Nonagenarians Read online

Nonagenarians

  By

  Frank & Jessie Littlewood

  Edited By

  Martin Rothery

  Fishcake Publications

  Nonagenarians

  ISBN 978-1-909015-07-4

  © Frank Littlewood, Jessie Littlewood, Clarice Goodall, Martin Rothery

  First Edition Published in Great Britain in 2011

  Individual copyright is held by the respective authors and contributors of the works herein

  Title and character and place names are all protected by the applicable laws

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission from copyright owners.

  Published by Fishcakes Publications

  Edited by Martin Rothery

  With Special Thanks To:

  Charles & Nancy Littlewood

  The friends and family of Frank and Jessie Littlewood

  Foreword

  My Grandparents, Frank and Jessie Littlewood, were always an inspiration to me.

  They’ve done so much over the years that they can truly claim to have lived a full life; full to bursting you could say!

  But imagine my joy, as a fledgling writer, at finding I shared a passion for humorous poetry with them both.

  As you will see, Frank and Jessie (and some of their friends) had a way of capturing the spirit of their generation in a charming prose that can’t help but raise a smile.

  This is but a small selection of pieces put together from works that were actually found written down, not only demonstrating the true entertainers they were, but also showing how much they loved one another and their many friends.

  So please enjoy and share a little chuckle courtesy of the Littlewoods and friends.

  Contents

  On Scapegoat Hill There Lived a Lass

  By Frank Littlewood

  Forty Years

  By Clarice Goodall

  My Missus

  By Frank Littlewood

  The Committee

  By Frank Littlewood

  Where’s My Mind

  By Jessie Littlewood

  Flu Jab

  By Jessie Littlewood

  Drop-In Lunch

  By Frank Littlewood

  Ken’s Birthday Messiah

  By Frank Littlewood

  Ode to a Yorkshire Mini

  By Frank Littlewood (Remembered By Charles)

  Nonagenarians

  By Martin Rothery

  On Scapegoat Hill There Lived a Lass…

  On Scapegoat Hill there lived a lass

  ‘Twas many moons ago

  When a fine young fellow made her a pass

  And he became her beau

  When he’d had his fill of climbing that hill

  To go up there and court her

  That bright young lad just asked her dad

  If he could wed his daughter

  But he could not take her for his bride

  And they had to hold their horses

  To King and country he was tied

  For he had to join the forces

  So she said “Adieu, I’ll wait for you”

  He said “It’s not much fun,

  But I’ll be back in my peaked cap

  And we’ll marry in ‘41”

  And sure enough on January fourth

  They kept that solemn oath

  At Parkwood chapel on that day

  They both plighted their troth

  But she was late and he had to wait

  For the arrival of his ever loving

  She said “Do you know, I got stuck in the snow

  And the taxi took some shoving”

