Tuesday, 21 July 2009

St George and The Dragon

by R.P.Weston and Bert Lee (1935)

Photo - Eddie Bluelights - June 2009

Some folks'll boast of their family trees,
And there's some trees they ought to lop;
But our family tree, believe me, goes right back;
You can see monkeys sitting on top.

To give you some idea of our family tree,
And don't think I'm boastin' or braggin',
My great, great, great, great, great, great, great Uncle George,
Were the Saint George who slaughtered the dragon.

Aye, he were a blacksmith, not one of the sort
Who shoe horses and sing anvil choruses,
He used to shoe 'Dinasauss' - big woolly Elephants,
And thumping great Brontosauruses.

Well, one day while he shod a Brontasaurus,
A 'feller' ran into a forge,
He were shivering with fright and his face pale and white,
And when he got his breath he said, "George

"Eh, I've seen a dragon, a whopping great dragon,"
And uncle said, "Seen what ? - A dragon ?
Thou'd best see a doctor, you've got 'em owld lad,
Eh, I thought you were on water wagon!"

But the fellow said, "Nay, 'twere a big fiery dragon,
‘Twere belchin' out fire as it run!"
And Uncle George said, "I could do with a dragon
With coal now at two quid a ton."

And the 'feller' said, "Eh, but what's more
I've just heard that the old Baron up at the Castle
Says, him as kills Dragon can marry his daughter,
She's lovely and she's worth a parcel."

Then fellow goes off and old Uncle George thinks,
Of the brass and the bride in old satin,
So he brings out his pup and a pair of his ferrets,
And says to 'em, "We're going ratting."

The ferrets they cocked up their noses with joy,
And the old Bull pup's tail kept a-waggin',
Then Uncle George shoves 'em aside rabbit hole,
And says to 'em, "Go on, fetch Dragon."

Then suddenly he smells a 'sulphury' smell,
Then he sees a big gigantic lizzard,
With smoke coming out of its eyes and its ear'oles,
And flames coming out of its gizzard.

And was George afraid ? - Yes he was and he run,
And he hid there in one of the ditches,
While the Dragon, the pig, ate his ferrets and pup,
Aye, best of his prize-winning er - she dogs.

Then George said, "Gad zooks! I'll split thee to the wizzen,
By gum, but he were in a fury,
And he runs to a junk shop, and buys a spear,
And he pinches a Drayhourse from Brew'ry.

Then he sallies forth with a teatray on chest,
On his head he'd a big copper kettle,
With a couple of flat irons to throw at the Dragon,
Owd George were a real man of mettle!

At last he meets Dragon beside of the pump,
Dragon sees him and breathes fire and slaughter,
But George he were ready and in Dragon's mouth,
He just throws a big pail of water!

The Dragon's breath sizzled he'd put out the fire,
Our family are all clever fellows!
Then so as that owd Dragon can't blow up more fire,
With his big spear he punctures his bellows.

Then finding he'd killed it he out with his knife,
He had gumption beside other merits -
And he cuts open Dragon, and under its vest,
Safe and sound are the pup and the ferrets.

That night Old Baron gave Uncle his bride,
When he saw her he fainted with horror,
She'd a face like a kite, worse than that the Old Baron
Said, "George, you'll be Saint George tomorrow."

'Course, as St George t'were no drinking nor smoking,
They barred him horse racing as well,
And poor old St George, when he looked at his Bride,
Used to wish that old Dragon to ... Blazes!

And he got so fed up with being a Saint,
And the Princess he'd won always naggin',
That he bunked off one day and he opened a pub,
And he called it the 'George and the Dragon'.

And he did a fine trade, eh, for years and for years.
People all came from near and from far there
Just to see Uncle George and the Dragon which he had had,
Stuffed and hung up in the bar there.

'Twere a thousand feet long and three hundred feet wide,
But one day when a big crowd observed it,
It fell off the nail and squashed Uncle George,
And the blinking old liar deserved it.

Saturday, 11 July 2009

Brahn Boots

We have almost completed Stanley Holloway's monologues - Albert and Sam certainly. There remain some miscellaneous works, including something a bit different. I obtained from the net a youtube of Stanley performing a very famous classic called Brahn Boots in which he speaks in a broad Cockney accent. For those who do not know what this is, it is simply those who are born within the sound of Bow Bells in the heart of London. It is there great classic phrases originate like trouble and strife = wife, Play the Joana = play the piano, apples and pears = stairs, Adam and Steve = believe, butcher's hook = look, Ruby Murray = curry. It's almost another language sometimes. There is a popular TV 'soap' running here called East Enders - that's another name for it. Now after that little flavouring here is a very touching little monologue about a funeral, Brahn Boots followed by the text.

by R.P.Weston and Bert Lee (1940)

Our Aunt Hannah's passed away,
We'd her funeral today,
And it was a posh affair -
Had to have two p'licemen there!

The 'earse was luv'ly, all plate glass,
And what a 'corfin' - oak and brass!
We'd 'fah-sands' weepin', flahers galore,
But Jim, our cousin - what d'yer fink
'e wore ?

