A Family Favourite!

Posted on March 19, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Have you ever met anyone famous? Did they look the same as on TV or film? I don’t circulate in circles where this is at all likely (to be perfectly honest, I don’t really feel as if I’ve missed out!). However I did once see a famous person at a wedding in London. Mrs Bard’s aged Aunty Gwenda strode up to him and asked who he was. The target of her questioning was none other than Frank Thornton, at that time known to all, as Captain Peacock from the sitcom “Are You Being Served’ (it was before he joined the cast of Last of the Summer Wine). He was dressed appropriately in a morning suit (after all it was a wedding!), with his trademark red rose buttonhole. In real life he looked true to his character, however he was a kind and generous man who seemed almost embarrassed by the recognition. It was announced yesterday that he had died, he will always be our ‘Family Favourite’…

We were at a family wedding,
At a smart venue in town,
When Mrs Bard’s Aunty Gwenda,
Approached a guest with a frown:

“Young Man!
Who are you?
We all recognise you,
So you must be on our side?”

The man was tall and distinguished,
A rose in his lapel,
We suddenly realised who he was:
Captain Peacock, we could tell!

The beauty of this story is,
Kindness for all to see,
It might have been different (if she’d asked):
“Captain Peacock, Are you free?”
Thanks to the Bride and Groom, Fee and Chris Cox, for the opportunity to be able to say: “I once saw somebody famous!”
Frank Thornton 1921-2013
A kind and generous man.

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Dai’s Big Cardiff Match!

Posted on March 18, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Mrs Bard had a great weekend. She is Welsh. For the benefit of my foreign readers, let me explain: To Wales (Cymru), England (Lloegr) is ‘the old Enemy’ and the game of rugby (rygbi) is a religion. Wales has a population less than six percent of its larger neighbour, and a senior rugby playing base roughly one-eighth the size. On Saturday in the Six Nations Rugby Tournament (contested by Wales, England, Ireland, Scotland, France and Italy), Wales annihilated England 30 points to 3, in what was promised to be (by the English-biased BBC commentators), ‘a close encounter’. After the match those same commentators, who had heralded an English victory, were quick to blame the effects of the stadium’s atmosphere, saying that it upset the young England players. Perhaps those young warriors would have been better off visiting one of Wales’ golden beaches, armed with bucket and spade, instead of braving the colosseum. Match day in Cardiff is special. If you ever, ever, are offered the opportunity to watch a match at the Millennium Stadium, sell your Grandmother, give away your kids and head on down to Cardiff…

Dai woke up in Cardiff,
Sat up on the bed,
“I can’t believe we won the match,”
As he clutched his aching head!
He’d set off Saturday morning,
Kissed his wife and kids goodbye,
He’d promised to be home that night,
This time he’d really try!

A pint of Brains slipped down a treat,
His second even better!
His third was spilt down his chest,
There was more beer than sweater!
Pre-match in the Prince of Wales,
With a chap he met called Bevan,
Another couple to steady the nerves,
Took his own score up to seven!

Walking to the stadium,
A sea of red and white,
Not sure if Wales could win the match,
But they’d put up a fight!
Seated in Row F seat 7,
Nestling another pint,
With Tomos from Abergele,
And Ray from Llantrisant.

He stood unsteady for the Anthem,
His voice was strong and sure.
Tears were streaming down his face.
‘Feed me evermore!’
Then silent prayers,
Were whispered all around,
“Please O Lord help beat them,
On this sacred ground!”

A half-time score of 9-3,
Better than dreamed how,
Halfpenny’s boot was magic,
Please Lord, stop it now!
But second half was fantastic,
Two tries crushed their fears,
Had England run away to hide?
Best win for many years!

Dai was over-euphoric,
Coming back from the park,
He thought he’d kissed an Englishman,
But it was awful dark!
A few more pints to celebrate,
Singing with the boys,
On and on into the night,
His voice became just noise!

Sunday morning fine and bright,
And his head was awful sore.
He couldn’t believe where he was:
A bedding superstore!
He told the surprised manager:
“I’m very sorry, see,
I didn’t mean to spend the night,
But we beat them 30-3!”

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Saturday Broadsheet!

Posted on March 17, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Many years ago, when I was at school, I did a paper-round. Early each morning, I’d collect the papers from the newsagents in a large satchel, and cycle off around the Wiltshire town to make sure that customers had their newspaper at the breakfast table. We had to carefully put each newspaper (folded so that it didn’t rip), through letterboxes of differing sizes. Seeing the American version at the cinema many years later, where the paperboy seemed to randomly fling the papers onto the front lawn, I can remember being insanely jealous. Yesterday I bought a Saturday broadsheet. It was the first time for ages that I’d bothered buying a paper, preferring to choose what I read online. I was only too pleased that I was only carrying just one, any number to deliver and my old bike would have collapsed under the weight…

There’s 1,307gms in the Saturday paper,
That’s an awful lot of words,
As a paperboy, there’d be no joy,
In fact it’s quite absurd!

