C.J. Dennis, Songs of a Sentimental Bloke - Part 6

96 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
It's got me beat. Doreen's late Par, some way,
Was second cousin to 'is bruvver's wife.
Somethin' like that. In less than 'arf a day
It seemed 'e'd been. my uncle orl me life.
'E take me 'and: "I dunno 'ow it is,"
'E sez, "but, lad, I like that ugly phiz."
An' when 'e'd stayed wiv us a little while
The 'ouse begun to look like 'ome once more.
Doreen she brightens up beneath 'is smile,
An' 'ughs 'im till I kids I'm getting' sore.
Then, late one night, 'e opens up 'is scheme,
An' passes me wot looks like some fond dream.
'E 'as a little fruit-farm, doin' well;
'E saved a tidy bit to see 'im thro';
'E's gittin' old fer toil, an' wants a spell;
An' 'ere's a 'ome jist waitin' fer us two.
"It's 'er's an' yours fer keeps when I am gone,"
Sez Uncle Ji. "Lad, will yeh take it on?"
So that's the strength of it. An' 'ere's me now
A flamin' berry farmer, full o' toil;
Playin' joo-jitsoo wiv an 'orse an' plough,
An' coaxin' fancy tucker from the soil;
An' longin', while I wrestles with the rake,
Fer days when my poor back fergits to ache.
 

UNCLE JIM 97
Me days an' nights is full of schemes an' plans
To figger profits an' cut out the loss;
An' when the pickin's on, I 'ave me 'an's
To take me orders while I act the boss;
It's sorter sweet to 'ave the right to rouse. . . .
An' my Doreen's the lady of the 'ouse.
To see 'er bustlin' 'round about the place,
Full of the simple joy o' doin' things,
That thoughtful, 'appy look upon 'er face,
That 'ope an' peace an' pride o' labour brings,
Is worth the crowd of joys I knoo one time,
An' makes regrettin' 'em seem like a crime.
An' ev'ry little while ole Uncle Jim
Comes up to stay a bit an' pass a tip.
It gives us 'eart jist fer to look at 'im,
An' feel the friendship in 'is warm 'and-grip.
'Im, wiv the sunburn on 'is kind old die;
'Im, wiv the sunbeams in 'is sweet ole smile.
"I got no time fer wasters, lad" sez 'e,
"But that there ugly mug o' yourn I trust."
An' so I reckon that it's up to me
To make a bloomin' do of it or bust.
I got to take the back-ache wiv the rest,
An' plug along, an' do me little best.
G
 

98 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
Luck ain't no steady visitor, I know;
But now an' then it calls—fer look at me!
You would n't take me, 'bout a year ago,
Free gratis wiv a shillin' pound o' tea;
Then, in a blessed 'eap, ole Forchin lands
A missus an' a farm fair in me 'ands.
 

XIII.  THE KID
 

Illustration - see original document
 

The Kid
MY son! . . . Them words, just like a blessed 
song,
Is singin' in me 'eart the ole day long;
Over an' over; while I'm scared I'll 
wake
Out of a dream, to find it all a fake.
My son! Two little words, that, yesterdee,
Wus jist two simple, senseless words to me;
An' now—no man, not since the world begun,
Made any better pray'r than that . . . My son!
My son an' bloomin' 'eir .  . . Ours! . . . 'Ers an' mine!
The finest kid in—Aw, the sun don't shine—
Ther' ain't no joy fer me beneath the blue
Unless I'm gazin' lovin' at them two.
A little while ago it was jist "me"—
A lonely, longin' streak o' misery.
An' then 'twas "'er an' me"—Doreen, my wife!
An' now it's "'im an' us" an' sich is life.
101
 

102 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
But 'struth! 'e is king-pin! The 'ead serang!
I mustn't tramp about, or talk no slang;
I mustn't pinch 'is nose, or make a face,
I must'nt—Strike! 'E seems to own the place!
Cunnin? Yeh'd think, to look into 'is eyes,
'E knoo the game clean thro'; 'e seems that wise.
Wiv 'er an' nurse 'e is the leadin' man,
An' poor ole dad's amongst the "also ran."
"Goog, goo," 'e sez, an' curls 'is cunnin' toes.
Yeh'd be su'prised the 'eaps o' things 'e knows.
I'll swear 'e tumbles I'm 'is father, too;
The way 'e squints at me, an' sez "Goog, goo."
Why! 'smornin', 'ere 'is lordship gits a grip
Fair on me finger—give it quite a nip!
An' when I tugs, 'e won't let go 'is hold!
'Angs on like that! An' 'im not three weeks old!
"Goog, goo," 'e sez. I'll swear yeh never did
In all yer natcheril, See sich a kid.
The cunnin' ways 'e's got; the knowin' stare—
Ther' ain't a youngster like 'im anywhere!
 

