Here's another item from tradition...
Of lager I'd had Quite a fill,
And was struggling home up Warmsley hill,
In the darkness so deep,
The road got so steepBut I stumbled and swayed on until...

At last I was forced just to crawl,
In order to make that long haul;
For hand-holds I'd search,
Then forward I'd lurch,
Each moment dreading I'd fall.

That climb seemed to go on for years,
With the wind whistling cold round my ears,
Then the moon could be seen,
Creeping from the cloud's screen,
And I quaked with the most awful fears.

A white figure, arms opened wide,
Was standing there right by my side.
I, filled with great dread
Put my arms o'er my head,
That grim apparition to hide.

For my wickedness now I must pay.
For this  must be my judgment day.
'Twas the angel of death,
I'd soon take my last breath...
And with that thought I then passed away.

I awoke and I found that the ghost,
Was not one of the heavenly host,
It now lacked its awe
For in daylight I saw,
It was only that old finger-post. *

It was put there to show me the way.
From that moment to this very day,
I've ne'er touched a drop
Of the malt and the hop...
Just cider and the odd beaujolais.

ff* finger-post = simply a signpost.

Tiddy. 

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Last updated: Tue, 14 Sep 1999.