Jack Ashton

by Keith Marsden

 

Oh the times were hard and mean, and our youthful days were lean

In the land they said was fit for Flanders' heroes.

It was all a seaside show, where the poor folks couldn't go;

We just stood outside while others watched the pierrots.

And we only had to spend what our friend Jack Clegg could lend,

There was little of Lloyd George's promised glory,

But each evening down the street, by the gas lamp we would meet

And we'd listen while Jack Ashton told his stories.

 

          Aye we sat there and listened with our mouths open wide,

          Though we knew in our hearts that the old devil lied;

          But we needed to believe in the magic he would weave

          And we took a glass for old times' sake, the day Jack died.

 

Now our all-wise parents said he'd a screw loose in the head

And that we were daft to listen to his lies;

But we saw their daily grind and heard the magic in his mind

And we knew who was daft and who was wise.

Though he nearly broke our necks playing soccer on the Rec

And his bowling with a corky could be gory;

As the evening sun went down, by the lamp we'd gather round,

And we'd listen while Jack Ashton told his stories.

 

Now that Jack's been laid to rest, if there's any justice left

He'll be telling yarns now to the Holy Ghost;

And gathered round his knee, open mouthed as we would be,

Sit saints and angels, all the heavenly host.

And he'll tell them how he saved old Moses from the waves

And slew Goliath with one mighty blow;

While an all-forgiving Lord listened smiling at his words

As we did by the gas lamp long ago.