Henry's Column

What a day. Lots of paperwork to catch up, a funeral to attend, buzz off up the motorway on the Vespa for a hospital appointment, finish off the paperwork, load the RV for an over night trip to Birmingham. And this is my day off! But then a sunny day on the saddle of the blue Vespa, cruising down the M65 at 60 mph, no real traffic just hills and scenery, what else do I want?

Goodbye to a sad man
By Henry Tudor

The Vicar said it all, this man was a loner, a man of the earth
He had kept himself on the farm to death from his birth.
He could not speak to others, communicate, no way
He seemed rather grumpy and miserable every single day.
But now he’s gone forever, who do we moan about
His loud mouthed antics and tightness, his uncouth uncluttered shout.

He died alone in his single bed
His life not full, his dreams unlived
He existed alone in his fortress of brick
With his fenced in field, even when sick.

He did not want us to visit, he’d ask us to leave
How can anyone live so poor, we could not believe.
So goodbye Harry, your passing so pained
Did you notice we still came?
Twenty came to see you go
Never before had so many for you, show.

Not all people can fit in with a crowd
Some need to be in solitary and shout it aloud.
Some need to collect all trappings and wealth
But in the end trappings don’t give you health.
People must be accepted for just what they are
But keep a way back, keep one door ajar.

Sometimes your own company is good for you, but don't leave out the one's you love.


10th May 2008.
Well quite a week as Ray without a single sighting of Henry.
1. My wife’s brother died after a long illness.
2. My son-in-law’s life long friend committed suicide by jumping in front of a fast moving train not 200 yards from my house!
3. I went to Madrid for a break and it rained whilst England had a heat wave.
4. Got told off by a Spanish “Jobsworth” for pointing at a suit of armour in the Spanish Royal Palace, then getting blamed for the alarms going off when it was a maintenance crew causing it!
5. Brother in Law’s funeral clashing now and a lost standing booking to be rearranged.
6. Came back to chaotic school booking over past week from the website, with a full day of writing acceptance letters ahead of me.
So will I attempt to go away on a research trip again in school term? Maybe not.
Life is much simpler being Henry.

However there were some bright moments, I saw my two grandsons again, took their family out for dinner in Madrid and met a delightful English Lady who took my Wife and myself on an adventurous day out in the Spanish capital. She’s only been there a few weeks and she speaks the language as fast as they do, amazing.
Some tourists stared in wonder when i turned my camera over when taking pictures, now can you see why I did it?

I don’t care if Jobsworth lights up spellcheck, well so does Spellcheck!

May 6th 2008.
Is it hot in there?
By Henry Tudor

Starting on the inside then slowly working out
Vest and shorts with Simpson’s Bart, somewhere there about.
Then add on the shirt with string tied cuffs
A silk neck scarf to stop sore rebuffs.
Roll the black kilt twice round the block
Larges men’s tights instead of a sock.
Tie the dagger firm and cover with leather belt
Squeeze on the garter, sometimes achingly felt.
Slide into the leather hunting coat in black
Drop over the silver rose clasp at the back.
Now climb into the Royal coat all velvet and with fur
Heavy and cumbersome eyes now a blur.
Fit the woollen shoes with soles so that you will not slip
Balance the heavy gold chain on shoulders, not easy to flip.
Nearly ready for the crowd to see the reborn King
Just fit the furry hat, covered in pearls, gold and bling.
Need the silver walking stick to keep me upright now
Out I come into the sun and take my Royal bow.
Soon the layers all add heat to the fur and thick black leather
By noon I’m melting and praying for nice cold weather.
So if you must know about my clothes, yes they’re very hot
But I wouldn’t change them for the world, to me they’re not a blot.
They add to my face and create my act which is what I’m aiming for
My Henry look, my Kingly spook as I walk out the Tudor door.
Another shower, another day, another set of clothes
Must thrill the crowd, and fill the Halls and bring them in, in droves.


May 5th 2008.
Am off again on a jolly, Madrid no less. City of Palaces and beautiful art and hopefully a train journey to Aragon. Not wanting to drive in Spain these days due to the poor roads and mad drivers with their horns sounding at the confused Englishman in the lefthand drive hire car. So problem solved, use the train.

May 4th 2008.
It just seemed strange the other day, there I was under the disguise of a scooter rider with no facial identity thanks to a black crash helmet, a young girl waved a thumbs up, two spotty teenagers cheered as my Vespa passed, a middle aged taxi driver let me have priority and did the OK sign with his finger and thumb. Was I just noticing it for the first time or was there something going on?
The car park in town told me the answer; it was full of bikers, Harleys, Triumphs and classic scooters. All riders middle aged and enjoying their mid life crisis, I felt like a member of an exclusive club. I had nearly fell into the trap of considering the selling of my blue Union jack machine and buying a green, powerful electric bike to flow down the environmental route, as well the thought of free travel by charging the bike on caravan site hook ups. But, I moved back from the edge, I turned off the luring website and remembered all the fun I have had in the past 6 years with Vespa and the first powder blue Vespa on which I did all my courting some 40 years ago. No I cannot sell my machine, it’s part of my personality, it is me. The picture of me riding the Vespa whilst dressed as King Henry VIII has become an icon in Samlesbury Hall circles, the staff call it my Italian Stallion, I need to take some more pictures on it and explore the very nature of King of the Road. Two strokes and your in!

May the Fourth go with you!


20th April 2008.
Anybody who brings History Alive and who show that human beings make history, is good in my book. Today a group of enthusiastic people created the battle field as would have been seen during our own Civil War. Here are the Parliamentary forces surrounding the only Royalist they could find on site.


19th April 2008.

In the forest around my house
By Henry Tudor

Source of silence, darkness and calm
This woodland haven full of charm.
Full of colour, black and white
Scary place with bright moon light.

Owls they stare as I walk by
Try to stay quiet, no use, still try.
The crows nest high in family group
Off they go the hunter troop.

The grass is silver with cold air mist
The trees all quiver from moon light kiss.
Squirrel runs up bark shaped stairs
Around the trunk this land is theirs.

The paths now old and cracked with age
Another century gone, another page.
No one can take this world from me
My house was made from such a tree.

Wyche Elm for straightness and bendable
Created a home so dependable.
It served to keep use safe and warm
Kept us dry in many a storm.

Provided comfort a place to live
This forest, our forest, our thanks to give.
Thank you trees and grass and stream
Without you we would not be seen.

