The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke by Clarence James Dennis (websites to read books for free txt) 📕

the tarts they makes a rise,
A lop-eared coot wiv 'air down to 'is eyes
'E 'ooks on to Doreen, an' starts to roam
Fer 'ome an' muvver. I lines up an' cries,
"'An's orf! I'm seein' this 'ere cliner 'ome!"
An' there we left 'im, gapin' wiv surprise.

She never spoke; she never said no word;
But walked beside me like she never 'eard.
I swallers 'ard, an' starts to coax an' plead,
I sez I'm dead ashamed o' wot's occurred.
She don't reply; she never takes no 'eed;
Jist stares before 'er like a startled bird.

I tells 'er, never can no uvver tart
Be 'arf wot she is, if we 'ave to part.
I tells 'er that me life will be a wreck.
It ain't no go. But when I makes a start
To walk away, 'er arms is roun' me neck.
"Ah, Kid!" she sobs. "Yeh nearly broke me 'eart!"

I dunno wot I done or wot I said.
But 'struth! I'll not forgit it till I'm dead--
That night when 'ope back in me brisket lobs:
'Ow my Doreen she lays 'er little 'ead
Down on me shoulder 'ere, an' sobs an' sobs;
An' orl the lights goes sorter blurred an' red.

Say, square an' all--It don't seem right, some'ow,
To say such things; but wot I'm feelin' now
'As come at times, I s'pose, to uvver men
When you 'ave 'ad a reel ole ding-dong row,
Say, ain't it bonzer makin' up agen?
Straight wire, it's almost worth...Ar, I'm a cow!

To think I'd ever seek to 'arm a 'air
Of 'er dear 'ead 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' I 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 things get 'ome-like; an' we torks till late,
An' tries to tease Doreen to fix the date,
An' she gits suddin soft and tender-like,
An' cries a bit, when we parts at the gate.

An' as I'm moochin' 'omeward frum the car
A suddin notion stops me wiv a jar--
Wot if Doreen, I thinks, should grow to be,
A fat ole weepin' willer like 'er Mar!

O, 'struth! It won't bear thinkin' of! It's crook!
An' I'm a mean, unfeelin' dawg to look
At things like that. Doreen's Doreen to me,
The sweetest peach on w'ich a man wus shook.

'Er "pore dear Par"...I s'pose 'e 'ad 'is day,
An' kissed an' smooged an' loved 'er in 'is way.
An' wed an' took 'is chances like a man--
But, Gawd, this splicin' racket ain't all play.

Love is a gamble, an' there ain't no certs.
Some day, I s'pose, I'll git wise to the skirts,
An' learn to take the bitter wiv the sweet...
But, strike me purple! "Willy!" THAT'S wot 'urts.



IX. Pilot Cove


Young friend," 'e sez...Young friend!
Well, spare me days!
Yeh'd think I wus 'is own white-'eaded boy--
The queer ole finger, wiv 'is gentle ways.
"Young friend," 'e sez, "I wish't yeh bofe great joy."
The langwidge that them parson blokes imploy
Fair tickles me. The way'e bleats an' brays!
"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez...Yes, my Doreen an' me
We're gettin' hitched, all straight an' on the square.
Fer when I torks about the registry--
O 'oly wars! yeh should 'a' seen 'er stare;
"The registry?" she sez, "I wouldn't dare!
I know a clergyman we'll go an' see"...
"Young friend," 'e sez.

"Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e chats me straight;
An' spouts of death, an' 'ell, an' mortal sins.
"You reckernize this step you contemplate
Is grave? 'e sez. An' I jist stan's an' grins;