Songs Of The Road | Page 7

little songs she sung,
And when the shadows darken
I could hear his lisping tongue.
They would sit in chambers shady,
When the light was growing dim,
Ah, my fickle-hearted lady!
With your arm embracing him.

So, at last, lest he divide us,
I would put them to the test.
There was no one there beside us,
Save this interloping guest.
So I took my stand before them,
Very silent and erect,
My accusing glance passed o'er them,
Though with no observed effect.
But the lamp light shone upon her,
And I saw each tell-tale feature,
As I cried, "Now, on your honour,
Do or don't you love the creature?"
But her answer seemed evasive,
It was "Ducky-doodle-doo!
If his mummy loves um babby,
Doesn't daddums love um too?"
BENDY'S SERMON
[Bendigo, the well-known Nottingham prize fighter, became converted
to religion, and preached at revival meetings throughout the country.]
You didn't know of Bendigo! Well, that
knocks me out!
Who's your board school teacher? What's
he been about?
Chock-a-block with fairy-tales -- full of
useless cram,
And never heard o' Bendigo, the pride of

Nottingham!
Bendy's short for Bendigo. You should
see him peel!
Half of him was whalebone, half of him
was steel,
Fightin' weight eleven ten, five foot nine
in height,
Always ready to oblige if you want a
fight.
I could talk of Bendigo from here to kingdom
come,
I guess before I ended you would wish your
dad was dumb.
I'd tell you how he fought Ben Caunt, and
how the deaf 'un fell,
But the game is done, and the men are
gone -- and maybe it's as well.
Bendy he turned Methodist--he said he
felt a call,
He stumped the country preachin' and you
bet he filled the hall,
If you seed him in the pulpit, a-bleatin'
like a lamb,
You'd never know bold Bendigo, the
pride of Nottingham.
His hat was like a funeral, he'd got a

waiter's coat,
With a hallelujah collar and a choker round
his throat,
His pals would laugh and say in chaff that
Bendigo was right,
In takin' on the devil, since he'd no one
else to fight.
But he was very earnest, improvin' day by
day,
A-workin' and a-preachin' just as his duty
lay,
But the devil he was waitin', and in the
final bout,
He hit him hard below his guard and
knocked poor Bendy out.
Now I'll tell you how it happened. He
was preachin' down at Brum,
He was billed just like a circus, you
should
see the people come,
The chapel it was crowded, and in the foremost
row,
There was half a dozen bruisers who'd a
grudge at Bendigo.
There was Tommy Piatt of Bradford,
Solly Jones of Perry Bar,
Long Connor from the Bull Ring, the

same wot drew with Carr,
Jack Ball the fightin gunsmith, Joe Murphy
from the Mews,
And Iky Moss, the bettin' boss, the
Champion of the Jews.
A very pretty handful a-sittin' in a
string,
Full of beer and impudence, ripe for anything,
Sittin' in a string there, right under
Bendy's nose,
If his message was for sinners, he could
make a start on those.
Soon he heard them chaflin'; "Hi, Bendy!
Here's a go!"
"How much are you coppin' by this Jump
to Glory show?"
"Stow it, Bendy! Left the ring! Mighty
spry of you!
Didn't everybody know the ring was
leavin' you."
Bendy fairly sweated as he stood above
and prayed,
"Look down, O Lord, and grip me with
a strangle hold!" he said.
"Fix me with a strangle hold! Put a stop
on me!
I'm slippin', Lord, I'm slippin' and I'm

clingin' hard to Thee!"
But the roughs they kept on chaffin' and
the uproar it was such
That the preacher in the pulpit might be
talkin' double Dutch,
Till a workin' man he shouted out, ajumpin'
to his feet,
"Give us a lead, your reverence, and heave
'em in the street."
Then Bendy said, "Good Lord, since
first I left my sinful ways,
Thou knowest that to Thee alone I've
given up my days,
But now, dear Lord"--and here he laid his
Bible on the shelf--
"I'll take, with your permission, just five
minutes for myself."
He vaulted from the pulpit like a tiger
from a den,
They say it was a lovely sight to see him
floor his men;
Right and left, and left and right, straight
and true and hard,
Till the Ebenezer Chapel looked more like
a knacker's yard.
Platt was standin' on his back and lookup

at his toes,
Solly Jones of Perry Bar was feelin' for
his nose,
Connor of the Bull Ring had all that he
could do
Rakin' for his ivories that lay about the
pew.
Jack Ball the fightin' gunsmith was in a
peaceful sleep,
Joe Murphy lay across him, all tied up
in a heap,
Five of them was twisted in a tangle on
the floor,
And Iky Moss, the bettin' boss, had
sprinted for the door.
Five repentant fightin' men, sitting in a
row,
Listenin' to words