We now live together we and you
Forester, forest and family true.
You provide a life sustained
We will care, be maintained.

18th April 2008.
For a fantastic surprise and the appearance of a new character to join the Henry Tudor Drama Company, come to Samlesbury Hall on Sunday 27th April at 2pm.

11th April 2008.
In anticipation of a great trip to Kent in a couple of weeks, I dived into some research for local inclusion to my talks. Wonderful facts came streaming in regarding the local legend of Tong castle, created within the stretched skin of a single Ox as a grant of land between local Viking leaders. It has a silly twist in that the underdog had a beautiful daughter who married the boss and so made her father the next boss, sounds OK to me!

Ox Hides and Tongs
By Henry Tudor

A leather strip, a Tong so call
Once defined a castle behind stone wall.
A grant from Vortigern to Hengest, so be
Go build your fort, I set you free.

Build your place within the skin
The Ox’s Hide, but stay within.
Cut strips thin and make them stretch
Clear it out, get men to fetch.

So was born the Castle Tong
Within the skin they all belong.
Hengest was true and held his plan
Another Tong built near Nottingham.

Now came along a fair maiden blonde
Took Vortigern’s heart of him so fond.
He stopped his fight and settled down
Let her Father, Hengest, run the town.

This goes to show how change can occur
No need to fight and dig the spur.
Just marry off your precious girl
And watch the rules begin to twirl.

Hengest won to rule the day
Vortigern wished he’d stayed away.
Castle Tong was just created
Now unknown and uncelebrated.

10th April 2008.
Incognito
By Henry Tudor

Sometimes the crowd creates a barrier for me
Sometimes I need to be lone and be free.

Sometimes the world of Kings cause court strife
Sometimes I like to be walking with just me and my wife.

Sometimes problems appear from nowhere
Sometimes old Henry stifles my free air.

Sometimes the click of the camera is gross
Searching the colours of clothes and my rose.

Though often I love being the King
Sometimes being Ray is the done thing.

So if you see Henry hiding behind shade
Let him stay there and do not invade.

He sometimes needs quiet to think and to write
Let him alone, be Ray for the night.

Tomorrow his Henry will emerge in the sun
He will have recharged and now out for fun.

Thank you all out there for letting him rest
Lose tiredness and boredom to bring out his best.



5th April 2008.
Life without E
By Henry Tudor

Sammy Morse knew his task, to find out how to tap not ask,
He bought the New York times to read, not the story but letters for speed.
Count the use of all the set, make a graph of the alphabet,
Find out which should be a dot, could it be A or I or not?

He found a rule used to this day, the letter is E so common to say,
So he made his E a dot, I a dash now the computer world will not crash.
But stop a while and consider free, what would life be like without this curly E?

An armchair critic pointed it out to me, I had left Ann’s name minus an E,
Typing error my dear, not meant to inflame, just missed the key that’s to blame.
So let us see what words are changed if that little letter is rearranged,
Easy effort everyday, sorry these words must go away.

E less

Dot dot dash computr crash
Pixl word not absurd
Binary cod not so old
Kyboard war, vry whr.

Curly lttr non as bttr
Vowl King, clvr thing
Us som tact, whn you act
Not from high hors, b a Mors.

Criticis polit, nvr try to start a fight
Actions tak a whil to do, look in mirror, do you?
Mayb you will miss a lttr, trying though is so much bttr
Sit and watch and b aloof, dos not bring out ral truth.

If you have a thing to say, gt off th chair, today
Writ it out and past it high, us th wb in the sky
If you find an rror thn, tak it down and start again
But hold your tongu from shouting loud, you ar not standing abov a crowd.

My advic to all is strong, criticis if you s what’s wrong
But doing is hardr, an nrgy drain, critic’s though ar just a pain.
If you can do bttr, fin writ your lttr
But calm th ton, or b alon.


30th March 2008.
By Henry Tudor

Sheltered from the wind and rain
Extracted well to make this pane
Spun like pools of spiralled mass
To form the making of this magnificent glass.

Hot and sticky with room to flow
The molten made by those who know
They spin it round so fast and well
The thickness shrinks, the diameter swell.

Down thickness goes to make a pane
Cut it up to build again
Using lead to form a Came
Fit the Quarries to create some gain.

But be warned to enter this status game
Not all glass says you’re the same
Some is rough from near the eye
Middle-glass your status nigh.

Some is smooth but at the top
This makes you the peak of your crop
But now you can be rough
Down below or a cut above.

Do not sell your entire house at one go
Your glass belongs to you, y’know
Take it with you, add in new frame
Because this glass will keep your status same.

The glazier sells his craft to you
But wait what about the Bulls-eye too?
It’s perfect for expanding light
It will light up a tavern in the darkest night.

The bouncer will check the penny toll
Then throw it in to see it roll
Without this glass where would we be?
No status, no taverns, no light to see.



25th March 2008.
Lots of people have asked of me “Where do you get your costumes made?” and I always answer that my past four suits were all made by differing people because of how rich I felt and the quality I received. My last one, the red Holbein has been the best one yet though delivery was rather heart-stopping and the buttons keep coming off. The actual material and sewing construction of the outer coat has been superb. Now I am looking to buy a fifth suit, not standard to Holbein and in my own choice of colouring, trying to be King and trying to produce the kind of costume he would have worn in his normal day. Reproducing paintings for the audience is only ever a snapshot of the real Henry and I want to develop this character with his moods and his lifestyle so I can understand him better.
For this project I have set up a new page, 24 of this website called The King’s New Clothes, please follow the steps towards the conclusion, it should be an interesting ride.

24th March 2008.
A Day In The Life of King Henry VIII
By Henry Tudor

Get up early the King will rise soon
Warm his silver handles and ready the room.
Get all the clothing for riding, his sport
He’ll expect his things ready, for failure is nought.

Five thirty he rises and readies to ride
Wash his person and dress him, in leather, raw hide
He sends out his runners with horses to wait
Then out he goes hunting, spares to wait at each gate.

Hunting until dinner at eleven o’clock
He returns to a fanfare, redresses in smock.
Dines with his courtiers until both sittings fed
Then off for a rest and read poems in bed.

To dress a blunt stone with nap on the edge
A sleep will sharpen this King’s witty knowledge.
A fresh suit will hasten immediate response
For some will attempt to beat his defence.

Now the time has arrived to meet important folk
Ambassadors, Princes, all intelligently spoke.
Sign off all past matters and create a few new
Start many a ball rolling, affecting the few.

