Sorry Malo, but this thing ain't funny.
No talk here of penis or cunny,
But it's not a bad tale,
Though I say so my sel'
And it's here gratis, free, for no money.

* * *



Ahundred years past now, or so,
A lady to London did go,
From Bristol, by train -
No, not to remain -
Just to visit and see a new show.

Her journey she broke on the way,
At Oxford, the night for to stay,
With a friend of her spouse,
at an old manor house,
Where those dreaming spires do sway.

She awoke in the gibbous moon's light,
To strange sounds in the dead of the night.
As a vehicle arrived,
In the big gravelled drive,
And she saw a disquieting sight.

An old horse-drawn hearse now stood near,
With a large load of coffins, most queer.
Then the driver's skull face
Looks at her and says:
"Room for one more inside here, my dear."

You may guess she got little more sleep,
Her mind full of thoughts dark and deep.
But with the dawn's light
She shrugged off all her fright,
And went on, her appointment to keep..

On that day, in a large London store,
Wanting lingerie, on the top floor,
To buy for a gift,
She ran for the lift,
Was about to step in, when she saw...

The lift-man's skull face, most austere,
It filled her whole body with fear,
Not least when he spoke,
In that same mocking croak:
"Room for one mor inside here, my dear."

"No!" she cried, for the stairs she did dash.
Halfway up them she heard a loud crash,
Yes, that lift had gone down,
Hurtling into the ground,
Killing all in the cage in the smash.

* * *


This story of death and distress,
Appeared at the time in the press,
But identification 
of girl and location,
Were left for the reader to guess.



--Tiddy Ogg
[My source for this story, which must be one of the first urban myths, was a book 
of English Folk Tales, published about 1948.]

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Last updated: Sun, 12 Sep 1999.