When I waf a fmall, fmall boy
I ufed to go to fleep
fometimef my fleep waf fhallow
and fometimef my fleep waf deep
Awake! Arife! My fifter cried
Af fwiftly af you can!
We’ve porridge in the pot
And fome bacon in the pan!
Ah! Let me fwoon abed and reft
Af found af other nipperf!
Arife! fhe cried; with fwollen eyef
I fought round for my flipperf.
15 responses to “An Eighteenth Century Childhood (a poem by Roger Craven)”
ſurely ſomeone with the leaſt ſenſe ſhould have ſtriven to furniſh thoſe ſmall yet eſſential detailſ neceſſary to eſtabliſh a ſeemly ſcanſion of theſe otherwiſe ſenſible verſeſ?
Flipperf? I did not know that scuba diving was popular in the eighteenth century.
fcuba diving pleafe, Cymbeline.
Fome bacon? They must have had that bloody awful Danish bacon in the eighteenth century too.
Yes. I had some proper dry-cured bacon recently … yum yum, pig’s bum, as they say in help ma boab’s parts.
Not sure that I should be thinking about help ma boabs ‘parts’, thank you.
Mention of help ma boab’s parts (especially by help ma boab himself) is henceforth verboten on my blog.
Yes, Cymbeline, I fully understand the frisson that you feel, indeed the thought of helpmaboab’s ‘parts’ are enough to turn any young girl’s head.
Even though Brendano forbids it I cannot silence my thoughts of my ‘parts’, of Ulster, the rolling drumlins, the tidy fields, the fertile soil, the hedgerows laden with may and sloes, the merry woods from which we hew beech, ash and oak for woodturning, the plashy glens, the brooding Mournes, the Lakeland, the moors, the sea swept rocks, the white sandy coves, the food, the linen, the whiskey, the cheerful friendly people, some energised by the protestant work ethic, their rich leid, their fighting spirit when roused, and through the weft and warp of this glorious pageant the very history of the place. How can I not be proud of my ‘parts’?
And should Brendano feel a touch of envy at my ‘parts’ he is surely not to be blamed?
Your parts sound delightful, help ma boab. I hope to visit them one day.
We’ll have none of this erotic banter on my blog! Tsk.
Your prose is breath-taking, hmb … I was expecting the questing vole to pass feather-footed through the plashy fen at any moment.
A whole new genre – fhrewd erotica.
… full of fex and fin and fuchlike.
… no harm in fuch thingf af long af one keepf the head fcrewed on.
…. fhocking blog. I fhall now go out for a healthy walk.