After the signing of important law
Our King now needs to dance out there on the floor.
Brawl and Hive to music so true
One hundred couples glide effortlessly through.

Now the days ends with cards and some wine
Some reading from Bible in Latin this time.
Goodnight dear Henry, go to your huge bed
Then sneak to your small one and sleep there instead.

It is ten in the evening and King falls asleep
Next day just like this one, an appointment to keep.
Will rise again early to catch the deer herd
To think the King lazy must now sound absurd.

22nd March 2008.
Tudor Propaganda
By Henry Tudor

In days of old when Knights were bold
And newspapers had not been invented.
Only word of mouth and acts of theatre
Could tell about Royals from just hearsay, intended.

Old grandmother Margaret led the way to declare Tudor rule
Take my son as your King, he certainly is no fool.
He was descended from the great round table
That dearest King Arthur enhanced by our fable.

We killed the Third of Richard line
The throne for the Tudors is now mine.
Not a usurper, not a coup’
Justice has reigned, a new kingship for you.

Now name the first born to complete the plan
Arthur II, the new Camelot man.
Build up a palace at Richmond place
Named after Henry, a spectacular space.

With spires and bridge a Camelot build
As if Arthur was there, left there by will.
Now, bring back the jousting upon a white horse
The people will love it, belief is the force.

Pembroke and Merlin a bridge down in Wales
Connect it together and fix it with nails.
Our green and white background, his dragon to brag
Create the illusion, create the Welsh Flag.

So thank you dear Margaret of Lancaster great
You solve our big problem, creating our fate.
We Tudors now have credence to rule on our own
Now Arthur is family, the family’s Crown.

15th March 2008.
A large parcel dropped through my door this morning containing wonderful letters from children at Milking Bank School in Dudley near to Wolverhampton. I pass this place many times as it is near the M6/M5 interchange and my RV seems to pass the RAC building there on a regular basis. I always think of the school as I pass, I silently say hello in my head, "I hope you are all well". So in reply to these great Children and their Teachers here is a poem just for you.

Impressive Dudleys
By Henry Tudor

There’s been lots of Dudley’s in our land
Men usually, taking rule to hand.
Taking Edward’s place ‘til he grew of age
Taking heads from Seymour’s in dangerous rage.

There was Lady Jane Grey a burden to carry
Guilford Dudley forced her to marry.
Then what about Queen Bess and Beau
To Robert Dudley she answered, No.

These Midland men have painted history
How they did so, remains a mystery.
They left behind a famous name
Dudley, yes Dudley now in the frame.

I met the folk at Milking Bank
Our future Dudley’s we all will thank.
They work so hard and labour so
Until work is done they refuse to go.

My visit there with court and King
Lifted my heart to enter Spring.
They laughed and smiled throughout the day
They begged me not to go, but stay.

Now I pass, but in my mind
I remember those smiles I left behind.
They cheer me up when I am low
Always with me wherever I go.

Henry Tudor 2008.

12th March 2008.
Gone Wild
By Henry Tudor

Used to be leaves on tracks and plastic mac's
Windy piers and red cheek tears.
Lotion on beach to places within reach
Worst thing in the sea, babies having pee.

All has since changed, weather rearranged
Now floods hit twice sometimes thrice.
An annual hate, board it up and wait
Winds take off roof, mud under hoof.

Slides into sea, from houses we flee
Waves take out our shore, plant ships galore.
It’s now in our wake, even an Earth quake
So what’s going on in this land, getting out of hand.

Don’t blame all on ozone holes, or even increase in moles
Not even carbon foot it’s simpler the root.
A cycle of climate, around like a gyrate
Comes to hit us as predicted, others just conflicted.

A world effect we feel, intercontinental and real
No escape from El Nino, wherever you go.
The heat inside our Earth is spilling out like new birth
Melt the caps, raise the sea, take the land, fell the tree.

Roman fields of salt for gold, lost their land to sea unfold
Two millennia ago they felt the tide, left their field, the need to hide.
Tudor ice-age now unknown, frozen rivers through our town
Why did our land flood so quick, windy rivers do the trick?

Short and straight the northern way, never floods to this day
Same amount of water too, runs so fast, goes straight through.
So is there hope to plan ahead, take the silt out of our river bed
Plant more trees to drink the wet, the oxygen extra we will get.

11th March 2008.
Dad’s Army
By Henry Tudor
An evening just for me, my wife’s idea even though she would normally walk out of the lounge if Dad’s Army came on the TV, bored and wondering just in what way does it appeal to her entranced husband. My life partner and Mother of my family discovered that the stage version of Dad’s Army was actually on its last night in Blackpool just thirty miles away and it was just five hours of the curtain coming up. “Why don’t you find out on the internet if there are any seats left and book them, we can be there in forty minutes?” She said behind my head as I added up my weekly Henry expenses and made ready for another day tomorrow at Samlesbury Hall. I must say I was quite surprised, my humour must be quite basic when compared to hers, what with Carry on films, Peter Sellers and Reg Perrin, she must have been biting her tongue with the offer. The Grand Theatre did have space for our two persons and so I purchased two in the dress circle without considering the description of “at the end of the row”. The trip was not forty minutes thanks to a road works stopping the actual exit to Blackpool, so not a good start then. The SatNav nearly shouted at me for missing the turn off but then how would she know the ramp was coned off? She, the voice of TomTom took us both on a round about route via the airport into the centre of the seaside town and up to the usual entrance to the road with the car park, except it was not there any more, a new building had taken it away and poor old TomTom was trying to guide my car into the wooden wall hiding the builders vans. Taking the reigns I tried to get to the car park by wriggling through back alleys and parked cars, taxi’s honked at me, no entry signs changed my movement and brain planning but eventually we were entering the car park next door to the theatre. Dark unlit and wet, virtually empty thanks to the horrendous route which other drivers must have dropped from their plans, I parked and went to find the ticket machine. £4.40 for 4 hours are they taking the Mickey? An empty car park, hidden from the public and they want nearly $10 for four hours, but knowing the reaction by my passenger, I paid it and said nothing, even hiding the cost when I placed the ticket on the dashboard, no need to start a negative.
The walk to the Theatre was silent on my part, I knew my wife was bracing herself for the performance of a play she would never have chosen for herself and I could feel a tensioning in her hand when we first saw the billboard advertising the play. The crowd was large, or should I say it was larger than the small foyer and so looked large, tickets collected and off we went up the stairs to our seats on the end of the front row in the dress circle. Not a good place, the curved from row in this grand old theatre take the end seat virtually up to the stage left and any scenery on the left cannot be seen at all, leaning over to view just what I might be missing resulted in a sharp poke in the right hip from an angry wife. Then the crowd behind arrived, obviously from a bar somewhere and the annual loud talking competition. I gulped and wondered what was on the TV at home, even gardening programmes would be better than this, or even a cooking guide and DIY scene, not the same as this tight seating position with a mob of mouthing adult yobs as company.
The play began after a series of world war songs, no scenery really to miss just a few chairs and a desk and a window which went up and down for different scenes. The characters were well known to all the audience except a few children who seemed to be bored whilst their parents were eyeballing the stage, nudging each other with recognition. I cannot tell you all about the four plots in this show, the Unseen episodes being three of them whilst the last one being my favourite with the German prisoners taking lists of names for future use. It was well done by all the cast, having to follow the gems of the silver screen in a stage version must have been hell to tackle as I know by my own act-a-like show. I cannot say I joined in the laughter with the audience, I just sat there and took it all in, noticing small actions by the actors bringing their TV characters back to life, it was a lecture to me. Lecture is a good description because it showed me that I was not alone in my love of this comedy show, they all laughed where I would have laughed at home, they chuckled and gasped just where I would and I knew my heart was with the audience but I could not join in. I enjoyed the performance but wondered if I could now enjoy it again on the TV, had the stage show taken away the original cast in my mind and made Dad’s Army a common stage? I wish I had not gone.
The trip home was quiet, not daring to explain why I was quiet, and if I had enjoyed the play or not, my mind was still making up. Then we arrived at yet another road works which stopped us entering the next motorway and added another three miles and twenty minutes to the journey. At home I was ready to talk about the play. Never return to your childhood scenes, the original Dad’s Army was what I loved, not just the script, the story lines and the endearing actors who are nearly all dead now, all of these put together make it the best show in my mind. This play is good, it is Dad’s Army, but it’s not my Dad’s Army and that’s the difference. And the road works, drunken next row were only trying to stop me seeing it. Stupid Boy!
I made this picture from the programme plus some actual ration books from the cupboard.