  As the years have rolled along

  Their family circle growing

  They’ve brought pleasure to all, with a smile and a song

  And the seeds of happiness sowing

  But if he lost the car key or gobbled his tea

  Or forgot where he left his glasses

  She’d fix him with a stare and give him a glare

  But he thinks she’s the best of lasses

  Forty Years

  Forty years on, they’ve burnt a bit more candle

  But they’re still young and sing in Parkwood choir

  They can render anything from pop songs to Handel

  She sings down there and he sings up higher

  And now we’re all gathered at this lovely party

  To wish them good health, good fortune and good cheer

  We hope that the future will unfold before them

  And keep them both happy for many a year

  So here’s to our Jess and Frank

  And as your years unfold

  My Missus

  My Missus is one in a million

  She’s a wonder at making ends meet

  She can take a pound

  And make it go round

  Till it feeds everyone in the street

  But just let her loose in a clothes shop

  Then something inside of her snaps

  If she sees the word sale

  She can clear a dress rail

  Like greyhounds come out of their trap

  Her baking just has to be tasted

  Her sponges are light as a dream

  She can make a soufflé

  Any hour of the day

  And her custards are smoother than cream

  Just mention the magic word fashion

  And she changes from Jekyll to Hyde

  Let her wander through modes

  And her money erodes

  And all reason is thrown to one side

  She reads books that would really amaze you

  Her knowledge, I’ll never achieve

  She can quote Voltaire

  Or recite Rupert Bear

  And she’s read War and Peace, I believe

  But just let her walk in a shoe shop

  You can hear the assistants all groan

  Then out of despair

  She will buy a new pair

  That looked just the same as her own

  At parties, there’s nobody like her

  She can mix with the highest or low

  She will circulate round

  Making comments profound

  And keep smiling until they all go

  She’s a voice like an angel from heaven

  She can charm the birds out of the skies

  With a melody fair

  She can sing you an air

  That will quickly bring tears to your eyes

  But give her the housekeeping money

  To go out and buy stuff like bread

  She’ll come back with things

  Like a scarf and earrings

  Or a new coat and handbag instead

  I vowed on the day we were married

  That I’d take her for better or worse

  But nobody said

  On the day we were wed

  That she suffered from bottomless purse

  If it wasn’t for her beauty, I’d leave her

  If it wasn’t for her voice, I’d just go

  But to see her so fair

  With her beautiful hair

  I’m afraid that I just can’t say no

  So I’ll have to part with my money

  In order to keep married bliss

  She’ll continue to pose

  In her expensive clothes

  While mine come from Oxfam, like this

  The Committee

  Oh give me your pity, I’m on a committee

  Which means that from morning to night

  We attend and amend and contend and defend

  Without a conclusion
in sight

  We confer and concur, we defend and demur

  And reiterate all of our thoughts

  We revise the agenda with frequent addenda

  And consider a load of reports

  We compose and propose, we suppose and oppose

  The points and procedure are fun

  But though various notions are brought up as

  motions

  There’s terribly little gets done

  We resolve and absolve but we never dissolve

  As it’s out of the question for us

  What a shattering pity to end our committee

  Where else could we make such a fuss?

  Where’s My Mind?

  Just a line to say I’m living

  That I’m not among the dead

  That I’m getting more forgetful

  And mixed up in the head

  I’ve got used to my arthritis

  To my dentures, I’m resigned

  I can manage my bi-focals

  But, dear God, I miss my mind

  Sometimes I can’t remember

  When I’m standing by the stair

  If I should be going up for something

  Or I’ve just come down from there

  And before the fridge so often

  My mind is filled with doubt

  Now did I put some food in there?

  Or am I taking it out?

  If it’s not my time to write dear

  I hope you won’t get sore

  I may think that I have written

  And don’t want to be a bore

  So remember, I do love you

  And I wished that you lived near

  And now it’s time to mail this letter

  And to say goodbye my dear

  At last I stood beside the mail box

  And my face, it’s sure got red

  Instead of mailing this to you

  I opened it instead!

  Flu Jab

  Aw went dahn to t’ doctors for t’ flu jab

  By gum, they wornt half busy theer

  Looad o’ fowk sitting dahn wi’ ther sleeves

  rowld reyt up

  But one woman wor trembling wi’ fear

  They gave me a pamphlet to read abaat flu

  Tell t’ nurse if yer pregnant, it said

  Aw thowt, what a daft thing to tell me to say

  Ther’s sumbdy here wrang in ther ‘ed

  Aw know miracles do ‘appen sometimes

  And they come from the lord up in ‘eaven

  But aw don’t think he’ll get me in t’ family way

  When he knows aw’m well past eighty seven

  Aw went in for mi jab and then said to t’ nurse

  Thank you love, you’re such a dear

  If a miracle aw hope it’s this one

  That aw come for mi flu jab next year

  Drop In Lunch

  Every other Wednesday

  There’s Parkwood drop-in lunch

  You’d be surprised what folk come here

  We’re quite a lively bunch

  We’ve a lot of lovely helpers

  They wait on tables too

  We can never thank them all enough

  For all the work they do

  There’s Barbara, Enid, Nora

  Sheila, Jean and Pat

  And Ernie sometimes washes up

  You can see he’s used to that

  There’s folk come here from far and near

  They even come from Paddock

  And though we have had salmon steaks

  We’ve not had finny-haddock

  We’re a hungry lot, who come down here

  By gum, we can’t half scoff it

  If we keep on eating like we do

  There won’t be any profit

  We always have a lovely time

  So let us give a cheer

  And hope that Parkwood drop-in lunch

  Will start again next year

  Ken’s Birthday Messiah

  1.