Why Brahn boots! - I ask yer - brahn boots!
Fancy comin' to a funeral in brahn boots!
I will admit 'e 'ad a nice black tie,
Black finger nails and a nice black eye;

But yer can't see people orf then they die in brahn boots!
And Aunt 'ad been so very good to 'im,
Done all that any muvver could fer 'im,
And Jim, her son, to show his clars

Rolls in to make it all a farce
In brahn boots! - I ask yer - brahn boots!
While all the rest
Wore decent black and mourning suits.

I'll own he didn't seem so gay,
In fact he cried best part the way,
But straight, he reg'lar spoilt our day
Wiv 'is brahn boots.

In the graveyard we left Jim,
None of us said much to him,
Yus, we all give 'im the bird,
Then by accident we 'eard

'E'd given 'is black boots to Jim Small,
A bloke wot 'ad no boots at all,
So p'raps Aunt Hannah doesn't mind;
She did like people who was good and kind.

But brahn boots! - I ask yer - brahn boots!
Fancy coming to a funeral in brahn boots!
And we could 'ear the neighbours all remark,
"Wot, 'im chief mourner ? Wot a bloomin' lark!

"Why 'e looks more like a Bookmaker's Clerk - in brahn boots!"
That's why we 'ad to be so rude to 'im,
That's why we never said, "Ow do!" to 'im,
We didn't know - he didn't say.

He'd give 'is other boots away.
But brahn boots! - I ask yer - brahn boots!
While all the rest
Wore decent black and mourning suits!

But some day up at Heaven's gate
Poor Jim, all nerves, will stand and wait
'Til an angel whispers, "Come in, Mate,
Where's yer brahn boots ?"

Quite touching isn't it?

Monday, 6 July 2009

The Beefeater

I am very pleased some of you are finding these super Stanley Holloway Monologues interesting. I am reaching the end of these soon and when finished I will add a title page with appropriate links. I note also I have a few new followers on this site and I shall be visiting you in due course - please note, though my main blog is Clouds and Silvery Linings and there is always a hot cup of soup or coffee there.

by R.P.Weston and Bert Lee (1934)

Introductory Narrative

Oh dear, starting another day I suppose,
Showing these 'ere gumps round the Tower.
Still it's got to be done,
Someone's got to do it.

Good Morning! What's that ?
Will I show you round t'Tower, Sir ?
You're from Yorkshire, Sir ?
Ba goom! The world's small.

I'm from Yorkshire 'meself'- aye;
These 'ere Cockneys don't know
There's a Tower 'ere at all.
First of all, Sir, we come the the canteen

Where you wash the cobwebs off your chest.
That's our motto there -
" Honi soit, qui mall y pense.
And in Yorkshire that means, 'Beer is best.'

Eh ? I'll 'ave a pint, Sir, and thank yer,
You'll find it good ale 'ere to sup.
Well, as Guy Fawlkes said when 'e got bunged in dungeon,
And tumbled 'ead first, "Bottoms Up!"

That big 'ole outside is the moat, Sir,
And they do say if ever John Bull
Sells the Tower for a road house with cracks puttied up -
It'll make a damn fine swimming pool.

And now, Sir, we come to the armoury;
Here's the tin pants of Dick Coeur de Lion.
Just imagine the job that his old woman 'ad
Putting patches on with soldering iron.

Here's the shirt of chainmail Black Prince wore -
To starch and iron that were real tricky:
It took three boilermakers to put on his shirt,
And a blacksmith to put on his dicky.

And the 'ere's the real headsman's block, Sir,
From this many 'eads fell with a thud -
Ee! To keep these 'ere stains fresh all these three hundred years
We've used buckets and buckets of blood.

'Ere's the axe - that's the genuine axe, Sir,
That's given Royal necks some 'ard whacks.
True it's 'ad new 'andle and perhaps a new 'ead,
But it's a real old original axe.

And down here's where Princes were murdered,
Aye, strangled poor kids in cold blood.
And what's worse, down here I tossed Scotsman for shilling -
I won, but the shilling was dud.

And here's where they tortured the prisoners -
On that rack when they wouldn't confess.
They were crushed 'til their life's blood ran drip, drip, drip.
Feeling faint, Sir ? Well, here's t'Sergeant's Mess.

Eh ? Oh, thank you. I will have a pint, Sir,
For talking's dry work. Bet your life!
But when I show you ducking stool they had for women,
By Goom, you'll wish you'd brought the wife.

And why do they call us Beefeaters ?
Is it 'cos we eat beef, Sir ? Nay, nay.
The Sergeant eats pork and the Corporal eats bacon,
But I eat tripe three times a day.

And so you shall know we're Beefeaters:
There's me who has fought in the wars
'As to walk round with frills on me neck like a hambone,
A daft hat and purple plus fours.

But here's why they call us Beefeaters,
King Alfred, one night so they say
Fell over the feet of the Sentry
And shouted, "Oi! Keep your B-feet out of the way!


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