THE PARROT AND HIS MATE

Our tale begins on a pirate ship
That sailed the Spanish Main.
The name of the ship was the Anna Marie,
And the name of the captain ..Caine!

But the scourge of the ship was the Mate,
A fiend of a feller called Barret
He hated the crew and the crew hated he
And his one friend aboard was his parrot.

That parrot used to spy on the crew,
For it was a sneaky bird!
It used to eavesdrop in the rigging
And repeat every word that it heard!

Now you’ll know how it was with the pirates,
After plundering a ship they just sank her.
And as they risked hanging if they went ashore
For years they never dropped anchor.

And though they could put up with hard-tack and weevils
And never a night on the town,
The first-mate’s bad temper and that spying parrot
Was finally what got them down.

So they went to the Captain and make it quite plain
He’d have to get rid of those two.
To which he replied, “I’m inclined to agree,
Just what do you think we should do?”

There were some for making them walk the plank.
There were others who cried, “Let’s ‘arpoon ‘em!”
“String ‘em up with a cable!” said Caine, “I’m not Abel
to agree to that. No! Let”s maroon them!”

So they put them ashore on an island
And sailed away over the sea
And “Yo Ho Ho! We’re free at last”
Sang the crew of the Anna Marie.

Years passed on that island and no human face
Was ever seen by old Barret.
And even he (who’d always loved birds)
Got heartily sick of his parrot.

For parrots repeat things they’ve heard pretty well . . . .

THE GORILLA

Deep in the African jungle
In the burning tropical heat
A man sat playing a violin
In a manner remarkably sweet.

He played Bach and Grieg and Debussy,
And some lighter composers like Balfe,
But the music that he like to play most of all
Was the music he’d written himself!

Me, soh, fe..fah, ray, doh.
Oh, what a beautiful tune!
He played it all day ‘neath the African sun.
And all night ‘neath the African moon.

One-by-one all the beasts of the jungle,
All the beasts of the jungle (save one!)
Gathered round him and listened enraptured
‘neath the blazing hot African sun!

Not one of them there would have harmed him,
Though they loved Bach and Grieg (even Balfe!)
They used to adore the tune in three-four,
The one that he’d written himself.

Me, soh, fe..fah, ray, doh.
This simple tune never bored.
The animals swayed as the fiddler played
The music that they all adored.

!.

But this gentle scene was quite shattered
By a sudden and horrible sound,
A gorilla, no less, who thumping his chest
Beat the fiddler quite flat to the ground.

He danced on the fiddler’s body.
It was a most terrible sin!
Then having made sure that he’d play no more,
He also smashed up his violin!!

Now gorillas are really kind hearted
The animals were most surprised.
Gorillas are mild (unless threatened)
The action was most ill-advised.

But this one, it seems, was completely tone-deaf
Which rather explains what he’d done.
He thought that the fiddler was some kind of hunter
With some kind of new-fangled gun!!

The poor chap could not tell one note from the next.
To him they all sounded the same.
All he could hear was a weird kind of noise.
And for that he was hardly to blame. . . .

SOCKS

“Socks” our cat was much too fat
On that we’d all agree.
He’d “wibble-wobble” as he walked
‘T was plain for all to see.

Of lovely disposition.
A fine and noble head: black shiny fur,
White dainty paws,
A beauty: we all said.

Yes, “Socks” as he’s so aptly named
‘s a cat that took some beating
but “Socks” once had a problem.
That problem was his eating.

He’d eat all day, he’d eat all night
And not just at his meal times
For little birds and tiny mice
Provided snacks between times!

We tried to feed him twice a day,
At breakfast and at dinner
And, of course, as you’d expect
He really then was thinner.

But “Socks” was always hungry.
His meals were huge and yet,
As soon as he had guzzled all
He seemed to just …forget!!

And much too soon he’d ask for more,
Forgetting he’d just eaten.
This mystified the family.
His problem had us beaten!!

We’d tell him, “No, you silly cat
Why you’ve just had your fill.
It was a most enormous meal.
You can’t be hungry still!”

But “Socks” would miaow and swish his tail
To show he’d not agree.
That may have been his dinner
But now he wanted tea!!

The over-eating worried us
In this, our much-loved pet
So just in case our “Socks” was ill,
We took him to the vet. . . .

MRS BARRET

In London town a widow lived
Whose name was Mrs Barret.
And with her lived a little dog,
A puss-cat and a parrot.

A cleverer or funnier dog
I’m sure you never saw,
For he could dance a hornpipe
Like a sailor – on one paw!

And as he danced upon the floor
The pussy-cat was able
To play his tail, just like a flute
Upon the kitchen table.

And all the while the pussy played
And doggy danced his jig,
The parrot made up poetry
About his friend – the pig!

For what a tongue and what a brain
Were in that parrot’s head.
It took two men to understand
One half the things he said.

The widow was so proud of them
But very sad to say.
She was really much too poor
To feed them every day.

Her husband died a pirate,
Upon some foreign shore
But no treasure came her way
And that’s why she was poor!

Her clever pets’ accomplishments
Were very much admired.
But being hungry all the time
Made them extremely tired.

The parrot sometimes felt quite faint,
Which made his poems bad.
The pussy sometimes played wrong notes,
Which made the doggy sad!

The widow knew what she must do.
She had to find a way.
A way to get the money
To feed them every day. . . .

THE OWL AND THE WINKLE

Picture (if you can) a winkle
Striding bravely through the night.
His little brow is furrowed.
His little fists clenched tight.

He’s left the sea behind him
And taken to the land.
The road is long and cold and dry:
Not like the warm wet sand.

The night is chill. The yellow moon
Stares down with baleful eye.
This world is strange to winkles
Who never see the sky.

No ebb and flow of gentle tide.
Caress of splash or foam.
No passing fish, no seagull cry,
No happy sounds of home.

The night-wind moans among the trees
Like distant warriors dying.
To hear such fearful sounds as these
Our winkle’s near to crying.

But still he keeps his pecker up.
No wimpish winkle he.
He’s vowed to find his mummy –
Wherever she may be.

“Quo vadis littorine?”
A kindly owl enquired.
(for owls they speak in Latin,
but English if required).

“Whither goest winkle?”
(He spoke in English now)
“To find my mum” our lad replied.
And wiped his little brow.

“How far is it to London?”
He asked with look forlorn.
“They’ve taken her to Billingsgate.
Will I be there by dawn?”

“That’s forty miles”, the owl replied
from the end of Southend pier.
You’ll not be there by dawn young man
‘Cos it’s thirty miles from here!”

“What’s happened to your mater?
Why have you come ashore?
We don’t see many winkles here!
I’d like to hear some more!

“It all began”, the winkle said,
(he’s been christened “Walter”)
“It all began at midnight”
His voice began to falter. . . .