On Mondays Granny washed her clothes
And hung them out to dry. They fluttered like a line of flags That waved in days gone by From some old castle battlement, Signalling the king’s intent To people passing by. Stateliest of all the garments That were hanging there Was, how to put this nicely, Well, was Granny’s underwear. They really were so hugely vast, Like some great sail upon a mast That billowed in the air. One Monday morning came the time That no-one will forget, The morning of the hurricane, The nastiest one yet. The storm caught Granny unawares, It hurled her washing in the air And Granny WAS upset. But two miles up was someone who was even more distressed, A pilot called Max Anderson Was in a pretty mess, While flying solo in his ‘plane The storm had hit him like a train And torn apart his Cess-na. Poor Max, while falling through the air Endeavoured to be brave, But knew, while hurtling in freefall He was plunging to his grave. When something pink came rushing past Max grabbed it thankfully and gasped ‘A parachute, I’m saved.’ And, held aloft by Granny’s drawers, He floated to the ground, Where firemen, police and medics All were gathered round. ‘Thank God you’re safe!’ a firie said, ‘We surely thought you would be dead.’ But Granny only frowned. ‘My underwear!’ she crossly snapped and whipped them from his hand. The crowd lifted her shoulder high, the mayor struck up the band. ‘Please put me down’, my Granny cried, ‘You saved his life!’ the crowd replied. ‘But none of it was planned.’ But Granny’s shouts fell on deaf ears, The town gave her a medal, Max Anderson a big reward And everybody read all About it in the Daily News And everybody had their views But Granny took to bed, all Upset because her knickers now Were hung in the museum, And people came from miles around To stand in line and see ‘em. ‘I’m mortified that scaff and raff can see my drawers and have a laff, it’s like some awful dre-am.’
0 Comments
|