David Anderson. When this first landed in my inbox, I was very pleasantly surprised. What a little cracker it is! Visit him at. www.daverse.co.uk/index.html

Beware The Tiny Drummer.

I went to a Ceilidh last Saturday,

It was held in our new village hall.

Folk from all over the area turned up there,

And they settled on seats round the wall.

The M. C. was an exiled old Scotsman,

Clad in his full Highland rig.

He carried a hip-flask in his sporran,

And after each dance took a swig.

 

There were Veletas and Dashing White Sergeants,

Reels, Jigs and Strathspeys to entrance.

I was worried when he announced the " Gay " Gordons,

"Don't worry," he said, "It's a dance!"

Then in marched the pipers and drummers,

The windows were shaken by t’din!

Bass drummer had a little companion,

A young lad they called Tiny Tim.

 

As Tim banged his drum with precision,

The old Scotsman grabbed hold of my hand.

He told me this tale of t’young drummer,

And why he marched bravely with t’band.

It happened that t’band belonged to a regiment,

With honours and tradition unsurpassed.

And young Tim’s illustrious forebears

Had banged drums and fought bravely t’last

Now grandfather Tim fought in Flanders,

Against Germans referred to as t’Bosche.

One day Jerry attacked regiment in numbers,

T’situation was desperate, nigh lost!

Pipers had no breath for their bagpipes,

But grandfather Tim banged his drum.

He stood up in full view of the enemy,

It seemed certain his time would soon come.

 

But then a strong wind blew up from the river,

And whipped his kilt up round his head.

Well Jerry took fright at this vision,

And whole lot of them turned and then fled!

Grandfather Tim were applauded,

CO said, ‘Have any medal you choose.’

King said he’d carry out ceremony,

But only if Tim wore his trews!

 

Now young Tim’s dad continued the tradition,

By taking his place in the band.

He was there at the bridge near to Arnhem,

With his drum helping paras to land.

Once again t’regiment were in danger,

And pipers had run out of puff.

So father Tim stood up on bridge parapet,

And showed he was more than just tough.

 

Just then the inevitable happened,

A gale force wind crossed the plain.

His kilt shot up round his shoulders.

The Germans said, ‘Oh no, not again!’

One glance at Tim’s father’s exposure,

Scared enemy troops full of dread.

They jumped in their tanks and high-tailed it,

Retreating to Deutschland instead.

 

Monty were that there delighted,

He praised young Tim’s dad through and through.

Then he pinned on a medal for bravery,

After checking that no gales were soon due!

‘So you see,’ said the Scotsman in a whisper,

‘Such bravery in young Tim is inbuilt.

So tonight we’ve taken precautions,

And sewn heavy lead weights in his kilt!!’

© David Anderson.