The Songs Of A Sentimental Bloke Part 4

She sez I stoushed 'im, when I promised fair To chuck it, even to a friendly spar.

Stoushed 'im! I never roughed 'is pretty 'air!

I only spanked 'im gentle, fer 'is mar.

If I'd 'a' jabbed 'im once, there would 'a' been An inquest; an' I sez so to Doreen.

I mighter took an' cracked 'im in the street, When she was wiv 'im there lars' Fridee night.

But don't I keep me temper when we met?

An' don't I raise me lid an' act perlite?

I only jerks me elbow in 'is ribs, To give the gentle office to 'is nibs.

Stoushed 'im! I owns I met 'im on the quiet, An' worded 'im about a small affair; An' when 'e won't put up 'is 'ands to fight-- ('E sez, "Fer public brawls 'e didn't care")-- I lays 'im 'cross me knee, the mother's joy, An' smacks 'im 'earty, like a naughty boy.

An' now Doreen she sez I've broke me vow, An' mags about this coot's pore, "wounded pride."

An' then, o' course, we 'as a ding-dong row, Wiv 'ot an' stormy words on either side.

She sez I done it outer jealousy, An' so, we parts fer ever--'er an' me.

Me jealous? Jealous of that cross-eyed cow!

I set 'im 'cos I couldn't sight 'is face.

'Is yappin' fair got on me nerves, some'ow.

I couldn't stand 'im 'angin' round 'er place.

A coot like that!...But it don't matter much, She's welkim to 'im if she fancies such.

I swear I'll never track wiv 'er no more; I'll never look on 'er side o' the street-- Unless she comes an' begs me pardin for Them things she said to me in angry 'eat.

She can't ixpeck fer me to smooge an' crawl.

I ain't at ANY woman's beck an' call.

Wimmin! I've took a tumble to their game.

I've got the 'ole bang tribe o' cliners set!

The 'ole world over they are all the same: Crook to the core the bunch of 'em--an' yet We could 'a' been that 'appy, 'er an' me...

But, wot's it matter? Ain't I glad I'm free?

A bloke wiv commin-sense 'as got to own There's little 'appiness in married life.

The smoogin' game is better left alone, Fer tarts is few that makes the ideel wife.

An' them's the sort that loves wivout disguise, An' thinks the sun shines in their 'usban's' eyes.

But when the birds is matin' in the spring, An' when the tender leaves begin to bud, A feelin' comes--a dilly sorter thing That seems to sorter swamp 'im like a flood.

An' when the fever 'ere inside 'im burns, Then freedom ain't the thing fer wot 'e yearns.

But I 'ave chucked it all. An' yet--I own I dreams me dreams when soft Spring breezes stirs; An' often, when I'm moonin' 'ere alone, A lispin' maid, wiv 'air an' eyes like 'ers, 'Oo calls me "dad," she climbs upon me knee, An' yaps 'er pretty baby tork to me.

I sorter see a little 'ouse, it seems, Wiv someone waitin' for me at the gate...

Ar, where's the sense in dreamin' barmy dreams, I've dreamed before, and nearly woke too late.

Sich 'appiness could never last fer long, We're strangers--'less she owns that she was wrong.

To call 'er back I'll never lift a 'and; She'll never 'ear frum me by word or sign.

Per'aps, some day, she'll come to understand The mess she's made o' this 'ere life o' mine.

Oh, I ain't much to look at, I admit.

But'im! The knock-kneed, swivel-eyed misfit?...

VII. The Siren

She sung a song; an' I sat silent there, Wiv bofe 'ands grippin' 'ard on me chair; Me 'eart, that yesterdee I thort wus broke Wiv 'umpin sich a 'eavy load o' care, Come swelling in me throat like I would choke.

I felt 'ot blushes climbin' to me 'air.

'Twas like that feelin' when the Spring wind breaves Sad music in the sof'ly rustlin' leaves.

An' when a bloke sits down an' starts to chew Crook thorts, wivout quite knowin' why 'e grieves Fer things 'e's done 'e didn't ort to do-- Fair winded wiv the 'eavy sighs 'e 'eaves.

She sung a song; an' orl at once I seen The kind o' crool an' 'eartless broot I been.

In ev'ry word I read it like a book-- The slanter game I'd played wiv my Doreen-- I 'eard it in 'er song; an' in 'er look I seen wot made me feel fair rotten mean.

Poor, 'urt Doreen! My tender bit o' fluff!

Ar, men don't understand; they're fur too rough; Their ways is fur too coa.r.s.e wiv lovin' tarts; They never gives 'em symperthy enough.

They treats 'em 'arsh; they tramples on their 'earts, Becos their own crool 'earts is leather-tough.

She sung a song; an' orl them bitter things That chewin' over lovers' quarrils brings Guv place to thorts of sorrer an' remorse.

Like when some dilly punter goes an' slings 'Is larst, lone deener on some stiffened 'orse, An' learns them vain regrets wot 'urts an' stings.

'Twas at a beano where I lobs along To drown them memories o' fancied wrong.

I swears I never knoo that she'd be there.

But when I met 'er eye--O, 'struth, 'twas strong!

'Twas bitter strong, that jolt o' dull despair!

'Er look o' scorn!...An' then, she sung a song.

The choon was one o' them sad, mournful things That ketch yeh in the bellers 'ere, and brings Tears to yer eyes. The words was uv a tart 'Oo's trackin' wiv a silly coot 'oo slings 'Er love aside, an' breaks 'er tender 'eart....

But 'twasn't that; it was the way she sings.

To 'ear 'er voice!...A bloke 'ud be a log 'Oo kep' 'is block. Me mind wus in a fog Of sorrer for to think 'ow I wus wrong; Ar, I 'ave been a fair ungrateful 'og!

The feelin' that she put into that song 'Ud melt the 'eart-strings of a chiner dog.

I listens wiv me 'eart up in me throat; I drunk in ev'ry word an' ev'ry note.

Tears trembles in 'er voice when she tells 'ow That tart snuffed out becos 'e never wrote.

An' then I seen 'ow I wus like that cow.

Wiv suddin shame me guilty soul wus smote.

Doreen she never looked my way; but stood 'Arf turned away, an' beefed it out reel good, Until she sang that bit about the grave; "Too late 'e learned 'e 'ad misunderstood!"

An' then--Gorstrooth! The pleadin' look she gave Fair in me face 'ud melt a'eart o' wood.

I dunno 'ow I seen that evenin' thro'.

They muster thort I was 'arf shick, I knoo.

But I 'ad 'urt Doreen wivout no call; I seen me dooty, wot I 'ad to do.

O, strike! I could 'a' blubbed before 'em all!

But I sat tight, an' never cracked a boo.

An' when at larst 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.