The Ancient Brits had their abode In Oggland, (as everyone knowed, When history was taught, The way that it ought,) And painted their faces with woad.
On cliffs down at Lepe one such strode, Saw ships, and he knew that it bode, Sore ill for his folks, 'Cos those strange foreign blokes Soon put them to work building roads.
They builded those roads long and straight, But why? Listen, and I'll relate: 'Twas so as to stop Fellas opening a shop On each corner, and profit create.
Well later, those Romans went home, They sailed their ships over the foam, The empire was crumbling, And some folks were mumbling The mantra: There's no place like Rome.
The site for the next land-grab scramble, Was Calshot, or Totton or Hamble, 'Twas Cerdric the Saxon, Whom I'll give you facts on, If ever I end this preamble.
Now Cerdric, he may be a Jute, My old brain ain't so acute, Round four eightythree, Crossed over the sea, Found cider, got pissed as a newt.
They landed, their boats they have moored, And inland the ravening horde, Then weaved their drunk way, With many a fray, As Chesterton once did record.*
And so, on to 1066, The one date that all Brit kids fix In mind: Yes that stonker, Old Billy the Conker, 'S arrived for to ravage our chicks.
He thought the New Forest was grand, So from it all peasants were banned, There deer he would hunt, He was such a bully, To chuck all those folk from their land.
So many the time he was cursed, And often in grief was immersed, Most kin met their fate, Ere their natural date, As payment for those treated worst.
Bill 2, known as Rufus the Red, Was one such, got shot in the head, By one Tyrrell, Sir Walt, Who'd been at the malt And hops at the pub, so 'tis said.**
The Rufus stone marks this palaver, Go view if you wish, but on farther, The Sir Walter Tyrrell, A pub, run by Cyril, Stands waiting, go there if you'd rather.
* "The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road." - G K Chesterton. ** By me, anyway.
It was in part inspired by a song once sung by the Solent Folkmen, (and pfrobably their predecessors, Gutta Percha and his Elastic Band,) which goes approximately: The Roman fleet was coming! A gallant little band, Of sturdy ancient Britons stood by to take their stand. Led by the druid Calshot, a fellow of great wit, Renowned both for his archery, and his famous Calshot gob.
Last updated: Tue, 20 Mar 2001.