C.J. Dennis, Rose of Spadgers - Part 2

14                  
ROSE OF SPADGERS

Don't make no error. I ain't giving' Rose 
The 'igh-bred manners uv some soshul queen. 
She were n't no shrinkin', simperin' girleen, 
With modest glances droopin' to 'er toes. 
She'd smash a prowlin' male acrost the nose 
As quick as any tart I ever seen. 
But, bli'me, she was straight an' she was clean, 
As more than one mauled lady-killer knows.

Straight as a die! An' jist as clean an' sweet 
An' thorny as the bloom 'oose name she bears.
To cling on to 'er virchoo weren't no feat 
With 'er; she simply kep' it unawares 
An' natchril, like people trust their feet, 
An' don't turn silly 'and-springs on the stairs.

Tha's 'ow Mick found, an' left 'er–straight an' 
clean. 
She seen the good in 'im long years before 
'E proved it good an' plenty at the war. 
She loved an' mothered 'im becos she seen 
The big, soft-'earted boy 'e'd alwiz been 
Be'ind 'is leery ways an' fightin' jor, 
An' all 'is little mix-ups with the Lor. 
Sh knoo 'e weren't the man to treat 'er mean. 

15

INTRODUCTION         

They was a proper match. But Mick, 'e goes 
An' slips 'is wind, there, on Gallipoli; 
Jist pausin' to remark, "Look after Rose." 
An', if them partin' words weren't meant fer me, 
Well, I'm the gay angora, I suppose, 
In this divertin' slab uv 'istory.

It ain't no soft romance, with pale pink bows, 
This common little tale I 'ave to tell 
Concernin' common folk, an' wot befell 
When me an' my ole parson cobbler goes 
An' does our bit in lookin' after Rose.

The Church admits I done my part reel well; 
An' there won't be no need to ring a bell 
Or call the cops in when the langwidge flows.

So, 'ere's a go. If my remarks is plain 
An' short uv frills, they soots me tale; an' so, 
I 'opes the rood boorjosie will refrain 
Frum vulger chuckin'-orf; fer well I know 
Ladies an' gentlemen uv Spadgers Lane 
Won't fail to un'erstand. So, 'ere's a go.
THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE

 

I. THE FALTERING KNIGHT

THE FALTERING KNIGHT
IT knocks me can in, this 'ere game uv life,
A bloke gets born, grows up, looks round fer fun, 
Dreams dilly dreams, then wakes to find a wife 
An' fambly round 'im—all 'is young days done. 
An' gazin' back, sees in 'is youth a man 
Scarce reckernised. It fair knocks in me can! 
Ther's me. I never seemed to mark no change 
As I mooched on through life frum year to year; 
An' yet, at times it seems to me dead strange 
That me, uv old, is me, 'oo's sittin' 'ere. 
Per'aps it ain't. 'E was a crook young coot, 
While I'm a sturdy farmer, growin' froot.

But, all the same, 'e would n't back an' fill, 
An' argue with 'imself, an' 'esitate, 
Once 'e 'ad seen the way. 'E'd find the will 
To go an' do the thing 'e 'ad to, straight. 
That's 'ow I was; an' now—Ar, strike a light! 
Life gits so mixed I can't git nothin' right.

20                                  
ROSE OF SPADGERS

But wot's the use? A bloke 'as got to own, 
When once 'e 'as responsibility, 
Ther's certin games is better left alone 
Wot might be done if 'e was only free. 
Ther's certin things—Oh, wot's the flamin' good?

A 'usband alwiz gits misun'erstood!

It's no use hintin'. If yeh want it straight, 
Me an' me wife ain't seein' eye to eye: 
All ain't been peace an' 'harmony uv late, 
An' clouds is comin' up in our clear sky. 
I ain't to blame, an' yet, no more's Doreen. 
It's jist 'ard Fate 'as shoved 'is oar between.

All marrid blokes will un'erstand me well. 
I ain't addressin' no remarks to those 
'Oo've learnt but 'arf uv life. The things I tell 
Is fer the ears uv fellermen that knows: 
Them symperthetic 'usbands 'oo 'ave 'eard
The fog-'orn soundin' in the wifely word.

Fer when stern jooty grips a 'usband's 'eart 
(That's me) an' eggs 'im on to start a scene

Drawing - see original document
HAL
GYE

23
THE FALTERING KNIGHT

That's like to tear two 'appy lives apart, 
In spite uv all 'er carin' (That's Doreen) 
Why, there you 'ave a story that would make 
A bonzer movie—with a bit uv fake.

But 'ere's the plot. When my pal, Ginger Mick, 
Chucked in' is alley in this war we won, 
'E left things tangled; fer 'e went too quick

Fer makin' last requests uv anyone. 
'E jist sez to the world, when last 'e spoke, 
"Look after Rose!" . . . 'E was a trustful bloke.

Rose lives in Spadgers Lane. She lived, them days, 
Fer Mick's returnin'. When 'e never came,

If she lost 'old an' took to careless ways, 
Well, I ain't sayin' she was much to blame. 
An' I don't worry, till I 'ear she's took, 
Or thinks uv takin' on to ways that's crook.

Although I'm vegetatin' on a farm, 
I gets a city whisper now an' then. 
An' when I 'ear she's like to come to 'arm 
Amongst a push uv naughty spieler men,

24               
ROSE OF SPADGERS

I gets the wind up. This is all I see: 
Mick was my cobber; so it's up to me.

That's all I see, quite clear, with my two eyes. 
But marrid blokes will understand once more, 
When I remarks that marrid blokes is wise 
'Oo 'ave the sense to take a squint through four. 
Four eyes is needed in reviewin' plans— 
Their vision's broader than a single man's.

