5.The Ballad of Nigel Bates
who used to irritate his mates.
He had this weird annoying thing;
a constant wilful need to sing.
Whatever time, whatever place,
a look would come upon his face,
then Nigel would burst into song
and urge his friends to sing along …
He could be out upon his bike,
or in a match about to strike,
whilst playing chess or sometimes bridge
or striding on some mountain ridge.
Upon the treadmill in the gym
or in the pool about to swim.
He could be in a chip shop queue
or even sitting on the loo.
It didn’t matter where he was
or what the circumstance because
when Nigel’s tonsils felt the call,
he had to share his song with all.
Unfortunately for this lad
his urge to sing at one time had
a consequence he did not see
until too late, as tunefully
he sang a shanty in a shop
where Spooky Sal the Witch had popped
to have a browse, a cup of tea
and buttered scone (all music-free).
So when the chorus came around
of Drunken Sailor Sal had found
young Nigel’s plea to join and sing
a very irritating thing.
“Young man, I think before you start
to urge me now to be a part
of this old a cappella song,
be warned; I will not sing along”
Then Nigel made a big mistake:
he should have had a little break
and listened to what Sal had said
but launched into a song instead …
“O dear old lady, do join in;
a tuneless world would be a sin.
Come sing with me and crack a smile.
I’m sure you’ll find it quite worthwhile.”
He should have left old Sal alone
to finish off her buttered scone
but pestered till she’d had enough,
Old Sal produced some magic stuff.
There came a flash of light, while smoke
plumed from the ears of this young bloke
in wafts of lilac, green and claret
Nigel turned into a parrot.
From nowhere Sal produced a cage
a gilded one as was the rage
with wooden perch, a bell, a hoop
and lined with paper for the poop.
Then Nigel was locked up inside,
the cage upon a broom was tied
and soon the witch without ado
took off and through the window flew.
Now, though Old Sal could be a fright,
at heart she really was alright.
Once he’d apologised and signed
a legal contract that confined
his singing to such places where
he’d checked that Spooky wasn’t there,
then Nigel’s parrot days would end
and as a human time he’d spend.
But here it went a little wrong
for Old Sal’s cat now focused on
a dish to add to its menu
and dreamed about some Parrot stew.
“Now Horace don’t upset the bird
He’s not a cat snack, that’s absurd.
This parrot’s time with us is short
Your gourmet plans will come to nought.”
But Horace was a cunning brute
who saw this challenge as a hoot,
determined that he’d be the winner
of a tasty parrot dinner.
Before the contract could be penned
poor Nigel met a sticky end
and Sal knew nothing of the matter
till she saw her cat was fatter.
You’d think that with the end of Nige
no more with tunes he would oblige;
yet as his funeral began,
led by a solemn clergyman,
the mourners sensed a phantom throng;
as with the hymn they sang along,
our Nigel’s voice was clearly heard,
in post-existence afterword.
For with a good song in your soul
it’s hard to keep it in control,
and in a choir with angel’s wings,
forever Nigel sweetly sings …
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