And by the way! I always sat there silent deep in concentration when the original show was running on TV, only when the repeats hits the screen did I begin to laugh out loud. I would like to thank the producers and the cast for bringing it all back, and all you Dad's Army lovers out there, go and see it and jump to it.

9th March 2008.
Daffodils
By Henry Tudor

Yellow always gives us hope, we tie it around our tree
Waiting for kin to return, setting their souls free.
Shake off the cold winter storm, frost with glittering ice
Bring hope for the newest Spring, the Winter the harshest price.
Snowdrops have all but vanished what next to fill our sight?
Why daffodils of course, came out in the grounds overnight.

Poetic justice from lakeside hero could tell it better than me
I just saw this clump of fresh flowers growing next to Horse-chestnut tree.
So how can I show it with glory, not loosing a single detail?
Why use my normal position, I’ll get down on my knees like a snail.
With my trusty new camera I dived to the floor for a view
Take a picture of House through the petals and here it is just for you.



8th March 2008.
A day off at last! Being Henry is fun but when I'm Henry for 28 days out of 30 it becomes overpowering and exhausting. Today back to Ray, back to playing my guitar, listening to Katherine Jenkins and playing with my baby grandchildren. Tonight I'm off with the missus to see a stage version of my all time favourite comedy show, Dad's Army! Blackpool Grand theatre here I come. "Who do you think you are kidding Mr. Hitler.........." Can't wait. Stupid Boy Pike!

5th March 2008.
The Nether End
By Henry Tudor

Not pausing to think amongst the bedchamber stink
The groom stood there still at the stool.
The King’s toilet, don’t spoilt it
This jobs better than playing the fool.

Next to the stool-room, quiet, dark shadowy gloom
To wipe the King’s personal hind.
A job like this so hard and scarce to find
Least I don’t have to clean with a broom.

The chamber pot, sat in its slot
In the casket with velvet black seat
Empty his bowels and bladder of waste
Then clean his nether end with indifferent haste.

The apothecary tests the contents by taste
Salt is the key to blending this waste
Alter his diet to make him feel good
Keeping a check on diet and food.

Only the gentlemen can handle the King
Touching his person not the done thing.
Dressing with style and elegance too
After washing your hands to rid of the loo.

Manikins called babies wore all the days clothes
Three complete changes kept warm near the stoves.
Only three wearings makes each out of date
Nobody will view this King when not great.

Even the portrait has a secret to tell
The King would not wear it, just pose it so swell.
Of course he must not falter from centre the stage
His costume’s just for portrait, so turn the next page.

The toilet and washing so private that’s true
The dressing, the scenting, known only to few.
Being the groom true secrets depend
Keep sights to yourself about the Royal Nether-end

2nd March 2008.

Treeface
By Henry Tudor

Dark and lonely in the woods, dying trees all round
Could it be thoughts that conjours my fear,
Or animals moving under and over the ground.

Maybe the leaves and wind alienate, the background to scare
The stream and the falls both screaming by,
Concentrate and stare only if you dare.

Whistling while you walk won’t stop your mind’s scene
The darkness grows fast the Sun has now gone,
The moon adds to the film, an owls seems to scream.

The eyes in the root stares at you menacingly so
Throw a stone to scare it away, no joy,
Turn away and run from dangerous foe.

Now you are safe and back there at home
What will you do to calm your minds eye,
Go out in morn’ and cut that trees down .

Next day the Sun is so bright the forest is clear
I retraced my fearful night
This trees last night had eyes, I swear.

I could not cut such a harmless barked tree
Innocent and true this plant was to me
The light and my mind had influenced me.




21st February 2008.
Just how much was there between Henry and Francis in the competition of Kingly prowess? Take the conquest of love for the Boleyn girls in the play in Ardres Castle, Francis bragging about his poer over Mary Boleyn and Henry planning his escape from Katalina with Anne her sister.

I Beat You Francis
By Henry Tudor

You may be young and muscled pure
But I have lived a life strong and sure
You may be King of acres France
But don’t be thinking you have a chance.

The Fields of Gold are wet and dull
I will show you my power in full
My play will bring a tear to eye
Young Mary will commit to your alibi.

She dances like a smitten cloud
You dribble, and choose her, out loud
To make me look the incensed fool
I will take it gently, that’s my rule.

Her sister, cold and out of reach
Young Ann Boleyn, of whom I speak
I will take her to my private life
You, dear Francis, care for thy wife.

