This was written for my good friends Tony and Lesley, who sneaked off to Ireland to get wed…
A Quiet Irish Wedding
It was meant to be quiet and low key,
Far from the madding crowd.
Just a bride and a groom in a registrar’s room,
With no photos or friends allowed.
And why not you may ask, should it not be so,
When both are of a certain age.
The flush of youth, gone long in the tooth,
Needs no pomp, no train, nor page.
“We’ll do it in Ireland,” they both agreed,
“For no one knows us there.
No bridesmaids, no cake, no speeches to make,
Away from the public stare.”
‘Twas Killarney they chose for the nuptials,
A quaint little town in the West.
The booking was made and travel plans laid,
And they packed their Sunday best.
But people in Ireland will talk so they will,
And the registrar was no exception.
“I’ve an odd one here,” she told far and near,
“A wedding without a reception.”
So the day arrived for the marriage,
And all went according to plan.
Vows were spoken, and a ring as a token,
Of the joining of woman to man.
But out in the street the cry went up.
“It’s a wedding, be Jazus come on!”
As jaunting car horses reared up in their courses,
A small crowd grew to a throng.
So Tony and Lesley, for that’s who they were,
Got carried aloft in the scrum.
No longer discreet and swept off their feet,
They’d no choice but join in the fun.
All that day and for many to follow,
The festivities went with a smack.
The O’Sheas, the Sullivans and most of the Mulligans,
Came down from the hills for the craic.
The sound of the fiddle and the swirl of the pipe,
Rang out across the land.
A fever took hold and the Taoiseach was told,
For matters had got out of hand.
As is often the case when drink is taken,
Ancient quarrels came to the fore.
So they started to fight in the heat of night,
And began to settle old scores.
A brawl broke out from Kerry to Galway,
And Dublin to Ballybegotten.
McGinty’s goat was thrown in a moat,
All thoughts of a wedding forgotten.
“Is this a private fight?” asked a man from Cork,
“Or can anyone here join in?”
“Help yourself,” said an old dear with a cauliflower ear,
And fetched him one clean on the chin.
So what was meant to be quiet and low key,
Turned into a nationwide spree,
Of dances and brawls in pubs and church halls,
From the mountains down to the sea.
So Tony and Lesley took their leave,
Sadder, but wiser perhaps.
For a wedding in Eire is a public affair,
And can never be kept under wraps.
********
Brenda Longman is the voice of Soo in the Sooty TV Show. She is also a fine actress, singer and my dearest pal. She recently told me that she had made a ham and chicken pie. This made me salivate…
I’d Die for a Pie
Before I die will you make me a pie
And garnish it with decorative leaves?
Will you slaughter a lamb or a bantam or two,
As you hum liturgical breves?
And will you my love make a sauce for a king,
That will bubble beneath the crust?
For I do like a pie, why I'd die for a pie,
That by you has been daint'ly egg brushed
For being a Leo is no easy thing,
And a status hard to deny,
But I'd give up my realm and humbly bow down,
To a wench who can make a good pie.
********
Brenda has a cute little dog called Bunty. She is seventeen years old, but still hanging on in there…
Ode to Bunty
Oh Buntington Smythe, how are you?
Are you still mistress of all you survey?
Do you confound all the vets as the oldest of pets
Yet gnash on a Werther’s each day?
Your hearing is going – I said YOUR HEARING IS GOING!
And your pins are not what they were.
But nevertheless, I have to confess,
You are still a redoubtable cur.
As far as I know you have never succumbed
To the charms of the opposite gender.
Preferring instead to repose on the bed,
Of your mistress, the delectable Brenda
In doggie years you’re one hundred and something,
So canine Valhalla draws near.
Yet I’m willing to bet there’s more life in you yet,
And you’ll see out another new year.
So how go things at Songbird Cottage?
Does the grass suit your sensitive nethers?
Are your delicate paws grown used to the floors?
Do you still stride out in all weathers?
You’re a miracle of vetinerary science,
Which has cost a penny or two,
But if it cost the earth it’s less than you’re worth,
‘Cos there’s ne’er been a mutt like you.
So Buntington-Smythe how are you?
It’s a matter of some import.
I cringe at this verse which is somewhat perverse,
But I am but a poet self-taught.
(Eat your heart out Pam Ayres!)
©David Sherrington 2010
