Unofficial Christ's Hospital Forum

Yes. Clearly I wrote it next year. Thank you for reading it.

One of Dickens`s ghosts perhaps?
After all, you only need look at the picture!

Alas! There's three of us have sinned
Our prose on here should now be binned
I thus make deep apology;
For prose is not allowed you see
Upon this thread. So ladies too
In verses new
You now must write,
(Before tonight?),
Lest Helen's curse,
Or something worse,
Will strike you dead,
Or lose this thread
On which must be
Just poetry.

englishangel wrote:2007???

It gives me a pain
When eight days remain
Of this year, to think of the next.
Perhaps you should read
Or glasses you need
Then we pedants wouldn't get vexed

I am sorry
for the worry
caused to David
in my hurry.

On the questions posed by a soon-to-be New Dep


0 the dirdles just hang there without falling down. (David Brown - Col A)

O how they sang
Of the dirdles that hang,
Those Grecians and Deps on the Forum.
It posed a dilemma
For Blue-to-be Gemma,
How should she behave with decorum?

For girdles - not belts,
Neither dirdles nor felts -
Must be worn in exterior fashion;
Never under the vest
Should the girdle be pressed
But worn over the coat with dispassion.

And if she is tall,
The girdle may fall
To a rather posterior place.
But since she's a senior
Her Grecian demeanour
Permits it to hang there with grace.

Undoubtedly, there may well be some
That will whistle or pluck - even strum
On their instrument say
"Happy Birthday"
For a piccolo playing Great Plum.

While playing on piccolo or flute
That man with the name of a fruit
In Big School or chapel
It looks like an apple
Not a plum. Not a moorhen. Not a coot

And really, by gum!
I'll say "Now come, come!
You can't be that dumb!
Don't talk from your bum!"
It is not a plum!

Here are a few little words,
Describing the meeting of herds,
Of little young sprouts,
Correctly called Scouts,
In the wood with sketches for nerds

Recently I was told by Dave,
"You must write about this rave!"
And so here it is,
The whole of the biz,
In a form, of all verses, your fave.

Everyone met at half five,
Charlie's cars were ready to drive,
And so off they went,
To put up their tents,
And most of us, I think, survived.

The barbeques were lit at six, all,
And there we met young Mr. Brickel.
Although I had to wait,
Directing cars past the gate,
My meal was far from ickle.

At seven the campfire was lit,
Everyone sang for a bit.
Old Torkers was clapped,
(was a gift unwrapped?)
Perhaps a few words had been writ.

And then entered Tom Bombadil,
Singing from his home under Hill.
He brought us some cakes,
(Though it's a lie that Josh bakes!)
I hope they were nice and didn't kill.

Most of the littlies went at ten,
But then, they are little bairns.
The rest of us stayed,
Though the price we paid,
To spend the night amongst the ferns.

And when they awoke in the morn,
They saw some folk already born.
Though it's bad for their health,
Three kids (and an Elf)
Had stayed up all night - now they mourn!

Speech Day Chapel Service (Suggested by DBTS)

I know of a third form named Finn,
Distinguished by being quite Ginn.
He loves Dr. Who,
Series old and new,
Some people think hair makes us kin!

Now I will tell you a short tale
Which makes this young lad’s face go pale.
Although it’s quite old,
It has to be told,
Now let’s hope the telling don’t fail!

It happened on Speech Day this year,
The thought of it brings out a tear.
Finn is in the choir,
(No, I’m not a liar!)
Realisation filled him with fear…

That for chapel he would be late,
And Bruce would kill him at this rate.
The Phalanx were stood,
Would he? Yes he would!
The Lord Mayor just could not wait.

He scampered in and sniggers leaked,
“Sorry Mr. Grindlay!” he squeaked.
With nothing to say,
Bruce waved him away,
It's still discussed now, after weeks!

The thing is that young Cornish (J)
Explained to us the other day,
“If he had just walked
Up the aisle, not talked,
And bowed, it would have been okay.”

Some day you may well meet young Finn,
Who, I restate here, ain’t my kin.
Remind him of this,
I’m sure you won’t miss
What one day would be a wide grin.


Dedicated to CH's personal timelord

I see it is quite a long time
Since anyone posted a rhyme
So I'll post to the thread
Before it is dead
And encourage the muses sublime.

As Founders Day comes round again
Perhaps you will take up a pen
Recalling the years
Both the pleasures and tears
That were schoolday experiences then.