At the 2005 "National" at Preston Brook, Lewis Carroll's
Alice sories were a sub-theme of the Festival, as the author had a local
connection. This prompted me to write a few filks of some of the poems from the
books. The last one in the set is by Wendy.
JABBERWOCKY
‘Twas brillig, and the
boating coves
Made Festival at Preston Book:
All mimsy were the
borogoves,
And the anglers slung their hook.
“Beware Bee Double-You Em
Ell!
The mooring fees they try to snatch!
Beware the Diesel Tax as
well,
That frumious Bandersnatch.”
He took his IWA sword in
hand:
Long time the fiscal foe he sought –
Then rest he took at
Preston Brook,
And had a beer, and thought.
And while in beery thought he
stood,
The Diesel Tax with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the
Euro wood,
And grasping as it came.
One, two! One two! And through
and through
The IWA sword went snickersnack!
With snicks and snacks he
cut the tax
And went galumphing back.
“And has thou slain the
Diesel Tax?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh!
Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas brillig, and the
boating coves
Made Festival at Preston Book:
All mimsy were the
borogoves,
And the anglers slung their hook.
TWINKLE, TWINKLE
Twinkle, twinkle, little
boater,
Stop and let me take your photer.
If your knuts are truly
knurled,
You might be on Water World.
YOU ARE OLD......
“You
are old, Father Bungle,” the wrg girlie said,
“And your childhood
days are not recent;
“Yet you sleep with a toy JCB in your bed -
“Do you think, at your age, it is decent?”
“In
my youth,”, said the sage, “as a young man will do,
“I went
on a dig on the Mont.
“And they gave me to play with, as part of my
wage
“All the diggers and dumpers I want.”
“You
are old, Father Bungle”, the girlie went on,
“And your personal
drive should be waning;”
“But you never show signs that your
vigour has gone.
“Don’t you think that this needs some
explaining?”
“I’m not that
old,” said Jarge, “whatever you think,
“And my handshake has
never grown clammy.
“Besides, I’ve a friend who will give me a
charge -
“He’s a socking great genny called Sammy”.
Not quite the Walrus and the Carpenter
The sun was shining on the Cut,
Burning, and bright and dry;
He did his very best to make
The
boaters all feel spry.
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of
July.
John Prescott and Bee Double-You
Were walking hand-in-hand;
They wept to see such large amounts
Of
undeveloped land:
“If this were turned to housing blocks,”
They said, “it would be grand.”
“If seven doughty User
Groups
Resisted for a year,
Do you suppose,” John Prescott said,
“They’d keep the banks all clear?”
“I doubt
it”, said Bee-Double-You,
And poured another beer.
The wrg knight’s song
As I drove by a flight of
locks
In lamentable state.
I met a muscled, muscled man
A-mending
of a gate.
“Hearken, O muscled
man,”
I cried with loud haloo,
“And tell me plainly, if you
can,
“Just what it is you do.
“Computing. In time off I
work
“To make each waterway
“A place where all can carry
freight
“Or take their holiday.”
But I was thinking of a way
To increase runway space.
So “What is it you do?” I yelled
Into his bearded face.
“Just think”, said he,
with simple glee,
“For freight it’s the solution
To long and
noisy traffic jams
And poisonous pollution.
But I was thinking of a way
To build more lorry lanes
By filling in his waterway -
There must
be other drains.
Originally written
for The Brookton Press, the newsletter of the 2005 "National" at Preston
Brook. |