There are sections covering everything:
Supplements all abound,
So many sections, to suit all directions,
Literary abundance found!

How much longer can this weight continue?
The feeding of trees to the Press,
Recycled too, then flushed down the loo,
A worthy end I confess!

The old institutions backs to the wall,
Blinded, bleeding, unsure,
What they can’t see, that news is now free,
Fleet Street has been shown the door!

But what is this that is here now?
Sunday’s papers I see!
Even more weight, to help dislocate,
A paperboy’s joie de vie!
Dedicated to writers everywhere facing a new age with trepidation.
But especially to my two favourite journalists: Tony Lennox and his adorable and much-missed wife Marsya. May I one day come close to writing with their consummate skill. BB.

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Friday Evening Decay!

Posted on March 16, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

It was my fault – when in Baldock yesterday lunchtime, I wished the girl behind the counter at the bank a ‘Happy Weekend’. In the same way as if you find a coin on the pavement, someone has been a loser – to be joyful about the end of the week is asking for trouble. Just after the clock struck: “STOP TAKING CALLS – NOW’ at Health Centre’s up and down the country, I discovered that I had lost a filling in a tooth (before my American readers ask – what is a filling? It is something that we British, having crap teeth, get from the dentist for being bad). I was in trouble. After doing the online calculation at isthisreallyanemergency.com, I was destined to ring on Monday morning for an appointment sometime in the next ten days. I had two choices: either I went on a no liquids, no solids diet until whatever day I could get an appointment or Home Dentistry for Beginners, here I come…

Was on a Friday evening,
The dental surgery closed,
I suddenly felt a damn great hole,
Somewhere behind my nose!
My tongue went in and explored the hole,
Was jagged as a rocky sea,
Typically it was after hours,
Sometimes luck can’t be!

So I reached for the repair kit,
Next to the tyre spare,
Plenty of Plumbers Mate,
But lack of tooth repair!
So down to the pharmacy,
They had stocks a-plenty,
They all said it wouldn’t last,
A temporary al dente!

So I played self-dentist,
Didn’t have a clean white coat,
My hands were shaking like a leaf
Applying the undercoat!
I managed to attack the hole,
I filled it with white paste,
It also repaired my nose, my lips,
Now it’s all that I can taste!
…and I’m off to face the dentist and explain what this white car-body-filler-type-stuff is doing spread liberally across my mouth and face!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Mind Stripped Bear!

Posted on March 15, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Do you ever have those moments where you half-remember a gem of knowledge? The other day I was talking to a friend and was relating something I’d read, when, in the middle of the sentence, my mind went blank. This was not just a ‘Senior Moment’, but a wild-cat strike by the few brain cells I have left. They stood huddled around a brazier just outside the empty brain in a silent protest. Ever since I have tried to recall any small useful pieces of information and commit them to file, to avoid such walk-outs in the future. However I’m not sure that I have collected much that is of any use…

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
How to avoid being savaged by a bear.
Offer your book (hoping he likes Rock-lit),
Failing that, tempt him with chocolate!

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
That Queen Elizabeth the First had no hair,
Francis Drake gave her syrup of figs,
He told her it helped with her numerous wigs!

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
That farmer’s do nothing but despair,
It’s not true I’m bound to say,
Except for when we’re making hay!

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
That kids today don’t think it’s fair,
Learning at school is so yesterday,
There’s only a need on computer to play!

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
That sheep eat less than a grazing hare,
I realise that this could make you frown,
Because this information’s useless in town!

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
In Russia, in ice, they swim totally bare!
Just the thought and I feel cold,
It must be the vodka that makes them bold!

Didn’t I once read somewhere…?
That books have had it, I don’t care!
I’m past it, gone, a dinosaur,
You know what? I don’t care any more!

The Feb-March Man-Flu Virus!

Posted on March 14, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

This is a bad time of year for illness. The temperature change from day to day leads to confusion of the body. One day it has the internal thermostat set for winter, the next it is time to break out the shorts. I am sitting in my office feeling sorry for myself. Well, to be truthful, I feel terrible. If it were a self-inflicted alcohol-related illness I’d man up, however it is much worse. I’ve been cruelly struck down with the dreaded ‘Man Flu’…

My throat is sore,
My head does spin,
You’ve no idea,
The state I’m in!

My knees are weak,
My back is sore,
I’ve never felt,
This bad before!

My teeth are aching,
My mood is blue,
My wife says,
I’ve got Man Flu!

My voice is croaky,
My throat all red,
I cannot speak,
That’s enough said!

