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• Artiste: Paul Roland
• Titre: The Curate Of Cheltenham
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The Curate of Cheltenham, the Reverend Weir, Believed that his mission in life was quite clear, To bring God to the natives, the heathenous hordes, Whilst imbuing the stimulating waters abroad. He bought a cheap passage in a Tramp Steamer's hold, And wrapped in the 'War Cry' to stave off the cold he lived on a diet of cod liver oil, With fish on a Friday brought plain to the boil. Alighting at Cape Town and raring to go He charted a boat and some natives to row, Standing proud and erect in the narrow canoe Like a coxwain at Cambridge he rallied his crew. 'Oh tell me, dear mama, what good work could I do, I know I've been a bitter disappointment to father and you.' Three days on the river with provisions for four, 't was with some relief that they made for the shore, Where the natives proved friendly and ready to feed The curious cleric with a trunk full of beads. He ran them up trousers to save them from shame, He taught all their women how to entertain, Which knife went with fish and which went with meat, Good manners at table, not to talk when you eat. He taught all their children to spell and to read, To gather their jumble for those who are in need, He read them the lessons and prayed for the sinner, Whilst they fed him on mangos to fatten him for dinner.