Revised Ballads of Bung and Other Verses/Recreation Reminiscences
Recreation Reminiscences
Pray let me introduce to you
Citizens of the village who
Frequent the Recreation.
The Recreation is a place run on model lines,
Superb are its appointments—most excellent it’s wines.
Here when all is going well
And worries are consigned to hell
Citizens meet and with toast and debate,
Settle affairs of country and State.
No question too big or yet too small,
They discuss the lot and settle them all,
And foremost ever ’midst the throng,
Is Casey, comedian, running along.
Now Casey was smacked at Armentieres,
Where lived the lady who for forty years
Hadn’t been kissed till he came along—
You know the rest, you’ve heard the song.
One day in the midst of a keen debate,
One Thomas Ryan he dared to state—
“The Green and Yellow willl never entwine
No more than shandy and bubbly wine,
An’ Ulster’s handy, you’ll want one yet
To keep Old Ireland out of the wet.”
Then Casey he rose in rightful wrath,
And from his lips these words burst forth—
“The Green and Yellow will never entwine?
I give you the live the facts are mine!
And here and now I’ll prove to you
That Nature’s made provision to
Entwine the Yellow and the Green—
The finest combine ever seen.
Here, Thomas Ryan, how can you pass
The fact that green it grows the grass?
The fact that cows consume the same?
The fact that from cows butter came?
The fact that butter’s Yellow you
Admit? Ah, yes!! Of course you do!
Then if green the grass it grows,
And this to yellow butter goes,
It’s plain to all and easily seen
How yellow mixes with the green.”
Ryan collapsed—but see a new star!
A dinkum Sinn Feiner—Joseph McGrath!
“What time was it then?” said he.
“Did Tommy Campbell there present be?
Was Martin Kennedy’s cab in view?
Was it a minute past, or a minute to?
Did Jimmy Kent to Bill Joyce say
I got six marks in the Chows to-day?
Did Tom Barry and Fred Johnston meet,
Right in the middle of the street?
Did H. H. Smith have a thirty-pound ham,
Asparagus, peas, and a side of lamb?
Had Tommy Ryan had a booze?
Had Lloyd Lord on his boots or shoes?
Did Stace Oxenham go to have some tea?
Had he with him ladies two or three?
Did Harry James in his trap past drive?
Was a Chow selling whitebait ‘All Alive?’
Did Billy Williamson cross the road
Carrying a decent sort of load?
Did Tom Pollard to Peerless Pictures go?
Did Art Beban go to Pollard’s show?
Did Jimmy Brown get a fare of five?
Did Old George Webster just arrive?
Was Billy Parfitt wording a tart?
Did the bus for High Street start?
Did Tim Mullins get from a tabby a smile?
Were he and Jim Conaghan talking a while?
Was Suey the Chinkie passing by?
Did Tom Burke at him ‘Monkey’ cry?
Did you Checker Weenink and Casey see?
Did Charlie Rose wave his hand to me?
Did “Chalkie” and “Locker” pass in a car?
Each of them smoking a big cigar?
Was Disher Jones riding the mare?
Was Charlie Bignell and Sully there?
Was Jimmy Lynch?———But see over the way
Leaps to his feet George Mitchell McKay.
“Don’t rub the dirt in South Beach Bull,
I’ve given you latitude good and full,
I’ll prove right now I played the game.
A minute, Citizens—I’ll explain—
The Bull is talking through his hat,
As sure as I stand on this mat.
In only tried to prove the time.
I wired Fred Tilly—trainer mine—
To know how all our horses are,
Nova and Bunyan—he’s the star—
To instruct him anent their work,
So he’d not his duty shirk,
To tell him not to have a go
Till I put in my good dough.
Don’t think me insulting, but pray be less terse
Unless you’re prepared to ride in a hearse!”
••••
The Bull gets the wind up,
But look, who arrives!
See, right in the picture,
Is “Chummy”—Fred Shrives!
••••
Turn your faces to the west and have a spot with me
Kindly fill the glasses up! Boys what are they to be?
Disher, beer and soda? Locker yours a stout.
Bull, you're drinking whiskey. Better mind what you’re about.
Burke a pint of shandy. “Catch,” a pot of beer.
Rose, a drop of Crawford’s. Do you keep that here?
Motor Smith a brandy. Ryan a glass of ale,
Conaghan, sarsaparilla! No wonder you are stale,
Tim, a pony bottled. Mine’s a good stiff gin,
And one for Bung the Bookie, will you please bring in?
All set! The toast I give you, is health, is wealth untold,
And now with your kind permission, my story, I'll unfold—
••••
A fly push ran a double—Bung and Tim and Jim—
On the October Meeting, you bet that I got in.
Sir Henry landed for me, and so did Bluedrift, too.
And they paid me over a fiver, and they wondered how I knew.
Then they produced another, the Cup and Stewards no less.
Twenty pounds to a dollar! Betchyerlife I had a guess.
Oratress and Chimera were good enough for me.
I got a first and second—and for spite got on the spree,
And a bull dog bowled me over, that afternoon in town,
And a lovely lady helped me, when she saw me down,
Next day when in the village I met one Bookie Lung
And tried to get him shicker, I might as well have flung
My silver in the ocean—he kept as right as pie.
Only one of us was shicker, and the one of us was I,
So I decided to go to by-bye—I decided to go to bed
Anywhere ever so lowly, to lay my buzzy head.
So I pulled myself together as well as I was able,
And then I went to bye-bye—in a manger—in a stable.
And as I slept some beautiful dreams, came floating down to me—
I was all alone in a Brewery, with nobody there to see.