We’ve got two children,
Daughter and son,
My wife gave birth,
Or we’d have none!

There is no cure,
I’ve heard some say,
My heart is beating,
So I must be Ok!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Del Boy’s Uncle Albert!

Posted on March 13, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Have you ever seen a famous person in your local town? Last week I was crossing the car park in Baldock and was so surprised to see who was driving an MGB, that I was almost run over! I have no idea if it was him, or even if he’s still alive, but I just had to take the photo for you to see (otherwise you’d never believe me!)…

Uncle Albert drives a soft-top
There’s not room for Del in there,
I’m fairly certain it was him,
Daz-white beard and snow-white hair!

But then I went and spoilt the illusion,
Looked it up on Google, see!
The actor died in ’99,
So now his brother drives his MGB!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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The Cull

Posted on March 12, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

According to media reports, experts have called for the culling of up to a million deer. I see deer every day and it is a sight I love. They run wacky races, play tag and hop, skip and jump, all in front of my kitchen window. They are the most graceful and fun-loving of creatures.
As a farmer, my unwritten contract with you all, whether vegetarian or meat-eating, is to feed as many of you as is humanly possible from the acreage I farm. This is done whilst also taking care of our countryside for future generations. Unfortunately, the damage done to the crops by herds of deer that often number 100+, can be catastrophic. Many breeds were introduced by nobility in the nineteenth century and therefore have no natural predator to control numbers.
I accept that some culling has to take place. Here on the farm, we have an expert shot who (very selectively) culls deer that are then used for meat. I have, however, heard horror stories of skill-less rifle-carriers, blasting away at any deer that falls within their sights without care or respect for their prey. This must be avoided at all costs.

Meanwhile, hardly a week goes by without another carcass lying on the side of the road which dissects the farm, following a collision with a truck or car. This is the visible side of a population explosion that arguably has its roots in the shooting ban imposed during the last foot-and-mouth disease outbreak.
It is right for everyone to join in the debate. But it must be remembered that most of you aren’t the ones who pull the trigger. Talk is cheap and emotions are high, but for the sake of the deer we must look at the problem with both compassion and reality.
.

There are experts talking

of a massed cull.
Unfortunately
not of so-called
experts
but of deer.

There has been much emphasis placed
on the deer’s ability to destroy
wild flowers and
undergrowth
in woodland.
What about the damage
to crops grown
to feed us?

The greater debate
should be the role
of food in society.

Until there is
no ham in Sandwich,
a lack of eggs in Egham,
and hunger in Hungerford,
the population
will not appreciate
the importance of food
for survival.

There is no nourishment
to be found
in the latest tablet or smart phone.
Even the most advanced app
lacks the ability to sustain life.

So lets talk with sense,
and realism,
leaving Bambi
to Blu-ray
and DVD.
Top picture shows the view from my kitchen window yesterday morning, the bottom picture a small herd on my wheat.

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The Hattie Hooker Hat!

Posted on March 11, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I always like to buy imaginative gifts (although I don’t often succeed!). In early December I spotted an imaginative Christmas present for Son-in-law Bard. I was searching the trading site Etsy (http://www.etsy.com) when there it was! Unfortunately the rest of the world had the same idea, and despite her best intentions, demand meant that the Hattie Hooker (www.hattiehooker.com), was unable to deliver in time for the festive season. The present arrived last week and Son-in-law Bard seemed well pleased…

I bought Son-in-law Bard a hat,
That I’d seen on line.
It didn’t come for Christmas,
But no, I didn’t whine!
The postman arrived the other day
to deliver an impressive pack
All the way from the USA
I wasn’t sending it back!

So now he looks like a knight of old
At least his ears won’t be getting cold!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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The Youngest Farmer!

Posted on March 10, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

To grandparents, grandchildren are the most beautiful and gifted children on earth (even if they’re not!). Evolution has made sure that only the best talents and traits are passed down through the generations. I know it’s true, ask any grandparent! They will never be slow to point out where the finest attributes come from and will modestly reply “me of course!” So when my granddaughter arrived dressed for the farm the other morning, it was obvious (to me), where such fashion-consciousness stemmed from…

My granddaughter is a farmer,
She wears a farmer’s cap!
She has tractors on her sleep-suit,
Owns a terrier and a cat!
Her daddy drives a tractor,
She waves when he goes by!
If she ever works in an office,
Then maybe pigs might fly!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Baldock Bard

Verse and Worse from the Baldock Versemonger

Monthly Archives: March 2013

A Family Favourite!

Dai’s Big Cardiff Match!

Saturday Broadsheet!

Friday Evening Decay!

Mind Stripped Bear!

The Feb-March Man-Flu Virus!

Del Boy’s Uncle Albert!

The Cull

The Hattie Hooker Hat!

The Youngest Farmer!