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Annie Marshall the Foundling

Annie Marshall was a foundling, and lived in Downderry,
And was trained up by a coast-guardsman, kind-hearted and merry
And he loved Annie Marshall as dear as his life,
And he resolved to make her his own loving wife.

The night was tempestuous, most terrific, and pitch dark,
When Matthew Pengelly rescued Annie Marshall from an ill-fated barque,
But her parents were engulfed in the briny deep,
Which caused poor Annie at times to sigh and weep.

One day Matthew asked Annie if she would be his wife,
And Annie replied, I never thought of it in all my life;
Yes, my wife, Annie, replied Matthew, hold hard a bit,
Remember, Annie, I've watched you grow up, and consider you most fit.

Poor Annie did not speak, she remained quite mute,
And with agitation she trembled from head to foot,
The poor girl was in a dilemma, she knew not what to say,
And owing to Matthew training her, she couldn't say him nay.

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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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K-Car

To the memory of the Rhodesian Helicopter Pilots and
the 20mm cannon Gunner.Two men one helicopter;
known as K-car…..Killer-car.
A formidable force in the Rhodesian Bush War.

RHODESIAN K-CAR

‘Chopper’ pilot calmness,
Cannon gunner’s skill,
Two minds in perfect harmony,
Flew in now for the kill,
Ten comrades in arms,
Pinned down by enemy fire,
Ambushed and compromised,
Their backs now to the wire.

One pilot and one gunner,
Men who knew no fear,
S.O.S. came through to them,
Urgent… but so clear,

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poem by Alf Hutchison
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Alone Tonight

Here I am
I’m waiting for you
And I got nothing
Left to loose

Take my hand
I need to show
Who I am
And I‘ve got nothing left
To prove

Oooh

Your not gunner be alone
Tonight
And if it feels right
Then we just might, just might
Your not gunner be alone
Tonight
Let’s forget the fights

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poem by Ashton Curtis
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Down-Hall. A Ballad.

Tune. - 'King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.'

I sing not old Jason who travell'd through Greece
To kiss the fair maids and possess the rich fleece,
Nor sing I AEneas, who, led by his mother,
Got rid of one wife and went far for another.

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

Nor him who through Asia and Europe did roam,
Ulysses by name, who ne'er cared to go home,
But rather desired to see cities and men
Than return to his farms and converse with old Pen.

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

Hang Homer and Virgil; their meaning to seek,

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poem by Matthew Prior
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Matthew Son

Up at eight, you cant be late
For matthew & son, he wont wait.
Watch them run down to platform one
And the eight-thirty train to matthew & son.
Matthew & son, the works never done, theres always something new.
The files in your head, you take them to bed, youre never ever through.
And theyve been working all day, all day, all day!
Theres a five minute break and thats all you take,
For a cup of cold coffee and a piece of cake.
Matthew & son, the works never done, theres always something new.
The files in your head, you take them to bed, youre never ever through.
And theyve been working all day, all day, all day!
Hes got people whove been working for fifty years
No one asks for more money cuz nobody cares
Even though theyre pretty low and their rents in arrears
Matthew & son, matthew & son, matthew & son, matthew & son,
And theyve been working all day, all day, all day!

song performed by Cat Stevens
Added by Lucian Velea
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Matthew & Son

Up at eight, you can't be late
For matthew & son, he won't wait.
Watch them run down to platform one
And the eight-thirty train to matthew & son.
Matthew & son, the work's never done, there's always something new.
The files in your head, you take them to bed, you're never ever through.
And they've been working all day, all day, all day!
There's a five minute break and that's all you take,
For a cup of cold coffee and a piece of cake.
Matthew & son, the work's never done, there's always something new.
The files in your head, you take them to bed, you're never ever through.
And they've been working all day, all day, all day!
He's got people who've been working for fifty years
No one asks for more money cuz nobody cares
Even though they're pretty low and their rent's in arrears
Matthew & son, matthew & son, matthew & son, matthew & son,
And they've been working all day, all day, all day!

song performed by Cat Stevens
Added by Lucian Velea
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Belphegor Addressed To Miss De Chammelay

YOUR name with ev'ry pleasure here I place,
The last effusions of my muse to grace.
O charming Phillis! may the same extend
Through time's dark night: our praise together blend;
To this we surely may pretend to aim
Your acting and my rhymes attention claim.
Long, long in mem'ry's page your fame shall live;
You, who such ecstacy so often give;
O'er minds, o'er hearts triumphantly you reign:
In Berenice, in Phaedra, and Chimene,
Your tears and plaintive accents all engage:
Beyond compare in proud Camilla's rage;
Your voice and manner auditors delight;
Who strong emotions can so well excite?
No fine eulogium from my pen expect:
With you each air and grace appear correct
My first of Phillis's you ought to be;
My sole affection had been placed on thee;
Long since, had I presumed the truth to tell;
But he who loves would fain be loved as well.

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poem by La Fontaine
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What Have the Cavalry Done?

What have the cavalry done?
Cantered and trotted about,
Routin' the enemy out,
Causin' the beggars to run!
And we tramped along in the blazin' heat,
Over the veldt on our weary feet.
Tramp, tramp, tramp
Under the blazin' sun,
With never the sight of a bloomin' Boer,
'Cause they'd hunted 'em long before --
That's what the cavalry done!
What have the gunners done
Battlin' every day,
Battlin' any way.
Boers outranged 'em, but what cared they?
"Shoot and be damned," said the R.H.A.!
See! when the fight grows hot,
Under the rifles or not,
Always the order runs,
"Fetch up the bloomin' guns!"

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Fighting Téméraire

It was eight bells ringing,
For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they polished every gun.
It was eight bells ringing,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
As they polished every gun.

Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
And to hear the round shot biting,
For we're all in love with fighting
On the fighting Téméraire.

It was noontide ringing,
And the battle just begun,

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poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Lost In The Flood

The ragamuffin gunner is returnin home like a hungry runaway
He walks through town all alone
He must be from the fort he hears the high school girls say
His countrysides burnin with wolfman fairies dressed in drag for homicide
The hit and run, plead sanctuary, 'neath a holy stone they hide
Theyre breakin beams and crosses with a spastics reelin perfection
Nuns run bald through vatican halls pregnant, pleadin immaculate conception
And everybodys wrecked on main street from drinking unholy blood
Sticker smiles sweet as gunner breathes deep, his ankles caked in mud
And I said hey gunner man thats quicksand, thats quicksand that aint mud
Have you thrown your senses to the war or did you lose them in the flood?
That pure american brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced
Races sundays in jersey in a chevy stock super eight
He rides 'er low on the hip, on the side hes got bound for glory in red, white and blue flash paint
He leans on the hood telling racing stories, the kids call him jimmy the
Saint
Well the blaze and noise boy, hes gunnin that bitch loaded to blastin point
He rides head first into a hurricane and disappears into a point
And theres nothin left but some blood where the body fell
That is, nothin left that you could sell

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song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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