So I win, the stakes were high
The cold, resistant target nigh
I will love this girl of cold intent
Though to be Queen she must consent.

Dear Francis, King all you survey
Watch your back, the Romans stay
Take care dear friend, not all are true
The Papal force will come after you.

I win, you lose, our bet is done
Anne is mine, I have won.
She will give me a boy to rule
Or she will make me look the fool.

Her role in life, dear perseverance
Needs to prove her real deliverance
Take me away from Spanish rule
Give me a boy, to carry truth.

Goodbye King Francis, part we may
Ne’er shave ‘till again we stay
In company Royal, Field in Gold
Remember me and Anne, not so bold.


19th February 2008.
Not All fathers Are Great
By Henry Tudor

I wonder to see great parents who love and cherish their brood
Then I turn with closeted anger and now in depressed dark mood.
Not all Fathers are doting, play with their kids till they drop
Some ignore them completely, some even beat them non-stop.
When immerging as grand-dad you’d expect them to change their old ways
But no, my Father was evil, he reverted to his evil old days.
So being a loving Father myself, I took my family away
Never will he see my three daughters and great-grand children to this day.
My Father he died after two years in Alzheimer mind
I visited him out of hope that maybe he would turn to be kind.
Never did he once mention the way he treated his kin
Just like a devil was still in him, toughening his impervious skin.
I beg to believe in comeuppance, divine plan of our life on this Earth
His last two years he spent in his own hell, but I still hoped he would show me some worth.
But no, he died without smiling at pictures of my happy young tribe
He missed all the fun and the growing, the family I now proudly describe.
We will all turn up for his ending, we never will miss him at all
But think of all the things he took, he split us away like a fall.
Goodbye the man who made me, but remember if you see me now
I’m not like you, you old devil, I love my family and how.
I’ll never hurt them, as you did, I’ll always be there for them
So leave us be from now on, go to find your place, Amen.

18th February 2008.
My Father died yesterday I need time to myself.

13th February 2008.
Waiting at the gate for a bus of children is my way of welcoming schools who have paid a lot of money for the day and so should be looked after in Royal fashion, methinks. However one cannot turn off one's poetic brain and here is the result of that wait this morning.

Passers-by
By Henry Tudor

The busy road is fast and straight
Boy racers test their toys past our gate.
Cops wait to catch them in the bush
I love to see their faces blush.

But here am I in Henry’s drive
Waiting for a Coach to arrive.
Thirty eager beavers looking for fun
Many would think about that, and run.

But whilst I wait I ponder
Could I fool the passing cars, I wonder?
So stand with legs apart and head held high
To make old Holbein proud, I try.

I have noted recent antiquations
From car reactions to seeing apparitions.
Here is my formulated review
Keep it secret, it’s just for you.

White vans honk their horns, then throw a can
Juveniles show their butts from windowed vans.
Sporty Scooby doo’s, flash their lights
Swerve and wander off their sights.

Buses slow to show their load
The mighty Henry next to the road.
Trucks open windows and cheer me on
Their ship Claxton’s wailing and draft upon.

Little Nissan, the pensioners friend
Swerves up to the wall and nearby bend.
Cyclist laugh but nearly fall
Runners stop for an unplanned call.

So if you see old Henry guard
The Tudor Hall and Tudor yard.
Watch where you drive and take careful aim
You might run him over, a terrible shame.


For 10th February 2008.
Henry Abroad
By Henry Tudor

The role of leader under threat by higher order whom we met
Maximilian Katherines kin, wants to make sure I stay within.
Invite me over to join great fight, beat the French with allied might
But Emperor’s aim was to show me how, he can kill so cold, I’m colder now.
Siege a town poor and weak, show their heels to flee their strength did leak
Cruelty came from Roman King, kill them all burn it down, kill the town.
Sorrow felt to stand unsaid, memories still nightmare my bed
But the lesson was learnt so swift and hard; do not ride against this killer lord.
Now my wife claims greater goal, Scottish war, Kings Head in bowl.
Flodden takes away my glory name, so rename my war though not the same
Battle of the Spurs sounds quite bravado, not really as those who know
Too many people died that day, Emperor’s heart not easy to sway.

Seven years on and France again, trying to find a new allied friend
Francis may help to stem the tide, of bitter movement in Holy stride.
Golden fields of cloth and men, Ten thousand friends together again
Francis and Henry friends to we die, never to shave again say I.
Damsels enact a glorious plot, Sister and Mary then Anne I do spot.
Perseverance her role and aloof was her way, I wanted her close with me from today.
We made a pledge against Roman will; together we could beat this ignorant kill
But alas it broke down when Francis was taken, his nation now Rome’s, its heart forsaken.
The girls returned home to rapturous applause, Mary and Mary and Anne now of course.
A new chapter is breaking in my nation that’s clear, the Roman will pay, and pay he did dear.

Be you Luther or Protest against Roman control, the Emperor is lost now nowhere to go.
The seeds which were planted from plague ridden Church, have now grown so strongly no need to search.

Explanation of poem:
Henry went to help Maximilian to take the town of Therouanne with a pitched battle in the field nearby at Enguinegatte. Maximilian however was using it as a threat to Henry to stay in line with his Empire of Rome and the Pope. By murdering all the people in the town after a long siege the Emperor demonstrated to Henry just what would happen to England if he swayed away. Henry was shocked by this killing of innocents just to make a point and from this day he hated the Emperor and sought new ways to get away from his grip. An alliance was sought with France which was also swaying, and the Field of the Cloth of Gold was meant to be a great Peace and coming together of two powerful Nations which could fight and win against the Holy Roman Empire. During the celebrations the lone figure of Anne Boleyn came to Henry notice during a play by the Royal womenfolk for the two Kings. Francis told Henry he already had Mary Boleyn as his mistress and they both eyed the shy, dark Anne her sister. Ann Boleyn now became an obsession for Henry and within six more years she was his Queen, the Emperor and Pope kicked out of England’s religion and a new era begins. Poor old Francis was captured and imprisoned in Madrid, dying a broken man.


