Grandma
Grandma
(All-England Cartwheeling
Champion 1944–49)
thought romance was dead
Until she met Grandpa
(a somersaulter of note)
at a Rotary Club dance
and fell heels over head.
Once wed
they backflipped
down the aisle
in breathtaking style
Then cartwheeled like clockwork
throughout the day
to spend their honeymoon
unwinding, in Morecambe Bay.
Fig. 1
Fig. 2
Uncle Malcolm
Uncle Malcolm
put the shot
for Scotland.
When he retired
he collected shots
as a hobby.
At the time
of his death
he had nearly 200.
And in accordance
with his last wishes
they were buried with him
at St Giles Cemetery in Perth.
Uncle Mal is now at rest
somewhere near the centre of the earth.
Cousin Wystan
Train-spotting
is that a sport?
It is for Cousin Wystan
until he gets caught
Armed with a paint-box
and a quiver of brushes
Around the railsheds
after midnight he rushes
He’s the Seurat of the Circle Line
the Northern’s Jackson Pollock
His trainscapes are spectacular
surreal, yet melancholic
His dabs and daubs deservedly
stir the imagination
Critics applaud each masterpiece
as it rattles through the station
The National and the Tate
compete for his first retro
And Paris implores him
to immortalize the Métro
But Wystan is unmoved
by popular acclaim
And dreams, not of money,
galleries or fame
But of airports,
Heathrow, Schiphol, JFK.
Security Alert!
Wystan (plane-spotter) is on his way.
Uncle Mork
Uncle Mork
was a fell-walker.
He’d take off from York
and walk and walk
over the dales
across the moors
through the vales
blisters, sores
it hurt like hell.
He walked and walked
and never talked
just walked and walked
until he fell.
Uncle Pat
Going in to bat
against the Windies
in his first (and final) Test
Uncle Pat
wore vinyl undies
and an armour-plated vest.
But in the panic to get dressed
(wickets falling thick and fast)
left his box off.
Third ball took his rocks off.
Cousin Caroline
Cousin Caroline
was a very fine
sprinter. In the winter
of 1988, with a
bandaged knee
she ran the 100
metres in 10.3
But her best time
was in the dressing room afterwards.
Uncle Anthony
Uncle Anthony
was a low hurdler.
Being only 4′ 6˝
he was the lowest
hurdler in Bridlington.
In his summer of ’42
he married a Northern Counties
high jumper, who,
delighted to please,
being 2 foot taller,
straddled him with ease.
Kung Fu Lee
Kung Fu Lee
a greenbelt
with a reputation second to none
was more than vexed
when annexed
and one morning built upon.
Albert Robinson
Albert Robinson
(a half-cousin by marriage)
is probably the only
bullfighter in Birmingham.
At five in the afternoon
he parades round the Bull Ring
in his Suit of Lights
(an army battledress
and panty tights
sequinned plimsolls
and padded flies)
a faraway look
in his faraway eyes.
For he struts beneath
Andalusian skies
as concrete corridors
echo the cries
of aficionados
in shoppers’ disguise:
‘El Robbo, El Robbo, el mas valiente matador!’
On his way to the hostel
he stops and he buys
a carton of milk
and two meat pies
then it’s olé to bed
and olé to rise.
Cousin Chas
Cousin Chas,
an expert in the art
of self-defence,
would go out of his way
to defend himself.
‘In an age
of senseless violence,’
he would hiss,
‘there is only one language
people understand
and it’s this.’
Every Saturdaynight
after a few pints
Chas and his mates
would roam the streets
looking for pale young men
against whom
they would defend themselves.
Cousin Chas
may not have been
one of Nature’s gentlemen
but he was a right bastard.
Aunty Dora
A grandpiano of a woman is Aunty Dora.
Limbering up on the 60-metre board
she throws the pool into shadow.
What with the shaking and the creaking
a spectator might expect a soaking
a depthcharge of nuclear proportions
But no.
Her dive
is as
delicate
as an
hibiscus
unfolding
in slowmo.
Like thistledown on the air
she drifts, turns, almost lingers there
until her fingers tap the meniscus
The surface opens soundlessly
and pulling in her shadow after her
Aunty Dora and water are one.
Aunt Ermintrude
Aunt Ermintrude
was determined to
swim across the Channel.
Each week she’d
practise in the bath
encostumèd in flannel.
