* Ceilidh and capercaillie rhyme with "daily." and the first half of the bird's name rhymes with dapper, not that that matters.
* All characters and events in this tale are true, except for those in verses 1-22.
Now if you go to Mandrake Hall, A hideous pile of ancient stone, You'll find nobody there at all, But wait, perhaps you're not alone...
For should you go on May 13 And wander round its weedy grounds, There's things you'll wish you ne'er had seen, And hark to most unnerving sounds.
For headless Humphrey haunts the house, Each year, upon the ides of May, And gosh, he's got good grounds to grouse: To lose one's head in such a way!
While riding o'er the mead alone, In rabbit hole a hoof did catch, And young Sir Humphrey Smelt was thrown, Head first into a briar patch.
The tinkling tones of girlish laughter Which greeted him on his extraction, Would mock Sir Humphrey ever after At every rash and foolish action.
Sir Humphrey scrambled to his feet, Detaching brambles from each buttock, And rained foul curses on the sweet Young farmhand's daughter, Sally Puttock.
Next summer there's a village ceilidh, Fun and games for all the peasants; Humphrey's shooting capercaillie, Grouse and pigeon, hare and pheasant.
Beaters set the game birds flying, Humphrey fires, near over head. As "Good shot, " his gillie's crying, Lands the grouse on Humphrey's head.
As Humphrey rises from his fall, He hears the sound of jigs and reels. And through the sound with dread recall, Those girlish laughs in tinkling peals.
And now young Humphrey's in his punt, With fowling piece, pursuing duck, He waits until the flock's in front And pulls the trigger, but hard luck...
Oh, that gun's a mighty weapon, Many fowl are shedding blood; Humphrey has no brake to step on, Boat slews, tips him in the mud.
he's covered now in slime and feather, Striving dignity to rally; A mocking cry, he knows not whether 'Tis a bird or lovely Sally.
Off goes Humph to fight the Spanish, Dutch and Portuguese and French; And all his foes he'll bravely vanquish, Thinking naught of that young wench.
And so returns he home from battle, Unscathed? Not quite, he's lost an eye, While fighting rebels in Seattle; Gets a glass one by and by.
It's 4 a.m., the cock announces Dawn, wakes Humphrey from his pit; So Humph on trusty shotgun pounces, Pulls the trigger, scores a hit...
But Humphrey, short now of one eyeball, Lacks in these days aim so true, The cockerel squawking did not fall, But shedding feathers skyward flew.
And on the roof of Mandrake Hall, It crashes down, and starts to slither, It grabs at tiles to stop its fall... Then comes that sound that calls Humph thither.
He pokes his head out through the casement, Sally's there, a-rock with laughter. She's emerged from Mandrake basement... Cock tears tile loose from the rafter.
The tile falls, spurred by force of gravity, Cock still clinging, adding weight, Humph's neck ends now in a cavity, Head sliced off by cock and slate.
You think this tale is so absurd? This cruel fate of man in prime? A fellow losing head o'er bird? It's happened since the dawn of time.
So headless Humphrey haunts in hope To happen on the happy hoyden, But headless he can only grope Not knowing she crept off to Croydon.
Our Sal lived happy ever after, Ran a shop with husband Guy; They prospered, 'cos her tinkling laughter Lured in every passer-by.
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Last updated: Sun, 13 May 2001.