A Romance

’Twas at the Cecil-Samuels’

    In a sumptuous Holborn Hall,

Miss Dunlop and Diana Craig

    Went to a dinner-ball.

Soft as the heavy carpets

    Their eyes betrayed their souls,

As they gazed across the napery

    At well-selected Poles.

‘Oh Captain Cecil-Samuel,

    I fear I’m dancing this

With Major Dobrezynski,

    And he knows how to kiss.

I like you very much indeed,

    And thank you all the same,

But I much prefer the Major

    With the long and funny name.’

Alas, the lush carnations!

    Each most expensive bloom

Was crushed against the Major

    As he whirled her round the room.

The chromium and the shaded lights

    They both began to spin

Like a glass of Lyons ‘thirty-eight’

    Mixed in black-market gin.

‘Oh Captain Cecil-Samuel,

    Miss Dunlop’s very nice,

I know she’d like to dance with you,

    Her heart is made of ice.

My next fifteen are promised

    To the Pole that I adore,

But I like you very much indeed,

    As I have said before.’

The lights were switched to purple,

    The wine flowed on in waves,

And little jars of caviar

    Were handed round by slaves.

As Holborn Hall resounded

    To the throbbings of the band,

The Pole, he gave Diana Craig

    His castle and his hand.

‘Oh Mrs Cecil-Samuel,

    It’s been the greatest fun;

I’m sure that I’ve enjoyed it

    Far more than anyone …

I cannot quite express myself,

    I’m tied in lovers’ knots;

But oh! I am so sorry

    About Carol’s horrid spots.’

‘Two thousand pounds it cost me,’

    Said the Captain to his mate,

‘And there’s our daughter Carol

    And she hasn’t made a date.

I fear we made our guest-list

    Far too wide and vague

When we asked that cold Miss Dunlop

    And that fast Diana Craig.’