9th February 2008.
Just how much reward would one expect from a research trip? Firstly how much did it cost to do it in the first place must be accounted. Well there’s five days lost income in gigs, then there’s 850 miles in diesel for a 3.5 tonne vehicle, then there’s the ferry charges plus changes in plan costs of differing ferries, then there’s accommodation sites and food and of course all the time and effort to process the results.
So you see to research even the smallest of detail will cost a lot to do it well. Having just returned from what my wife calls a “jolly” which was in fact a serious bit of research in Northern France I am able to report back to you all that the trip was more than successful it was outstandingly successful.
Here are the outcomes:
1. I found out where the famous charade with Mary Tudor, Mary Boleyn and Anne Boleyn was staged and thus the very place and time when Henry met Anne for the first time.
2. I saw for myself the whole scene of The Field of the Cloth of Gold (1520) and The Battle of the Spurs (1513) and saw the real battle in my head and the mental outcome in Henry’s.
3. The wrestling match between Henry and Francis I.
4. The towns of Guines and Ardres seen at first hand and spoken with Historian from local society.
5. Now understand the whole thing and how the Boleyns’ and Brandons’ were involved.
Not so much a research trip, more a revelation trip! Keep an eye on the website for the next few days as I am busy writing articles and answering long lost-in-time questions that I couldn’t answer before. See last few questions.

8th February 2008.
I'm back, though not sitting too well on the throne!
I have invented a new work related illness, it's called MercBuem. It is the sore backside when sitting on hard vehicle seats for 900 miles and now add to this the fact that a Mercedes Benz is a notorious place for hard seats. I don't care that they last a lifetime, that they keep their shape, do not wear out, they are so hard they leave a vast impression on the poor old driver. Why can't Merc's have softer seats? I placed a cushion on the seat, made me too high, I manouvred so many times into new injury free positions that it looked like a South American dance in slow motion. I dread the next long distance trip.
Oh nearly forgot to mention, had a most enjoyable trip to Northern France and discovered some very interesting facts about Henry. I also met the Historian at the centre of the Field of the cloth of Gold circa 1520, and I hope a new bond has been formed.
Must go now and soak my MercBuem as I am off to see a Roy Orbison lookalike tonight, booked whilst I was away, I think I would rather have a sore Buem. I hate watching other lookalikes, weird eh!
Keep an eye open for my report, it is so deep in new facts and pictures I will make it a chapter alongside the Anna Von Kleve story.

3rd February 2008.
In thirty minutes I'm off on my travels again. Night driving down to Dover then early morning ferry over to Calais. Another 60 miles and guess where I will be?
Guines. The place of the Field of the Cloth of Gold!
Then two days Later another 40 miles to The Battle of the Spurs!!
Research is such a great thing.
Bye for now

Let us see if the 100,000 barrier gets broken whilst I'm away.

2nd February 2008.
A snowy day today and the Gig, a Tourist venue exhibition. Meet N Greet and give out the leaflets plus some photographs and other Reenactors to talk to. Just another day as Henry.

Must say that these players were fine musicians who could hold a great note whilst walking through crowds, now that takes some skill.

1st February 2008.
I can hear the laughing from here, The Finns, The Swedes, The Norwegians watching with big cheesy grins at the news. Watching us in England. "One inch of snow and a bit of wind". Yes but they're used to it, they drive armoured cars by Volvo and Saab, they pack provisions in case a pack of hungry wolves surrounds them in the forests in the carpark, and of course they are completely crazy. Of course the bad weather effects us here in the UK, we are a moderate climate, they are an extreme climate. They come here for their holidays, I've been in their imported traffic jams up in "cold" Scotland. What if, what if their Winter was very mild, no snow, no frost, no wind, just say 15 degrees and rain. Then we would hear them moaning too.
Yesterday in a school known for great effort and friendliness where some of my distant relatives still get a wonderful education, I saw this door sign and nobody notices it.
Tick Tock
By Henry Tudor

Familiarity disappears the obvious fault
To insiders working hard for their salt
But in comes new eyes and suddenly spies
A glaring mistak, sorry mistake so a poem must make.

If this is a Tockroom where is the Tickroom
If it was a Stockroom, was there too a Stickroom?
Could there be a Boom-cupboard not a Broom-cupboard
Outside an Arpark not a carpark.

Sounds like the Poet needs to get out more
Instead of taking pictures of a signed door.
Go find a beauty spot and write a witty jot
Three verses is all, the picture tells all.

I’m Bored now so must find the Boardroom.



27th January 2008.
The authors of the caravan magazine site descriptors must have been ex-marketing men. They can find good features in any situation.
Two years ago I went to a Scottish site near Aberdeen, “Woodcutting on your doorstep” meant a large yellow stacker truck beeping every time it reversed which was all the time all night!
Then there was the “suitable for the angler”, the site was flooded!
Then a site with lots of space was on the large dog walk.
Now I’m off tomorrow to Crawley in Sussex to work in a school. The site is located on the end of Gatwick airport’s runway and is described as “Suitable for the plane spotter!” Let’s hope they don’t issue landing paddles.
Keep an eye on the column as I am going to try out my newest gadget, the mobile browser in between the landing 747’s.

25th January 2008.
Teaching a class the steps of Samlesbury Halls own dance has its moments. But getting boys of 8 years old to dance with girls of 8 years old is like pulling teeth. Here is a poem about the dance entitled "The Hive" for a hall of small proportions and where the couple only use a two metre square, sort of buzzing about like bee's but with many underlying meanings.
Firstly the men must not bow by leaning forwards or you are being very "forward", sweep your left leg around to the back bending down into a bow so that your head does not go forward. The lady to left leg curtsy following the bow. Now follow the poem.
Steps
By Henry Tudor

Swing good leg around and back
Never leave the floor, that’s slack.
Keep your back straight and tall
This night of Tudor, no drink, no fall.

Bow not stoop for Lady true
Don’t lean forward, shame on you.
She will curtsy low in tune with song
Not need for rest, not very long.

Hold your arm above her head
She steps into the arch instead.
Stride around her back to guide her on
Two steps forwards, now you’re gone.

Repeat these steps ‘till tunes doth stop
Do not change your hand from flop.
Unless you now like her be praised
For she will see now your hand has raised.

This simple dance in Tudor hall
Maybe done in Palace Ball.
Indicate the man’s intention
Must be Henry’s cunning invention.

So what must we call this small hall dance?
So short of space, it doth entrance.
To bring together man and girl
By just a simple, tuneful twirl.

22nd January 2008.
Working away for a full week, and the next month is the same story. Pictures are wonderful and so are the people I'm meeting, no poetry in my head at the moment but I'm sure it's not the end of the line, just a busy station.

