Like Mother...

When I met, and married my wife,

I opened a secret door,

I knew that her mother, Grace, was strange

But I didn’t know what for.

They spoke so low that I couldn’t hear

In a mother/daughter pact,

But Ellen, she was my holy grail

Til I found it was an act.

 

I’d been brought up in the English way

Of roast beef, fruit and veg,

The mint that grew and the rhubarb too

By our garden’s privet hedge,

I didn’t know there were other things

That were quite beyond my ken,

But she’d come up through a different school

Though I didn’t know it then.

 

They say you should check the mother out

If you want to save your tears,

For what the mother is like right now

Is your wife in thirty years,

And Grace was skinny and pastie-faced

With a rock-hard, gimlet eye,

While Ellen was soft and curvy then

And just a trifle shy.

 

Grace was running a cuisine club

For the village ladies all,

Every Wednesday they’d go en masse

Down to the village hall,

Ellen said there were treats in store

But I didn’t really see,

Not til she brought it home with her

That she’d try it out on me.

 

The first of the treats she brought on home

Almost knocked me through a loop,

I said, ‘What’s that in the steaming bowl,’

And she answered ‘Batwing soup.

You might need a knife and fork for it,

The wings have a leathery feel,

It won’t take long to get used to it

It tastes a little like eel.’

 

After I’d gagged and choked a bit

I managed to keep some down,

I said, ‘I’d rather have beef, my love,’

But she stood awhile, and frowned,

‘I’ve made you a special omelette,

Of turtle legs and bees,

Bound together by turkey eggs

And just a little cheese.’

 

I couldn’t say what I thought of it,

She would be dismayed, my wife,

I knew the love she’d put into it

It would only cause us strife,

But every Wednesday she’d bring one home

A treat for me to try,

Her casserole was a lucky dip

And snake in her cottage pie.

 

I suffered it for a month or more

Then I put my case to her,

‘I draw the line at toadskin wine,

And a pie with rodent fur,

I love you, Ellen, I really do

But your mother gives me the creeps,

Her witches recipes just won’t do,

I hate ragwort and leeks.’

 

We came to a final arrangement,

She could do what she’d always done,

The whisk broom under the stairs, she said

Was her idea of fun,

I try to ignore the pointy hat

That she wears when the moon is high,

But she never feeds me toads and rats

Though her mother asks her, ‘Why?’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Sir Harold Chesterhill ..]

Superb Ol' Bean! Your anecdote reminds me of a time when I was aboard the HMS Thames Wherry. I was a young Leftenant, mind you, and damned handsome at that! I can tell you that we have no less that twelve deckmaids between the young chaps, but I saved a particularly devious one for myself. She handled candle wax like the best strumpet from the local den of iniquity in Hereford and I don't need to tell you how she was with a hot iron, what? Unfortunately, she was struck one night with a bout of malaria, and I don't need to tell you how that fairs with the lads. So, overboard she went. She clung to the ship for several days, and although it was amusing, I had the Yeoman of the Sheets clamber down and give her a good wallop with an oar. Poor sod, the oar splintered his hand! Bully!

[Barbz]

Did her laugh sound some thing like hehehehehe.....with pointy hat and whisky broom, what would you think she'd be? I wonder how many men in town, fell from a tummy ache, could it be the witch cuisine her mother had wives take. She heeded his objections, 'twas just for Fun, said She..we, in our right minds know for sore, The Apple doesn't fall far from the tree.....Very cute and clever DLP, this is one for the imagination!! Barbz

[ANTO]

The sacrifices we all make for a quiet life.Yeah. I can see the mom - "what kind of a man is he, he won't eat his toads and rats - an oddball or what?" - lol.
This is fun my friend. Your versatility abounds.

[wordman]

dam,so you married a witch. a great tale david