THE KID 103
An', when 'e gets a little pain inside,
'Is dead straight griffin ain't to be denied.
I'm sent to talk sweet nuffin's to the fowls;
While nurse turns 'and-springs ev'ry time 'e 'owls.
But say, I tell yeh straight . . . I been thro' 'ell!
The things I thort I wouldn't dare to tell
Lest, in the tellin' I might feel again
One little part of all that fear an' pain.
It come so sudden that I lorst me block.
First, it was, 'Ell-fer-leather to the doc.,
'Oo took it all so calm 'e made me curse—
An' then I sprints like mad to get the nurse.
By gum; that woman! But she beat me flat!
A man's jist putty in a game like that.
She owned me 'appy 'ome almost before
She fairly got 'er nose inside me door.
Sweatin' I was; but cold wiv fear inside—
An' then, to think a man could be denied
'Is wife an' 'ome an' told to fade away
By jist one fat ole nurse 'oo's in ' is pay!
 

104 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
I wus too weak wiv funk to start an' rouse.
Struth! Ain't a man the boss in 'is own 'ouse?
"You go an' chase yerself !" she tips me straight.
"Ther's nothin' now fer you to do but—wait."
Wait? . . . Gawd! . . . I never knoo wot waitin' meant.
In all me life, till that day I was sent
To loaf around, while there inside—Aw, strike!
I couldn't tell yeh wot that hour was like!
Three times I comes to listen at the door;
Three times I drags meself away once more;
'Arf dead wiv fear; 'arf filled wiv tremblin' joy . . .
An' then she beckons me, an' sez—"A boy!"
"A boy!" she sez. "An' bofe is doin' well!"
I drops into a chair, an' jist sez—" 'Ell!"
It was a pray'r. I feels bofe crook an' glad . . .
An' that's the strength of bein' made a dad.
I thinks of church, when in that room I goes,
'Oldin' me breaf an' walkin' on me toes.
Fer 'arf a mo' I feared me nerve 'ud fail
To see 'er lying there so still an' pale.
 

THE KID 105
She looks so frail, at first, I dursn't stir.
An' then, I leans acrost an' kisses 'er;
An' all the room gits sorter blurred an' dim
She smiles, an' moves 'er 'ead. "Dear lad! Kiss 'im."
Near smothered in a ton of snowy clothes,
First thing. I sees a bunch o' stubby toes,
Bald 'ead, termater face, an' two big eyes.
"Look, Kid," she smiles at me. "Ain't 'e a size?"
'E didn't seem no sorter size to me;
But yet, I speak no lie when I agree;
"'E is," I sez, an' smiles back  at Doreen,
"The biggest nipper fer 'is age I've seen."
She turns away; 'er eyes is brimmin' wet.
"Our little son!" she sez. "Our precious pet!"
An' then, I seen a great big drop roll down
An falI—kersplosh!—fair on 'is nibs's crown.
An' still she smiles. "A lucky sign," she said.
"Somewhere, in some ole book, one time I read,
'The child will sure be blest all thro' the years
Who's christened wiv 'is mother's 'appy tears.'"
 

106 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
"Kiss 'im," she sez. I was afraid to take
Too big a mouthful of 'im, fear 'e'd break.
An' when 'e gits a fair look at me phiz
'E puckers up 'is nose, an' then—Geewhizz!
'Ow did 'e 'owl! In 'arf a second more
Nurse 'ad me 'ustled clean outside the door.
Scarce knowin' 'ow, I gits out in the yard,
An' leans agen the fence an' thinks reel 'ard.
A long, long time I looks at my two 'ands.
"They're all I got," I thinks, "they're all that stands
Twixt this 'ard world an' them I calls me own.
An' fer their sakes I'll work 'em to the bone."
Them vows an' things sounds like a lot o' guff.
Maybe, it's foolish thinkin' all this stuff—
Maybe, it's childish-like to scheme an' plan;
But—I dunno—it's that way wiv a man.
I only know that kid belongs to me!
We ain't decided yet wot 'e's to be.
Doreen, she sez 'e's got a poit's eyes;
But I ain't got much use fer them soft guys.
 