19th January 2008.
No Hiding Place
By Henry Tudor

Big brother’s got me at last, I’ve managed to stay aloof in the past.
Leave the house get on the road, was my excuse no need to goad.
I could never reply to emails and phone, driving out there, quiet and alone.
Then along came Hi tech to stop it all there, now I’m discovered, quite bare.

A new gadget has appeared in my trouser pocket, a web browser without need to dock it.
All my emails now come to wherever I am, nowhere to hide, nowhere to scram.
All the internet on my person, all that highway, all that information.
Now I can answer anything to anyone, now no need for books, notes or even phone.

Mind you cannot use it when I’m being the King, never had Techno, no such thing.
Never had radio, Phone or TV, only had pigeons and pens, that’s good enough for me.
So if you still cannot find just where I am, it may not be your ‘puter that’s in a right jam.
It’s probably just that now I’m Royal again, so just wait till I get back to the office and pain.

I’m not knocking High Techno, it’s great in it’s place, though must say it’s nice to find a quiet space.
I like to buy, book, read all and reply, to all my web friends I won’t say goodbye.
This new gadget will win my affection, as soon as I consider by reflection.
It will connect me to all, won’t let me fall, never to stall
That’s all.

For those who really want to know just what this new gadget is:
A Web browser for the pocket, always connected, full internet, emailing, and GPS mapping. "Pocket Surfer 2" Not the top of the computer range by any means, but for £180 the best there is and cheapest to run.

17th January 2008.
90
by Henry Tudor

Class sizes do count in the education stakes
Too many voices lead to mistakes.
But when they are true learners, who co-operate
Much can be done to celebrate.

I met them today, a mass of eager folk
At first the thought, was bad to evoke
But I soon found they were a team, and very keen
A combination seldom seen.

So when I’m asked for time to show
My HenryR the best way I know.
I will ask how many eager beavers are there?
‘cos if they are all keen I don’t care.

Ninety children keen to find out
What the Tudors were really about.
Soon got it across, not hard to this group
They listened, asked, tried, stayed in the loop.


16th January 2008.
Has it affected me?
By Henry Tudor

Some sixty years in modern land
Family grown to independent band.
But now I wear a crown and fur
Jewels too, sword and spur.

I wear clothes fit for a King like me
A real Henry eight, that’s me you see.
So when they ask does it affect my life
Don’t ask me, ask my wife.

She’ll say, “He’s more outward looking”
She’ll say too, “still loves my cooking.”
I’ll say that’s right I do
But I like banquets and dining too.

I walk now with head held high
Don’t care who is looking, do I.
Will not take poor service now I’m King
Take it back, complain, do his thing.

So in answer to your query now
Yes being Henry has affected me, and how.
I like colours, quality and bling
I find myself doing his thing.

People recognise my face and cheer
“Hey Henry, what you doing round ‘ere?”
But now I answer and wave respect
Must give them time, not to neglect.

I walk into Tudor house, with open mind
Not as Henry, but my old kind.
I hope to find the answer why
I feel like Henry, no need to try.

“Hey aren’t you that Henry bloke?”
Enquires a tourist as a joke.
“Why yes sir, that King I am”
Which makes the man turn and scram.

Finally, I must admit a ploy
To scare the tourist is my joy.
I love to cause a great uproar
When they see me pass through a door.

They can’t get a hold of what they view
How can Henry be here as good as new?
I will not let my little secret out
As leave it a mystery, not to shout.

14th January 2008.
A day off! Books to keep and letters to write but all put off because of a 7 month mite! Looking after my little grandaughter, 20lbs of wiggling, curiosity who loves to pull at Henry's beard. Gotta go, how can I type with a baby on my knee?

Written after she went home!

With a Baby Under Your Arm
By Henry Tudor

Bright young eyes which melt your very heart
Smiles that bring tears to your eyes, now they smart.
Spinning around to see all around the room
Playing with boxes, plastic bottles and broom.
Your ward for this day will keep you away
Away from your work, your hobby your play.
This little child under your arm
Never means anybody any harm.
But rules the way you work rest and play
Forget the plan, this is their day.
How can you write, type or draw
Only one hand and for them, a big bore.
So give in and let them have full attention
Oh! Feeding, cleaning, sleeping, forgot to mention.
Pull Granddad’s grey beard, his ear lobes too
Stare straight into his eyes, she’s looking at you.
Support her and walk her over the floor
Drive her plastic walker through the tight door.
Press all the buttons on techno toy spree
End up bouncing her on creaky old knee.
Walk her swiftly in her new pram
Off to the shops for bacon and ham.
The ride is a comfort for she falls asleep
Stay out in all weathers, her slumber to keep.
Thank heaven it’s over, her Mum comes to collect
Exhaustion has set in though we both do connect.
Sixty years is between us, baby and me
I’ll always remember her sat on that knee.
But wait, there’s a problem, she’s only one third
The other two babies they too, follow my word.
Now I’m not working a daily routine
Just being Henry is harder than seen.
When I get home now from Castle and Hall
I must play with my children’s children, them all.
Sometimes I hide in office in t’dark
They want to play hard, to have a good lark.
They’re full of great energy of time and of fun
Me! I’m tired and old now, too old to run.


12th January 2008.
Broom Cottages Primary
By Henry Tudor

You would be proud to belong to this bunch
Red woolly uniforms queued up for their lunch.
Cheeky smiles and bright sparkling eyes
No need to pretend. No need for disguise.

These are real people, working so hard
Getting their work done, then playin’ hard in yard.
They smile and they laugh to make it seem good
But don’t forget this, all is understood.

This school with its History and Secondary space
Gives its best to the Township, there’s no better place.
Ferryhill, an old mine town now dormitory bed
Still has a fine people, much more can be said.

I met this community two days in the cold
Just past the festive season, New Year not so old.
But their cheerful outlook warmed up my cold face
As soon as they saw Henry turn up in their space.

“Hey Henry, how many TV’s have you got?
In two hundred roomed castles, you must have a lot!"
"Are you the real Henry, I’m sure you must be dead
Or maybe they froze you and stored you instead."

"Naw! You’ve gotta be an actor, from TV or stage
No-one could live that long, a gigantic like age."
"Do ya like to watch footie, Newcastle and t’like?
Or Sunderland on Saturdays or go off on yer bike?"

"Just who the heck are you, King or a fake?
Driving around in old camper, smokin’ engin’ and no brake."
"We don’t care really to be honest, ‘cos we all loved it so
So goodbye dear ol’ ‘enry, we don’t want you to go."

I think I beat my own record for spellcheck red-lining with this poem!

