In back streets of Bassett, back many years hence,
While housewives were washing the dishes,
A rattle would come from the old paling fence,
Which gave them a tingle delicious.


For that was the sound of Old Flasher Jack's stick,
As he rode the dark streets on his bike.
With flashlight in mouth , 'luminating his prick,
Which stood straight and firm as a pike.

This strange apparition caused giggles or screams,
As he wobbled his nocturnal way,
And many's the housewife had thrillingest dreams,
They dared not relate in the day.

The police on patrol  often lay there in wait,
Insisting this fellow be caught,
This nuisance, the lord mayor said, they must abate...
But never was Jack Flash e'er caught.

And thus my short anecdote comes to an end,
I must though declare, it weren't me.
That priapic cyclist his wierd way did wend,
Before I was born, don't yu see.


   * * *

Based on an incident related in John Arlott's autobiography "Basingstoke Boy", which occurred while he was a policeman in Southampton.

Wednesday, February 19, 2003