The tap end
was Cap Gris Nez
the slippy slopes
were Dover. She’d
doggypaddle up and down
vaselined all over.
After 18 months, Aunt Erm was in peak condition.
So, one cold grey morning in March
she boarded the Channel steamer at Dover
went straight to her cabin
climbed into the bath
and urged on by a few well-wishers,
Aunt Ermintrude, completely nude
swam all the way to France.
Vive la tante!
Uncle Bram
Uncle Bram
a batcatcher of distinction
scorned the use of
battraps, batnets and batpoison.
‘Newfangled nonsense,’
he would scoff, and off
he would go
to hang upsidedown
in belfries
for days on end
in the hope of snatching
one of the little batstards.
Billy Our Kid
Billy our Kid
was the dandy
of the snooker halls
He affected
brocade waistcoats
of uncertain hue
and with his trusty
pearlhandled cue
hustled many an
amateur passerthrough.
In ’69 he went to New Orleans
to try his luck.
Now he lives in Pittsburgh
and drives a truck.
Wild Bill Sitting Bull
Wild Bill Sitting Bull
(half cowboy, half Sioux)
confused by watching Westerns
went in search of caribou.
In the Badlands
he was strangled
by his spangled lasso
Did a wardance
then scalped himself
like a man’s gotta do.
Uncle Noah
A man mountain
was Uncle Noah
the best hammer-thrower
in Western Samoa.
Once, in the midst
of a magnificent throw
he lost concentration
and forgot to let go.
Flew out of the stadium
and up into space
a puzzled expression
on his pustular face.
At first it was fun
in a stomach-churning way
but once round the planet
he called it a day.
Free of encumbrance
the ex-hammer-thrower
plummeted earthwards
towards Krakatoa.
Into the mouth
of the crater he rushed
right down its throat
like a finger, pushed.
With a gulp disappeared
into the bubbling lava
the volcano heaved
and threw up over Java.
Since the eruption, experts say,
of mighty Krakatoa
Sunsets have been spectacular
(so, thank you, Uncle Noah).
Granny
Granny plays whist
better when pwhist.
Dear Lonely Hearts
‘Dear Lonely Hearts,
my name is Nate
my hobbies are weightlifting
and tempting fate.’
‘Dear Nate,
my name is Kate
my hobby is weightwatching
please name the date.’
He showered her with gifts
Now Kate watches as Nate lifts.
Cousin Reggie
Cousin Reggie
who adores the sea
lives in the Midlands
unfortunately.
He surfs down escalators
in department stores
and swims in the High Street
on all of his fours.
Sunbathes on the pavement
paddles in the gutter
(I think our Reggie’s
a bit of a nutter).
Angelina
Angelina
(blueblooded)
owned a yacht
and smoked pacht
a lacht.
So when things
gacht hacht
away sailed Angelina
(so regal)
to where the grass was greener
(and legal).
Uncle Sean
If they held Olympic contests
for brick-throwing
Uncle Sean would win them all
at all.
But they don’t.
So he carries hods for Wimpeys
and dreams of glories
that might have been.
Uncle Sean lives in Coventry
a stone’s throw away
from the Albert Hall
at all.
Merve the Swerve
Merve the Swerve
an old tennis pro
Won the French Open
the US and oh!
He started snorting
lines of snow
Umpires warned
it would end in tears
Now Mervyn’s serving
seven years.
Terry and Pancho
Last year
Terry and Pancho
won the Men’s Doubles.
One had… uhm… troubles.
They were fixed
This year
Terri and Pancho
won the Mixed.
Uncle Jack
Uncle Jack
was a very cross
country runner.
Nothing seemed
to make him happy.
With only one lung
he couldn’t run fast
so he took short cuts
and still came last.
And meaner still
of Uncle Jack
some of the short cuts he took
he never gave back.
Uncle Trevor and Aunty Penny
Uncle Trevor and Aunty Penny
won the Northamptonshire
ballroom dancing championship
seven times on the foxtrot.
Practice makes perfect.
Every night after saying their prayers
they glide round the bedroom
for hours on end.
(The nightdress Aunty Penny
wears, she made herself
out of 250 yards
of floral winceyette.)
Uncle Trevor, however,
made of sterner stuff
to’s and fro’ze
in the buff.
Cousin Horatio
Cousin Horatio
won a ten pound bet
by rowing across the Atlantic
singlehanded. Six months later
he confessed to having used
both hands, and rather
than face public scorn
sailed from Exmouth
one grey dawn
wrote up his log
tidily
then committed himself to the deep
suicidily.