  We’d a reyt good do at Parkwood church

  It ‘appened t’ other week

  It wor a varry special do

  A one off, sooa to speak

  You’ve nivver seen sooa monny fowk

  Who’d come to sing in t’ choir

  Becos’ this varry special do

  Wor Ken’s birthday messiah

  2.

  Nah Ken, he is yar organist

  And t’ conductor as well

  But he has sooa many other jobs

  Hah he duz ‘em, aw can’t tell

  He’s t’ boss o’ t’ Holmfirth choral

  An’ t’ Huddersfield youth choir

  And mooast on ‘em came raahnd

  T’ sing at Ken’s birthday messiah

  3.

  Ther wor shoals o’ sopranos

  Just lawke ‘errins aat in t’ sea

  And that monny contraltos

  It filled yer ‘eart wi glee

  An’ then yar brand new parson

  Bryce Short came in to t’ choir

  Yer can tell it wor a reyt good do

  At Ken’s birthday messiah

  4.

  Her wor moor na thirty basses

  Who’d come from far n’ an’ near

  Ther wor nobbut twenty tenors

  But t’ quality wor theer

  Until John Owdam came in latt

  An’ sat dahn next to me

  Aw cud ha’ wrung he’s bloomin neck

  ‘Cos he ruined t’neet ya see

  5.

  Well t’ soloists wor marvellous

  Ther wor eight instead o’ four

  They couldn’t all get in t’ pulpit

  Sooa some sat dahn on t’ floor

  But oh they sang sooa beautiful

  It set yer ‘eart on fire

  We shall nivver hear such singing

  As at Ken’s birthday messiah

  6.

  Awm sitting here an’ thinkin’

  As awm writing down these lines

  Of weer we all shall finish up

  In t’ distant future times

  But aw know when awm in ‘eaven

  An’ aw hear the angel choir

  Awm sure it weeant be half as good

  As Ken’s birthday messiah

  Ode to a Yorkshire Mini

  I’m a lively Yorkshire Mini

  My owners name is Frank

  It’s plain to see I haven’t got

  A tiger in my tank

  I don’t go well when using Shell

  The other brands, no good!

  But I feel real swell and go like hell

  When I’m filled with Yorkshire Pud!

  This fun poem was displayed in the back of the family car when on holiday much to the amusement of passers by. The Mini, of which Frank, Jessie and Charles were awfully fond of accompanied them on many a holiday including the Isle of Wight

  Nonagenarians

  Together, Forever,

  Or so it would seem

  Collecting jubilee cards

  From the Queen

  A love that has lasted

  Persisted, endured

  Stretched across distance

  At home and abroad

  Arriving into their

  Ninetieth years

  Becoming harder

  Climbing the stairs

  Their wit, humour and minds

  Never dulled

  As into their twilight years

  They were lulled

  Old habits, like them

  Refused to die

  Convince them to spend?

  Don’t even try

  Just two teabags

  For a company of four

  With half a scone

  Not a crumb more

  So why did they save

  All of that money?

  Holidays of course

  I’m not being funny

  Summer or Winter

  Always away

  A tr
adition continued by Charles

  You could say

  Even with aching

  Bones and wotnot

  It would not stop

  A waltz or foxtrot

  Or adding voice

  To the Parkwood choir

  Their voices harmonising

  Lifting them higher

  The joy and spirit

  My grandparents displayed

  Inspires me

  Towards my old age

  Hoping that I am happy

  Full of fun

  When I become

  A nonagenarian

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