Kensington Rhymes Part 1

Kensington Rhymes.

by Compton Mackenzie.

KENSINGTON RHYMES

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR HOUSE]

OUR house is very high and red, The steps are very white, The balcony is full of flowers, The knocker's very bright.

The hall has got a coloured lamp, A rack for father's hat, And pegs for coats: a curious word[A]

Is printed on the mat.

The kitchen ticks too loud at night, It is a horrid place; Black-beetles run about the floor At a most dreadful pace.

The cellar is quite black with coal, The cat goes scratching there; People go tramping past above, But n.o.body knows where.

The dining-room has rosy walls, And silver knives and forks, And when I listen at the door, I hear the popping corks.

The library smells like new boots, It is a woolly room; The housemaid comes at eight o'clock And sweeps it with a broom.

The staircase has a thousand rods That rattle if you kick, And when the twilight makes it blue I rush up very quick.

The landing is a dismal place, The bannisters creak so, The door-k.n.o.bs twinkle horribly, The gas is always low.

The drawing-room is cold and white, The chairs have crooked legs; Silk ladies rustle in and out While Fido sits and begs.

The bathroom is a trickling room, And always smells of paint, The cupboard's full of medicine For fever, cold or faint.

My bedroom is a bra.s.sy room With pictures on the wall: It's rather full of nurse's clothes But then my own are small.

Our house is very high and red, The steps are very white, The balcony is full of flowers, The knocker's very bright.

[A] n.o.body knows what SALVE means

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR SQUARE]

OUR square is really most select, Infectious children, dogs and cats Are not allowed to come inside, Nor any people from the flats.

I have a sweetheart in the square, I bring her pebbles that I find, And curious shapes in mould, and sticks, And kiss her when she does not mind.

She wears a dress of crackling white, A shiny sash of pink or blue, And over these a pinafore, And she comes out at half-past two.

Her legs are tall and thin and black, Her eyes are very large and brown, And as she walks along the paths, Her frock moves slowly up and down.

We all have sweethearts in our square, And when the winter comes again, We shall go to the dancing-cla.s.s And watch them walking through the rain.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DANCING CLa.s.s]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DANCING CLa.s.s]

EACH week on Friday night at six Our dancing-cla.s.s begins: Two ladies dressed in white appear And play two violins.

It's really meant for boys at school, But girls can also come, And when you walk inside the room You hear a pleasant hum.

The older boys wear Eton suits, The younger boys white tops; We stand together in a row And practise curious hops.

The dancing-master shows the step With many a puff and grunt; He has a red silk handkerchief Stuck grandly in his front.

He's awfully excitable, His wrists are very strong, He drags you up and down the room Whenever you go wrong.

And when you're going very wrong, The girls begin to laugh; And when you're pushed back in your place, The boys turn round and chaff.

We've learnt the polka and the waltz, We've _got_ the ladies' chain; Although he says our final bows Give him enormous pain.

The floor is very slippery, It's difficult to walk From one end to the other end Unless you sort of stalk.

And when the steps have all been done, He takes you by the arm To choose a partner for the dance-- It makes you get quite warm.

You have to bow and look polite, And ask with a grimace The pleasure of the next quadrille, And slouch into your place.

He always picks out girls you hate, I really don't know why, And when you look across the room It almost makes you cry

To see the girl you would have picked Dance with another boy Without a single smile for you, Determined to annoy.

Your heart beats very loud and quick, Your breath comes very fast, You pinch your partner in the chain-- But dances end at last.

You think you will not look at her, You look the other way; Yet when she beckons with her fan, You instantly obey.

How quick the evening gallops by And eight o'clock comes soon, But not till you've arranged to meet To-morrow afternoon.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY SISTER AT A PARTY]

I HEAR the piano, the party's begun; Hurry up! hurry up! there is going to be fun.

Leave your wrap in the hall and tie up your shoes, There isn't a moment, a moment to lose.

Take a peep at the dining-room as you go by, Lemonade, claret cup, orange wine you will spy: And they're going to have two sorts of ices this year, Both strawberry-cream and vanilla, I hear.

Twelve dances are down on the programme, I see.

Oh, do up your gloves, she is waiting for me!

I hear the piano, the polka's begun!

Oh, why does your beastly old sash come undone!

That's right, are your ready? now don't you forget To say how d'ye do and express your regret That Miss Perkins[B] is laid up in bed with a cold-- It isn't my place--just you do as you're told.

I say, look at Frank,[C] he's behaving as though He was playing with cads in a field full of snow; He's sliding about on the slippery floor All over the room with the kid from next door.

It's a jolly good thing that Miss Perkins' in bed, They'll probably send old Eliza[D] instead.

When we hear that she's come, we'll just not attend, Or tell her we never go home till the end.

They give all the maids when they come, orange wine-- I say, do you think I might ask her for nine.

All right, only don't say I danced more than twice; If you do, I'll say you have had more than one ice.

Mother said that you could? She said one of each?

You'd better look out or I'll jolly well peach.