But when them four eyes sees two ways at once— 
Gets crossed—Ar, well, ther's things in marrid life 
For which a hint's enough fer any dunce. 
Ther's certin things between a man an' wife 
That can't be quite—But take this fer a fack: 
Don't start things uv a mornin'. It ain't tack.

That was me first bad break, I should 'ave seen 
The supper things washed up, an' 'elped a bit, 
An' then 'ave broke it gently to Doreen, 
Promiscus, like I jist 'ad thought uv it. 
But I done worse. I blurts wot I'd to say 
Upon the mornin' uv a washin' day!

25

THE FALTERING KNIGHT
There's gumption fer yeh. Eights years i been
hitched—

Eight years uv trainin', an' I fall down flat! 
Like some poor, love-sick softy 'oo gets switched 
Fer tellin' "sweetie" 'e don't like 'er 'at, 
When she's jist come frum 'avin' rows no end 
About it's trimmin' with 'er dearest friend.

I owns me ta'tic's crook. But, all the same, 
Ther' were n't no need fer certin things she said. 
Wantin' to do good acts don't call fer blame, 
Even on tackless 'usban's, eight years wed. 
A bloke 'oo jist suggests a 'armless plan 
Don't need remindin' 'e's a marrid man.

'Struth! Don't I know it? Can I well ferget 
While I still 'ave two 'ealthy ears to 'ark? 
Not that she torks an' mags a lot; but yet 
Ther's somethin' in 'er voice uv a remark 
That gets there, worse than yappin' all day long, 
An' makes me pure intentions look dead wrong. 

It seems it ain't right fer a marrid bloke 
To rescue maids. I starts to answer back; 

26                  
ROSE OF SPADGERS

But got took up before I 'ardly spoke, 
An' innercent designs is painted black. 
I calls attention to the knights uv old; 
But tin knights an' romance jist leaves 'er cold.

I read 'er meanin' plain in 'er cool eye. 
Aw, strike! I ain't admirin' Rose! . . . Wot? . . . 
Me!

But when 'er look sez "Rats!" where's the reply 
A man can give, an' keep 'is dignity?

It can't be done. When they git on that lay, 
Wise coves adjourns the meet, an' fades away.

That's wot I done. I gits out uv the 'ouse 
All dignified. An', jist to show 'er 'ow 
Reel unconcerned I am, I starts to rouse 
Me neighbour, Wally Free, about 'is cow 
Wot's got in to me cabbages, an' et 
Close on a row uv 'em. I'll shoot 'er yet!

(A batchelor 'e is, this Wally Free— 
A soljer bloke that come this way last year 
An' took the little farm nex' door to me.) 
When I gets mad, 'e grins frum ear to ear,

27
THE FALTERING KNIGHT

An' sez, "Cool orf," 'e sez. "It's plain your wool 
'As been pulled 'ard this mornin'." 'E's a fool!

If 'e don't mend that fence . . . Ar, wot's the good?

I lets 'im go, an' sneaks be'ind the shed, 
An' sits there broodin' on a pile uv wood . . . . 
Ther's certin things she might 'ave left unsaid. 
Ther' was n't nothin' fer to make 'er go 
An' dig up chance remarks uv years ago. 

Me problem's this: Either I 'urts Doreen, 
By doin' things with which she don't agree, 
Or lets Rose slide, an' treats me cobber mean— 
Ole Ginger Mick, 'oo 'ad no friend but me. 
I ain't a ringtail; but, by gum, it's tough. 
I love me wife too much to treat 'er rough.

If I was single . . . . 'Struth! 'Oo wants to be? 
Fool batchelers can larf their silly larf, 
An' kid theirselves they got a pull on me. 
I'm out uv sorts, that's all; an' more than 'arf
Inclined to give some coot a crack, right now; 
Fer pref'rince, some insultin' single cow!

II.   TERMARTER SORCE

TERMARTER SORCE

IT was n't kid stakes. I 'ad no crook lurk 
To act deceivin', or to treat 'er mean. 
I'm old enough to know them games don't work— 
Not with Doreen. 
Besides, deceit ain't in me bag uv tricks. 
I got a few; but there is some that sticks. 

Sticks in me gizzard. Some blokes sees no wrong 
In workin' points, an' thinks it bonzer sport 
To trifle with a wife's belief, so long 
As they ain't cort. 
But, when yeh play the game on dead straight lines, 
It 'urts to be accused uv base designs.

It starts this mornin'. I wake with a tooth 
That's squirmin' like a basketful uv snakes. 
Per'aps I groan a bit, to tell the truth; 
An' then she wakes, 
An' arsts me wot I'm makin' faces for. 
I glare at 'er, an' nurse me achin' jor.

TERMATER SORCE

IT was n't kid stakes. I 'ad no crook lurk 
To act deceivin', or to treat 'er mean. 
I'm old enough to know them games don't work— 
Not with Doreen. 
Besides, deceit ain't in me bag uv tricks. 
I got a few; but there is some that sticks. 

Sticks in me gizzard. Some blokes sees no wrong 
In workin' points, an' thinks it bonzer sport 
To trifle with a wife's belief, so long 
As they ain't cort. 
But, when yeh play the game on dead straight lines, 
It 'urts to be accused uv base designs. 
It starts this mornin'. I wake with a tooth 
That's squirmin' like a basketful uv snakes. 
Per'aps I groan a bit, to tell the truth; 
An' then she wakes, 
An' arsts me wot I'm makin' faces for. 
I glare at 'er, 'an' nurse me achin' jor.