Shampooing my geranium

I’ve just got back from holiday in sunny Herculaneum.

cycled across Europe on my bike made of titanium.

First I tried to make it from a type of cheap uranium,

looked it up and found that it is called actinouranium.

The tubes turned out too heavy and changed into plutonium

So giving me a headache at the back of my pericranium

Had to change from aspirin to a big dose of succedaneum

This quickly cured the pain so I shampooed my geranium.

Rufus

It’s hot in the sun but cold on the ice

The water is wet but drier is nice

The wind it blows, sometimes high, often low

Rain is not common but we always have snow

Sometimes I eat penguin, other times seal,

penguin’s ok but seal is more real

I like the Ant’ but Arctic is wetter

South is too far so I like North better

I wanted another but one cub is fine,

easy to feed and then keep in line.

Spring is the time that we leave our lair

pause digging out, sniffing the air.

Often I’m good but sometimes I’m bad

Sometimes I’m happy, other times sad

Warm in my white fur that many call hair

Hi there, I’m Rufus, the bipolar bear

Going to war in 1917

In Felixstowe Camp, waiting to go

Here since the call-up, what do we know

of the war, how’s it all going?

Winning or losing, no way of knowing.

‘But I need to go, to do my bit.’

The war has been running for three long years

Rumours we’re leaving, I prick up my ears.

We train with the signal lamp, morse is our friend

as we trim the wick and learn how to send

signals ‘cross mountains, received in a blink

We travel through Europe by ship and by train

Sun in the valley, snow on the plain.

I list in my diary the places we pass,

more than four days just sat on my arse.

The flowers and vineyards are all new to us.

We’re getting so close, nearing the fighting

‘Will I be up to it, is it exciting?

Will I stand up, as strong as my mates?

Waiting and fearing, what is my fate?

What is to come, how bad will it be? 

Sailing

None of us like the long leg across the Southern Ocean. There’s no land, see. The rollers go right round the globe with nothing to stop them, only the molleys to see them. We was close-hauled when it happened, Lascar Jim on the wheel. The off watch hands were asleep in the fo’c’s’le, the deck watch loafing topside, taking shelter in the lee of the deck house.

      Jim must have been caught napping, probably leering a goney. He allowed the head to pay off a few points to larboard so the squall took us full broadside, laying her over near to her beam ends. We hadn’t reefed the top gallants so she shuddered to recover with the weight of green in the scuppers and the pressure of the squall aloft.

       The Bos’n was at my back shouting,’ Get those topgallants reefed sharpish, sailing master, or I’ll have your guts for garters.’  I had to whip the watch with a turk’s head to get them up the mast and do my bidding.

      She slowly laboured back to upright, shaking the water off her like a dog after a ducking. She shuddered as the prow dipped into a trough but Jim had her back on course, head to wind.

      I told off the deck hands to let fly the halliards for the top yards to give the reefing gang a chance to beat the wet canvas into shape so they could throw lines around the sails and reef them in.

      We were now in a safe condition, not carrying too much sail and hove to until the sea state dropped. This would lengthen the voyage and cost the owners a packet but still less than losing the ship and cargo.

      The frozen mast monkeys clambered down the rat lines and took shelter. The bos’n ordered a tot for each man who had been aloft. We only lost two men in that evolution.

      The Bos’n beckoned me over and said, ‘Get Lascar Jim relieved off the wheel, take him to the grating on the poop deck and give him twenty lashes.’

      ‘Twenty will kill him, Sir,’ I argued.

      ‘He won’t do it again then will he? Just get on with it and make sure both watches are there to watch, unless you want a couple for yerself.’

      Jim was lashed down on the grating, a wedge of quid rammed in his mouth to stop his screams. The flogging started. He was unconscious after ten, the open wounds dripping blood off his back. The torment continued until the chorus from the hands reached twenty. Salt was rubbed into the wounds to stop infection, then he was cut down and taken below where he died later that night.

      I had the job of putting a stitch through his nose and sewing him in a canvas shroud before he was slid over the side with a marlin spike at his feet so as he didn’t float.

      No one had a prayer to say for his soul.

Murder in the morning

The church clock strikes eight, so those villagers who are awake know without checking that it is six. A cock crows. A body lies across the doorway of the church, a line of crumb-carrying ants marches across the fedora  covering its face. There is a serene, momentary quiet after the chimes cease. A figure ‘2’ glides past the church wall, before the silence is cracked by a baby crying.

      ‘I fear we have a cereal killer at work here, Watson.’

      ‘That’s incredible, Holmes, how do you deduce that?’

      ‘Two hours have gone missing, which will no doubt result in riots just as in the last century when the government decided to move the clocks forward to Summer Time. A witness has spoken of seeing a figure of two hours leaving the scene of the crime. The crumbs that the ants are carrying appear to be from a brand of breakfast food made from maize. I think you will find that the corpse is that of an American citizen from Cincinnatti. Only an American would wear a fedora in a churchyard at this time in the morning with brown shoes. Please be so kind as to check his pockets for any identification, Watson.’

      ‘By jove, Holmes, that is amaizeing, his driving licence shows he is Dr Kellogg from Cicinnati.’

      ‘Thank you, Watson, but please leave the puns to me.’

      ‘Righto, Holmes, old boy, but where does the cock come into the story?’

      ‘I would be very surprised that, when we turn the body over, if we do not find a cornflake packet there with the famous picture of the cockerel on the front.’

      ‘Would you help me roll the body over please, Sergeant Doodlegregg, my good fellow? asked Watson.

      ‘Certainly Sir,’ said the sergeant, taking off his cape and lying it on the damp grass. They rolled the body on to it with a great effort from the policeman.

      ‘Why are you out of breath sergeant?’ asked the good doctor.

      ‘Oi’ve been getting rather a large belly recently, sir so I’ve  been on one of those new-fangled  low carb diets.’

      ‘Those diets are a waist of time, if you ask me,’ affirmed Watson

      ‘No one is and I’ve told you before about those puns, Watson.’

      ‘Sorry Holmes. We have found the cereal packet that you predicted. I assume that confirms your suspicions?’

      ‘Yes, partly but I am wondering if there have been any other suspicious deaths in the village recently Sergeant?’ enquired Holmes.

      ‘Well not really, Sir. There was Mrs Scot, of course, who was found dead at her home in Alpen Crescent last week. She had been stabbed twenty seven times in the back. A clear case of suicide we thought.

      Ten days ago we found the bodies of three patients in the local mental hospital. We put it down as a random nut cluster at the time.

      Then, I suppose, we should include all bran stoker’s family who disappeared last year. That case kept us going down at the station for a while, I can tell you’

      ‘Thank you sergeant. Wait! Can you hear that noise?’

      ‘Do you mean that baby crying, Holmes?’ said Watson.

      ‘No, you idiot, that is just the new year. I meant the other sound, that is the crack of dawn if I am not very much mistaken.’

      ‘But, who killed all these people in the village?’ asked Watson.

      ‘I think you will find that our sergeant here has a lot to answer for in this case. Please check his breath. I think you will find that he has a very bad case of halitosis caused by his body burning fat and going into ketosis. His beath will smell of acetone. You will understand this better than me, Watson, being a medical man.

      I think a bowl of muesli will force a confession from him’

      ‘You are an incredible detective, Holmes,’ muttered Watson as he poured half a pint of best semi skim into the cereal bowl.