THE KID 107
I think we ort to make 'im something great­—
A bookie, or a champeen 'eavy-weight:
Some callin' that'll give 'im room to spread.
A fool could see 'e's got a clever 'ead.
I knows 'e's good an' honest; for 'is eyes
Is jist like 'ers; so big an' lovin'-wise;
They carries peace an' trust where e'er they goes.
An', say, the nurse she sez 'e's got my nose!
Dead ring fer me ole conk, she sez it is.
More like a blob of putty on 'is phiz,
I think. But 'e's a fair 'ard case, all right.
I'll swear I thort 'e wunk at me last night.
My wife an' fam'ly! Don't it sound all right!
That's wot I whispers to meself at night.
Some day, I s'pose, I'll learn to say it loud
An' careless; kiddin' that I don't feel proud.
My son! . . . If ther's a Gawd 'Oo's leanin' near
To watch our dilly little lives down 'ere,
'E smiles, I guess, if  'E's a Iovin' one—
Smiles, friendly-like, to 'ear them words—My son.
 

XIV. THE MOOCH O' LIFE
 

Illustration - see original document
 

The Mooch o' Life
THIS ev'nin' I was sittin' wiv Doreen,
Peaceful an' 'appy wiv the day's work
done,
Watchin', be'ind the orchard's bonzer green,
The flamin' wonder of the settin' sun.
Another day gone by; another night
Creepin' along to douse Day's golden light;
Another dawnin', when the night is gone,
To live an' love—an' so life mooches on.
Times I 'ave thought, when things was goin' crook,
When 'Ope turned nark an' Love forgot to smile,
Of somethin' I once seen in some ole book
Where an ole sore-'ead arsts, "Is life worf w'ile ?"
But in that stillness, as the day grows dim,
An' I am sittin' there wiv 'er an' 'im—
My wife, my son! an' strength in me to strive,
I only know—it's good to be alive!
111
 

112 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
Yeh live, yeh love, yeh learn; an' when yeh come
To square the ledger in some thortful hour,
The everlastin' answer to the sum
Must allus be, "Where's sense in gittin' sour?"
Fer when yeh've come to weigh the good an' bad—
The gladness wiv the sadness you 'ave 'ad—
Then 'im 'oo's faith in 'uman goodnes fails
Fergits to put 'is liver in the scales.
Livin' an' Iovin'; learnin' day be day;
Pausin' a minute in·the barmy strife
To find that 'elpin' others on the way
Is gold coined fer your profit—sich is life.

I've studied books wiv yearnin's to improve,
To 'eave meself out of me lowly groove,
An' 'ere is or! the change I ever got:
"'Ark at yer 'eart, an' you kin learn the lot."
I gives it in—that wisdom o' the mind­—
I wasn't built to play no lofty part.
Orl such is welkim to the joys they find;
I only know the wisdom o' the 'eart.
[*All this page as good.*]
 

THE MOOCH O' LIFE 113

An' ever it 'as taught me, day be day,
The one same lesson in the same ole way:
"Look fer yer profits in the 'earts o' friends,
Fer 'atin' never paid no dividends."
Life's wot yeh make it; an' the  bloke 'oo tries
To grab the shinin' stars frum out the skies
Goes crook on life, an' calls the world a cheat,
An' tramples on the daisies at 'is feet.
[* }Al*]

But when the moon comes creepin' o'er the hill,
An when the mopoke calls along the creek,
I takes me cup o' joy an' drinks me fill,
An' arsts meself wot better could I seek.
An' ev'ry song I 'ear the thrushes sing
That everlastin' message seems to bring;
An' ev'ry wind that whispers in the trees
Gives me the tip there ain't no joys like these;
Livin' an' Iovin'; wand'rin' on yer way;
Reapin' the 'arvest of a kind deed done;
An' watchin', in the sundown of yer day,
Yerself again, grown nobler in yer son.
H
 

114 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE
Knowin' that ev'ry coin o' kindness spent
Bears interest in yer 'eart at cent per cent;
Measurin' wisdom by the peace it brings
To simple minds that values simple things.
An' when I take a look along the way
That I 'ave trod, it seems the man knows best,
Who's met wiv slabs of sorrer in 'is day,
When 'e is truly rich an' truly blest.
An' I am rich, becos me eyes 'ave seen
The lovelight in the eyes of my Doreen;
An' I am blest, becos me feet 'ave trod
A land 'oo's fields reflect the smile o' God.
Livin' an' Iovin'; learnin' to fergive
The deeds an' words of some un'appy bloke
Who's missed the bus—so 'ave I come to live,
An' take the 'ole mad world as 'arf a joke.
Sittin' at ev'nin' in this sunset-land,
Wiv 'Er in all the World to 'old me 'and,
A son, to bear me name when I am gone. . . .
Livin' an' lovin'—so life mooches on.
 

THE GLOSSARY