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, 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?