his driving shot
Retrieving the ball was a bit of a disaster
The Roo decided to show him who was the master
Up with his legs, catches McCaffrey off balance, and unsteady
When he should have been aware of the danger, been at the ready
A painful kick in the groin had the golfer down for the count
As the Kangaroo hoped off over a nearby grass, mount
McCaffrey now seething got into deep stress
How he finished eighteen holes is anybody’s guess
In the nineteenth hole, consuming drink like it was going out of fashion
Well oiled at closing time a home he went dashing
A cut across the course, striding out nicely, though a dark night
Tripped and fell into a bunker and went out like a light
The Ladies foursome the next morning, teed off at nine
A bright sunny day, everything fine
Arrived at the tenth, driver in hand had she
Mrs Montgomery walked up to the tee
With a good whack from her right hand, the ball was sent aloft
Came down with her ego, it fell in the bunker sand
A loud scream erupted and all heard around the course
A mouthful of expletives greeted the women as McCaffrey crawled out in full force
Mrs Montgomery as bad tempered as he
Took a swipe with a number nine iron right onto his knee
Swearing and cursing McCaffrey sloped away
Fortunately for him to fight another day
Nursing his ego, his groin and his knee
Arrived home hoping to get sympathy, and a nice cup of tee
But Mrs McCaffrey was waiting, and whack, McCaffrey had another bruise
With her frying pan in hand had no time for any excuse
Not impressed at all at her husbands night out
Her heading still aching, then there was the gout
From all the wine consumed the night before
For the rest of the day McCaffrey was ill, and felt rather sore
In The trenches
I sit contemplating tomorrow’s dawn
With a frightened smile and a tired yawn
As I fall asleep amongst the mire
Keeping my head down below enemy fire
As I drift away in careless sleep
The mud becomes so very deep
The rain drives on like a mournful tune
As occasionally the ground is lit by the silvery moon
In slumber now so far away
To another place, another day
In silent sleep I rest till daylight
Till I awake, just to rejoin the fight
Then it’s up the ladders and over the top
Oh when, oh when will this terible war stop?