In Olden Days which are best forgotten,
The men were hard and the times were rotten.
In Saint Buryan, there did dwell
A brawny farmer, I knew him well.
Henwood Penwallet, take my word
Grew the finest shallots, in the Western World.
Those times being hard, he did say,
“I’ll take a load to sell up
‘Course, silly bugger, didn’t know the way,
So he followed the coast line, every day.
Suddenly he found, before he could scoot,
An English Army camped across his route.
He thought he’d try to sell them shallot
But conscripted was all he got.
They thought perhaps he was a Yeoman
So they turned him into a bowman.
The King before the battle visited his men,
And gave ‘em peppy speeches to make ‘em brave again
He checked the lances sharpened, the axes fit to slice
And then he came to Henwood, ‘an spoke to him so nice.
“You any good with that bow?” he asked, “My good man.”
“Buggered if I know, I’m a conscript, that’s what I am!”
“Well, try it out, see if you can hit that tree o’er there.”
The arrow flew, left and right and vanished in the air!
King Harold said, “Don’t worry, you’re doin’ fine!”
“Captain, put this Cornishman in the front line.
An’ for Gods sake!” he said, “Have someone watch that prat,
He’ll have someone's eye out, shooting arrows like that!”
Copyright © Res JFB 17th March 2008