Come On You Reds!

7th January 2008.

Boiling Eggs
By Henry Tudor

Some like them hard, or dipping too
Some like them runny and wet right through.
But boiling an egg with just a clock
The cooking world it really does mock

Now hear me well, for I have news
I have figured it out from natures clues.
Any egg be it Hen or Ostrich
Makes an egg from materials which
Have the same ingredient
So cooking them is no big event.

Wet an egg and watch it dry
When it’s cold it takes time, just try.
But when an egg is hot and cooked
It dries at different speeds, ‘cos I have looked.

Here’s the directions from one who knows
Boil the eggs freely on heat that glows.
Now take an egg out of the wet
And count in seconds drying time
See what you get.

Less than eight it’s hard and dry
Nine it’s getting loose, why?
Ten it getting dippable and wet
Eleven it’s dippable perfect.
Twelve is so much wetter to delve
Thirteen, raw like off the shelf.

You ask me how does this occur
It’s easy really is called heat transfer.
The wetter centre takes more time
The harder, drier yoke, soon is fine.
No matter the size as shell covers all
The volume relates to shell area
Big or small.

So there you have it, a final plan
This old problem, in the pan.
All your eggs will now be perfect
No need to trial one and inspect.


6th January 2008.

Using Your Name
By Henry Tudor.

Being remembered is fine, your names a good sign.
Produce something with fame, then give it your name.
Biro had a great notion, his ball pen cause a commotion.
Hoover had lots of luck, the dirt from carpet he did suck.
Ford well what’s there to say, blue oval famous today.
Volta quite a spark, caused light from the way it did arc.
Ampere did quite a high jump, when his current gave him a thump.
Benz did a car he make, giving daughter Mercedes a namesake.
Amerik had a country named, not really famed.
But wait there might be trouble, some names not easy to double.
Poor old Thomas Crapper, his toilet flushed like a dapper.
Meet me at Waterloo, better than meeting yours there too.
Monsieur Guillotine, a designer not that mean
His mate Mister Eiffel, towered above for an eye-full.
Charlie Hatton loved his garden, now the jewellers beg his pardon.
Diesel knew how to make fuel swell, those behind know the smell.
You don’t need Cockneys to make things rhyme, people are doing it all the time.
Keep on making things we need, name it after yourself with greed.
Down in History you will go, your name an exam answer for them who’ll know.
But be careful what name you use, you could be called Mr.Fuse.
Now try selling things that’s quiet, not so easy now, try it.
Sell an alarm clock with little fuss, not if you are called Mr.Bus.
Your new perfume named to sell, Mrs Belch won’t do well.
Take my tip and do a Dyson, name it with pride, this one’s a nice one.
Dyson means, different and clever, Dyson means ridicule never.
But simpler still dream one up, to increase your scope with lots of luck.



5th January 2008.

Durham a place I've never really been too, a place I miss already.
I passed through the beautiful City of Durham a couple of months ago at about 01.00AM and on my way overnight to another gig in Nottinghamshire. Durham was foreign to me and I must admit having never been near before, it was afterall not in my normal direction of life travel until I got the Gigs in Sunderland and Darlington and stayed nearby about six miles from the City centre. I had heard on a topical quiz show, that Durham was the most popular weekend City-break type venues in the whole of the UK, which surprised me so much I thought it was a mistake.
Not so, in my passing through at midnight view, I saw a wonderful sight, the Cathedral lit up in Orange, the river glistening and the design of a modern City at ease with the past designs and merging together like an oil painting. Not always full of praise for Cities am I, as I am a well defined country yokel really and hate the bustle of the City attitude of “It’s my space, keep out of my way”. Durham is now my target for a visit and luckily I have been given the opportunity to do just that. I may even stay on the same park as I did before, with its own Abbey and river running through it, I may stay an extra day just to see the City in the daylight, or this time I will travel through the City again at around midnight and have my camera handy, thus capturing that wonderful sight for ever. No I’ve not gone soft. Maybe just a little.

4th January 2008.
Make me laugh, Sommers
By Henry Tudor

This comic lad with back so bad, entered my court of fear he had nought.
His age was so young and not highly strung, his smile quite infectious it always affects us.
A Jester of note, wears mock Royal coat, wears hats cocked like mine, clever and sublime.
Nobody came close to be my repose, he knew where the line, but crossed it some time.
He spied on my men, telling me about all of them, he knew where to look, in cellar and book.
Will Sommers the clown, underneath a frown, needed love and comfort, riches never brought.
Too scared of his power, in his jocular tower, stay alone all his life, never found a brave wife.
Clever was Will, always ahead with a thrill, never said a bad word, about me his lord.
Some scathed from the crowd, but never out loud, Will’s whisper was feared, in case it got heard.
Singing and rhyme, jokes all the time, amongst all the strummers, make me laugh Will Sommers.



1st January 2008.
Big Dinners
By Henry Tudor

Buy a joint of beef, pork or lamb
Low in salt so forget the ham.
Buy some vegetables and fruit
Buy some Yorkshire puds to boot.

Get some soup cut, stripped and boil
Throw in parsley, lentils and oil.
Set the table for the crowd
Bound to be snug, hot, close and loud.

Cook it all ready, hot and fresh
Siv the soup through medium mesh
Cool some wine and pop the beer
Need something to raise that crowd’s cheer.

All is eaten with nothing spare
This fine dinner a great family affair.
But wait what about the mess that stinks
Dirty pots, cookers and sinks.

Thank heaven for the washer auto of dishes
Without this machine, rely on wishes.
Thanks for the fridge and cooker too
Without which, all depends on you.

The crowd is gone the mess is clean
Another dinner, been done and seen.
But now after all that Roast
Cannot face anything else but toast.

Leave your home go for a walk
Walk it off, and have a talk.
No more rushing to make it right
Have a rest, throughout the night.

It may to some, seem extravagant
To eat so much when others can’t.
But you can help to spread some cheer
Give some cash, when box comes near.

Send your help to lands afar
Whose crops so poor, not fill a jar.
Remember them when eating well
Even starving kids, bellies swell.

Don’t sit there now in such gloom
It’s not your fault their worlds don’t boom
The world needs to get together
To fight effects of drought and weather.

To feed the poor as well as us
A plan is needed without great fuss
Mobilise the land with wet and seed
Then poor and rich will fill the need.

But alas, man is deemed to fight instead
Each other, for power not bread.
Look fools, we should fight the weather
Or I’ll come over and back some heads together.