Alf
Alf
on his day off from Billy Smart’s,
tarts himself up. Puts on
his best monkey boots and braces
and races down to Clacton with his mates.
He hates so much it features
as a gruesome tattoo.
Pea-brained and circus-trained
a skinhead through and through.
Alf
is famous for his fighting skills
and rightly so.
He knocks out teeth with an entrechat
then pirouettes on his toe.
With a flick of the hip
and a backward flip
he blackens eyes. It’s no surprise
he’s the toast of the south coast
no butts about it.
He handstands on noses
then poses, so bold,
and his somersaults to the groin
are a joy to behold.
Alf
is an aggrobat.
Alfreda
His sister Alfreda
was somewhat gentler
(though some would argue
even mentler).
A juggler who would only juggle
with objects beginning with A
like acorns, armchairs and armadillos
alarm clocks and albatrosses
aspidistras, and one day
an alligator
which went straight for the juggler.
Cousin Fosbury
Cousin Fosbury
took his highjumping seriously.
To ensure a floppier flop
he consulted a contortionist
and had his vertebrae removed
by a backstreet vertebraeortionist.
Now he clears 8 foot with ease
and sleeps with his head
tucked under his knees.
Aunt Agatha
Aunt Agatha
blooded at five
loves to hunt foxes
and eat them alive.
No horsewoman,
she prefers to run
with the hounds.
On all fours
shod in running-
gloves and shoes,
no dog can match her
and once on the scent
nose smell-bent
no horse can catch her.
And she snaps
and she barks
and she urges the pack
onward on
to her bushy-tailed snack.
Tongue flapping
huntingpink suit
nostrils aflare
beware any hare
caught napping
en route.
And she snaps
and she barks
and she urges the pack
onward on
to her bushy-tailed snack.
D’ye ken Aunt Agatha
in her coat so gay
D’ye ken Aunt Agatha
at the close of day
houndsurrounded
tearing into foxflesh.
Old Mac
Old Mac, seventyodd
and eyes akimbo
was a prizefighter
in his youth.
Some nights in the bar
when he’s had a few
he’ll spar
with ghosts of pugilists
long since counted out.
Old Mac, still in training
for his final bout.
Eno
To be a sumo wrestler
It pays to be fat.
‘Nonsense,’ said Eno,
‘I don’t believe that.’
So he took his skinny
little frame
to Tokyo
in search of fame.
But even with God on
his side
Eno got trod on
and died.
Marvin
Never hangglide
with a hangover
as Marvin did
near Andover.
Dying for a whisky
to straighten his head
‘Just one for the road’
is in fact what he said
Saw the pub on the left
turned right instead
Hit the M23 near the junction of the A303.
(Now, if he had turned left at the A34 he would have carried on to Newbury and swung a right at the A339 to Basingstoke. Alternatively, had he taken the A3057, he might have avoided the road works and then had the choice of reaching the M27 just south of Romsey, or coming off at the A30 and going straight through to Salisbury. Anyway, it’s too late now, he’s dead.)
Barry Bungee
Barry Bungee
who loved to dive
thrust himself upon fate
and didn’t survive.
Life and death
it was just a game
To Bungee-jumping
gave his name.
The first and only
jump he made
was from City Hall
in Adelaide.
Securing the bungee
to the base
he scaled the building
at a leisurely pace.
And from the roof
hands on hips
surveyed a crowd
biting its lips
then jumped. The bungee
coiled like a garden hose.
Only the ground
kept its mouth closed.
Uncle Jason
Uncle Jason, an ace in the Royal Flying Corps
grew up and old into a terrible borps.
He’d take off from tables to play the Great Worps
stretch out his arms and crash to the florps.
His sister, an exSister (now rich) of the Porps,
would rorps forps morps: ‘Encorps! Encorps!’
Cousin Christ
Cousin Christ (né Derek)
got out of bed at 8 to meditate.
Lacking a desert, he wandered
on Blackheath for 40 days
and 40 nights before being
arrested by two pharisees
in a panda car. ‘Father,
forgive them,’ he said.
And father, a door-to-door
used toupée salesman from Lewisham
did.
Cousin Fiona
Cousin Fiona
from near the top drawer
is a blueblood donor
and Kensington bore.
