The Plumbers “SMOKO”

The Master Plumber Magazine dated August 1, 1933 received the following letter from a member, accompanied with a little “jingle”.

“Mr. Editor. I am sending you along my best poem to date which I trust will appeal to your sense of charity. I wish you may see fit to publish it in your journal and pay me what you think it is worth. I have not enclosed any stamps for the return of M.S.S. as I did not consider the outlay was warranted. Hoping you don’t feel the same.

Yours etc. – Heresy Jones.”

‘Twas suggested at a meeting
By a member thin and tall,
That we ought to hold a “Smoko”
At the Calathumpion Hall.

So we went and saw the Landlord,
And we fixed the 8th. of June,
But we didn’t take a jerry
That the 8th. was a full moon.

We arranged things with the Caterer,
And the local Boniface,
To send sufficient grub and grog,
To keep the thing apace.

We issued invitations
To the Premier and Lord Mayor,
And we told some Board’s officials
That we’d like to have them there.

We planted “Murf” beside the door
The tickets to collect,
And to see that free list artists
Were thrown out on their neck.

The “Boys” turned up in Hundreds,
Their last few bob they’d blew
To get their Dickies starched and ironed,
And their Suits pressed good as new.

We made Bob Whitelaw Chaplin,
Or what they call M.C.
And we gave him a shillalah
To keep him company.

“On with the Dance,” the M.C. bawled
When introductions ceased,
And off we started hopping,
While the Caterer laid the feast.

At 10 o’clock the call was given,
“Gent.s’ breast the festive board.”
Let’s drink the health of Visitors,
‘Tis the most we can afford.”

The visitors were toasted,
The Premier and Lord Mayor,
And the Water Board’s Officials
In terms both choice and rare.

The Speaker said, “The Board’s Officials,”
And so the toast was drunk,
Then the Premier and the Lord Mayor,
Both got up and done a bunk.

The Board replied, “Well, Gentlemen,
We’ve had a bonza night;
We’ll come again some other time,
Too right, we will – too right!

The Moon by this was at its full,
Its influence is queer,
The way it upset one poor cove
We thought it was the beer.

He rose unsteadily to his feet,
“Mr. President,” he roared,
“I’d like to ask a question
From the members of the Board.”

“I’d like to ask the Members,
One question and no more,
Can they tell me anything,
About this Blinking “Cog – ra Bore.”

He said no more, for out he went,
Into the cold and chilly street;
His bulk accelerated,
By Bob’s propelling feet.

Apologies were given,
And received with much ado,
The Board’s Officials then went home,
And I went homewards, too.

‘Twas in the merry month of June,
The Plumbers held a ball,
To bring the boys together,
At the Calathumpion Hall.

Heresy Jones.

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