The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke | Page 8

agen! My oath, I
swear
No more I'll roust on 'er in angry 'eat!
But still, she never
seemed to me so fair;
She never wus so tender or so sweet
As when
she smooged beneath the lamplight there.
She's never been so lovin' wiv 'er gaze;
So gentle wiv 'er pretty
wimmin's ways.
I tells 'er she's me queen, me angel, too.
"Ah, no, I
ain't no angel, Kid," she says.
"I'm jist a woman, an' I loves yeh true!


An' so I'll love yeh all me mortal days!"
She sung a song....'Ere, in me barmy style,
I sets orl tarts; for in me
hour o' trile
Me soul was withered be a woman's frown,
An'
broodin' care come roostin' on me dile.
She sung a song....Me 'eart,
wiv woe carst down,
Wus raised to 'Eaven be a woman's smile.
VIII. Mar
"'Er pore dear par," she sez, "'e kept a store";
An' then she weeps an'
stares 'ard at the floor.
"'Twas thro' 'is death," she sez, "we wus
rejuiced
To this," she sez...An' then she weeps some more.
"'Er Par," she sez, "me poor late 'usband, kept
An 'ay an' corn store.
'E'd no faults ixcept
'Im fallin' 'eavy orf a load o' charf
W'ich--killed
'im--on the---" 'Struth! But 'ow she wept.
She blows 'er nose an' sniffs. "'E would 'a' made"
She sez "a lot of
money in the trade.
But, 'im took orf so sudden-like, we found
'E
'adn't kept 'is life insurince paid.
"To think," she sez, "a child o' mine should be
Rejuiced to workin' in
a factory!
If 'er pore Par 'e 'adn't died," she sobs...
I sez, "It wus a bit
o' luck for me."
Then I gits red as 'ell, "That is--I mean,"
I sez, "I mighter never met
Doreen
If 'e 'ad not"--an' 'ere I lose me block--"I 'ope,"
I sez, "'e
snuffed it quick and clean."
An' that wus 'ow I made me first deboo.
I'd dodged it cunnin' fer a
month or two.
Doreen she sez, "You'll 'ave to meet my Mar,
SOME
day," she sez. An' so I seen it thro'.
I'd pictered some stern female in a cap
Wot puts the fear o' Gawd into
a chap.
An' 'ere she wus, aweepin' in 'er tea
An' drippin' moistcher
like a leaky tap.

Two dilly sorter dawgs made outer delf
Stares 'ard at me frum orf the
mantelshelf.
I seemed to symperthise wiv them there pups;
I felt so
stiff an' brittle-like meself.
Clobber? Me trosso, 'ead to foot, wus noo--
Got up regardless, fer this
interview.
Stiff shirt, a Yankee soot split up the back,
A tie wiv
yeller spots an' stripes o' blue.
Me cuffs kep' playin' wiv me nervis fears
Me patent leathers nearly
brought the tears
An' there I sits wiv, "Yes, mum. Thanks. Indeed?"

Me stand-up collar sorin' orf me ears.
"Life's 'ard," she sez, an' then she brightens up.
"Still, we 'ave alwus
'ad our bite and sup.
Doreen's been SICH a help; she 'as indeed.

Some more tea, Willy? 'Ave another cup."
Willy! O 'ell! 'Ere wus a flamin' pill!
A moniker that alwus makes me
ill.
"If it's the same to you, mum," I replies
"I answer quicker to the
name of Bill."
Up goes 'er 'ands an' eyes, "That vulgar name!"
No, Willy, but it isn't
all the same,
My fucher son must be respectable."
"Orright," I sez,
"I s'pose it's in the game."
"Me fucher son," she sez, "right on frum this
Must not take anythink I
say amiss.
I know me jooty be me son-in-lor;
So, Willy, come an'
give yer Mar a kiss."
I done it. Tho' l dunno 'ow I did.
"Dear boy," she sez, "to do as you
are bid.
Be kind to 'er," she sobs, "my little girl!"
An' then I kiss
Doreen. Sez she "Ah Kid!"
Doreen! Ar 'ow 'er pretty eyes did shine.
No sight on earth or
'Eaving's 'arf so fine,
An' as they looked at me she seemed to say

"I'm proud of 'im, I am, an' 'e is mine."

There wus a sorter glimmer in 'er eye,
An 'appy, nervis look, 'arf
proud, 'arf shy;
I seen 'er in me mind be'ind the cups
In our own
little kipsie, bye an' bye.
An' then when Mar-in-lor an' me began
To tork of 'ouse'old things an'
scheme an' plan,
A sudden thort fair jolts me where I live:
"These is
my wimmin folk! An' I'm a man!"
It's wot they calls responsibility.
All of a 'eap that feelin' come to me;

An' somew'ere in me 'ead I seemed to feel
A sneakin' sort o' wish
that I was free.
'Ere's me 'oo never took no 'eed o' life,
Investin' in a mar-in-lor an'
wife:
Someone to battle fer besides meself,
Somethink to love an'
shield frum care and strife.
It makes yeh solim when yeh come to think
Wot love and marridge
means. Ar, strike me pink!
It ain't all sighs and kisses. It's yer life.

An' 'ere's me tremblin' on the bloomin' brink.
"'Er pore dead Par," she sez, an' gulps a sob.
An' then I tells 'er 'ow I
got a job,
As storeman down at Jones' printin' joint,
A decent sorter
cop at fifty bob.
Then