Hi Pen,
I called in on Blue on my way to Canberra and he told me in his younger days he published poetry in a book "Verse and Worse - A Private Collection by Arnold Silcock". He said he was published under the by-line Anon. I suspect he was pulling my leg but Andrew has a copy of the book, so, here is a sample.
What a wonderful bird the frog are
When he stand he sit almost;
When he hop he fly almost.
He ain't got no sense hardly;
He ain't got no tail hardly either.
When he sit, he sit on what he ain't got almost.
There was a young lady from Tottenham
Who'd no manners, or else she'd forgottenham
While at tea at the vicars
She took off her knickers
Because, she explained, she felt 'ottenham
We 'ad a bleedin' sparrer wot
Lived up a bleedin' spaht
One day the bleedin' rain came dahn
An' washed the bleeder aht.
An' as 'e layed 'arf drahnded
Dahn in the bleedin' street
'E begged that bleedin' rainstorm
To bave 'is bleedin' feet.
But then the bleedin' sun came aht
Dried up the bleedin' rain
So that bleedin' little sparrer
'E climbs up 'is spaht again.
But, Oh! - the cruel sparrer 'awk
'E spies 'im in 'is snuggery
'E sharpens up 'is bleedin' claws
An' rips 'im aht by thuggery.
Jist then a bleedin' sportin' type
Wot 'ad a bleedin' gun
'E spots that bleedin' sparrer 'awk
An' blasts 'is bleedin' fun.
The moral of the story
Is plain to everyone...
That them wot's up the bleedin' spaht
Don't get no bleedin' fun.
Must hit the hay again.