Alma Brent

I knew a girl called Alma Brent
Completely destitute of brains
Whose principal accomplishment
Was imitating railway trains.

When ladies called at "Sunnyside''
Mama, to keep the party clean,
Would say, with pardonable pride
"Now, Alma, do the six-fifteen!"

The child would grunt and snort and puff
With weird contortions of the face
And when the guests had had enough
She'd cease, with one last wild grimace.

One day, her jovial Uncle Paul
Cried "Come on, Alma, do your worst!''
And challenged thus before them all
She did the four-nineteen—and burst.

Beachcomber

I take this to be a Belloc parody, tho' that's guesswork on my part. (Wouldn't one expect Beachcomber to be a Belloc fan, both being Francophiles, C*****ic, and both right-wing..?)
I was disconcerted by not having this thing by heart. (I can normally memorise this kind of doggerel at the drop of a hat, which leads me to suspect that there is some infelicity blighting it that my critical faculties are not up to spotting). [Surely `grimace' does not rhyme with `face'..] As it is, i am endebted instead to Ann Turrell who supplied me the source. o/w i'd've had to go to storage to find the box containing all my Beachcomber volumes. Thank you Ann!!

Click here for next week's poem
Click here for last week's poem

Return to Thomas Forster's home page