I’d landed a thousand doubles. On each knee as angel sat!
I dreamt—here what’s the matter? God, I thought that was a rat!
But ’twas only Bung, the Bookie, saying, “Chummy arise!”
“Of all the books in the vineyard, you’ll surely get the prize.”
I answered him straight and even, “There’s better men than me,
Slept asleep in a stable—but never a word said he.”
He looked at me sort of reproachful, and sadly shook his head,
I don’t mind roaring, but silence! That gets me seeing red.
So I blurted straight out at him, “God in a stable was born!”
And he crumpled up with laughter. But he I want to warn
That I’ve readied Sexton McDiarmid to dig a hole wide and deep
And I’m going to put him to bye-bye—I’m going to put him to sleep
Citizens, cheer and loudly applaud—
Next, Bung the Bookie—Iveagh Lord!
••••
And now kind Citizens let me tell, the story of a great farewell,
How the old mob honoured a man they knew—knew to be dinkum through and through—
A man who’d gone right thro’ the mill, yet was laughing and fighting still—
They honoured him not for position or fame, they honoured him not for hope or gain,
They honoured him but for this alone, he was a man—and one of their own.
••••
November, nineteen twenty, was the send-off to McKay,
At the Recreation in the good old West Coast way,
Bung, the Bookie, held the chair. The Bull he held the cash,
And did “Italiano” with vim and fire and dash.
Chalkie at the piano-—a written guarantee,
“That everything’s in order”—just as it should be.
We drank the King (God bless him) then Chummy sang a song,
And then the good old toast of Sport, Host Doogan sent along,
Jack Parfitt answered “Footie,” well knew he the good old game,
Chummy stood for Trotting, and “Ogie” at Tennis came.
“All the World Over” Host Doogan sang and made the rafters ring,
And then Tom Barry’s “Hard Head” toast was duly fitted in.
He told some queer and curious facts this human gramophone
(As an artist at an evening he’s on his Pat Malone)
“Shot’s Eye,” cried he, “is our national game, who wouldn’t the dice beguile?
A Big Six on the table would make a Wowser smile;
Big Tim and Cullen, Chairman excuse, Matheson, Kettle, and Beban, too—
Tim Mullins, Bloss, Disher Jones I couple the toast with you.”
The Bookie here the boys obliged, the “Yellow to Green” read he.
McDiarmid sang “Johnny Brannaghan” of “The Irish Spree.”
••••
And now the toast of the evening, the dinkum drink with McKay.
Bung, the Bookie, proposing, hear what does he say!
“Gentlemen, all charged your glasses? I stand on my feet to-day,
Claiming the longest acquaintance with our guest, our friend, McKay.
I knew him when he couldn’t walk—you saw him like that—maybe?
That’s an apprenticeship, that all men serve in this village by the sea.
I saw him playing football, ’against Anglo-Wales, I ween,
Every man a chamipon, and only he between
Our line and certain disaster, he stopped them as fast as they came;
Always taking his man, sirs, playing a wonderful game.
I knew him as the years rolled on, all things we did not see
From the self-same viewpoint—and those things we let be.
We’ve been good cobbers all our lives—we’ve had our ups and downs;
We’ve had our smiles and laughter, our sorrows and our frowns;
And now, old pal, please accept, this token from your friends.
Be sure we’ll all be with you, until the journey ends.
Make good? We know you surely will for you are built that way.
Gentlemen, the toast I give—a white man, George McKay.”
McGrath, Doogan, Parfitt, Barry; Milne, and others all convey
Hopes of health and wealth and plenty to our guest, to George McKay.
Then Locker sang a little ditty, “I am a Bachelor Gay,”
Story of a dark-eyed maiden, a buster clip and hay.
And now McKay replying: “I thank you one and all
For the kind things sopken, ’tis pleasant to recall
The happy days together we’ve sepnt both you and I.
Distance lends enchantment—au revoir—but not good-bye.”
(Here a man put in a fiver, and said in a quiet way—
“Chairman, it would give me pleasure to help old George McKay.
Just put it in his wallet, with all good wishes and
Don’t tell him where it came from. Keep quiet, You Understand!”)
Now “Chalkie” “stopped and looked and listened,” but didn’t tell all he knew
Then “Ogie” proposed the “Ladies,” with well-chosen words and few.
Then we had Madam Melba (this was a surprise)
Singing “Mollie Malone,” ’twas Chummy in disguise.
Here McKay cries: “Charge your glasses, l’ve a most important toast,
So drink in a fitting manner ‘Our Hostess and our Host.’
I’ve never wanted a dollar, I’ve never been short of a beer.
Than I blew right in and got it, and a word of kindly cheer.
Health to our Host and Hostess—good luck may theirs ever be.
The ‘Rec’ is sure the ‘Flagship’ of this village by the sea.”
Frank Doogan did a monologue. Young Locker he sang, too;
And Chummy told some stories, as only he can do.
“Old Lang Syne” we sang it then in the good old village way.
It was an exhilirating evening, the send-off to McKay.
••••
How Jack Tunnell rode Frank Milne’s bull a la Hector Gray,
Of Chummy and his circus, some more another day.
How the Bull he froze a quart of beer, to use in tabloid form; .
How Barry kissed the Chinese cook, and called him Colleen Bawn;
Of Bung the Bookie’s Di Ming Shop; of Locker’s doleful state;
Of “Chalkie’s” “bed” adventure--I'll later on relate.
How Casey fixed his cycle tyre with a stick of shaving soap;
Of “Who was the Devil’s Mother?” the question Mullins spoke.
All these things they happened it’s passing strange to say
‘Bout the time we celebrated the send-off to McKay.