A moderate showjumper
plain and weakwilled
Cousin Fiona
is never fulfilled.
For what she wants
but will never admit
is a man to take her by the bit.
Someone to
jog with
snog with
look in her eyes
canter
banter
romanticize
Someone to
lead her
to pastures new
someone to
share her
pony-made-for-two.
And Fiona sleeps in a saddlesoaped room
and dreams of a pinstripe-jodhpured groom
and crop in hand, she gallops into moonlit gymkhanas
to ride gentleshod over her sinning nude
sinewed broncoing buck
giddyup giddyup giddy up up up.
And Fiona weeps after her lonely ride
always the bridle, never the bride.
Big Arth
Big Arth from Penarth
was a forward and a half.
Though built like a peninsula
with muscles like pink slagheaps
and a face like a cheese grater
he was as graceful and fast
as a greased cheetah.
A giraffe in the lineout
a rhino in the pack
he never passed forward
when he should’ve passed back
and once in possession
slaalomed his way
through the opposition.
And delicate?
Once for a lark
at Cardiff Arms Park
Big Arth
converted a softboiled egg
from the halfway line.
No doubt about it,
he was one of the best players in the second team.
Accrington Stan
A more talented footballer
Never ran on a pitch
Than Accrington Stan
Who might have been rich.
He could pass a ball
He could score a goal
(But he couldn’t pass a betting-shop
So now he’s on the dole).
The Hon. Nicholas Frayn
The Hon. Nicholas Frayn
who threw the javelin
would always travelin
a chauffeur-driven plane.
He somewhat lacked a chin
but always threw to win
and was notoriously vain.
He used only monogrammed javelins
sapphire-tipped and silver-plated
and was rated good enough to win his blue.
One day at a meeting in Crewe
he tripped and ran himself through
and though bleeding profusely
from a wound in his side
carried on gamely to finish next to last.
Then died.
Aunty Ann
Aunty Ann
an anti-angler
would dangle a
dead herring
on the end of a line.
A warning sign
to fishes
that man could be
vicious.
Not a popular figure
among the coarse
fishing crowd
she was found floating
one morning
in the river near Stroud.
At the memorial service
in an underwater church
the mourners were grayling
chub and perch,
salmon, pike and trout
who prayed, wet-eyed
then drifted out
to witness above
a heavenly banquet.
De profundis one by one
Temptation proved too great
Like angels falling into the sun
they rose, and took the bait.
Uncle Leo
Uncle Leo’s sole ambition
was to be a liontamer
so he enrolled for classes at nightschool
and practised at home on his wife.
Aunt Elsa at first had reservations
but having once acquired
a taste for raw meat and the lash
she came on by leaps and bounds.
And after only 6 months
Uncle Leo announced with some pride
that his wife had opened her mouth
and he’d put his head inside.
One afternoon, however
while he was changing the sawdust
in the bathroom, Aunt Elsa escaped
mauled 2 boy scouts and a traffic warden
before being captured by the RSPCA.
Now a tamed Uncle Leo, give him his due
visits her daily at Regent’s Park Zoo.
Uncle Len
Uncle Len
a redundant gamekeeper
strangled cuckoos.
He didn’t give a f—whose
c—oos
he strangled
as long as he silenced
as many as he could.
Last March in Bluebell Wood
while reaching for the season’s
first feathered victim
he fell forty feet
broke his neck
and screaming,
unwittingly heralded spring.
Elmer Hoover
Elmer Hoover
on vac from
Vancouver
went fishing
off the Pier Head.
He caught 2 dead rats
dysentery
and a shoal of slimywhite balloonthings
which he brought home in a jamjar.
‘Mersey cod,’ we told him.
So he took the biggest
back to Canada.
Had it stuffed, mounted,
and displayed over the fireplace
in his trophy room.
‘But you shudda seen
the one that got away,’
he would say.
Nonplussing his buddies.
Uncle Jed
Uncle Jed
Durham bred
raced pigeons
for money.
He died
a poor man
however
as the pigeons
were invariably
too quick for him.
Cousin Daisy
Cousin Daisy’s
favourite sport
was standing
on streetcorners.
She contracted
with ease
a funny disease.
Notwithstanding.
Cousin Nell
Cousin Nell
married a frogman
in the hope
that one day
he would turn into
a handsome prince.
Instead he turned into
a sewage pipe
near Gravesend
and was never seen again.
