Blog No. 5 My Friend. Bill a little Lancastrian / Cornish banter

 

 

My Friend Bill.

My friend Bill died and went to heaven,

Who do you think she found waiting there?

Why it was none other than old St Piran,

And the poor man was in some despair.

 

My friend Bill, said hello me Ansome,

Why are you sitting crying here?

They won’t let me in said our St. Piran

Please read that sign he said through his tears.

 

“Cornish born only can enter here.

And if you’re not one then we’ll make it clear,

Born West of the Tamar you're welcome in,

Anywhere else go find your own kin.”

 

There you are sobbed Pyran I told you so,

I was born in Ireland and as you know,

They chucked me out a long time since,

And now I’m denied by Cornwall Just like the Prince.

 

“The Prince,” said Bill what do you mean?

Why the Dukes of Cornwall, haven’t you seen,

Standing over there they can’t get in,

Not one born in Cornwall oh what a sin.

 

But who are all they dressed in Black?

There’s a lot of them, some even wearing sacks.

They are my brothers each one a saint,

Places named after them but Cornish they ain’t.

 

Hark what’s that noise from inside, do you hear?

Yes, they’re singing the Cornish anthem my dear.

With Robert Stephen Hawker conducting I suppose?

He was some clever that song to compose.

 

No, no Robert Hawker is standing over there

He was born in Plymouth, by Mayflower stairs.

But he wrote the anthem you’d think they’d care.

Why should they when they are all safely in there.

 

That’s the true Cornish mansion Jesus came to prepare.

But are there no Cornish babies born in Plymouth in there?

Well, they ain’t Cornish children no matter how they shout,

Take a look at the next census that will show you no doubt.

 

Well now said Bill the times come to sort this out,

I ain’t bothered about the Princes I’ll leave them out.

But surely our anthem composer and number one saint,

Can’t be left out here. Pass me that board and that paint?

 

I’ve got a new challenge when I get through that gate,

There are one or two earholes on people to shake.

First, I’ll have a good pasty and a nice drop of rum,

Then get it sorted it will be a job well done.

 

My friend Bill walked towards the gate

Hang on said the Saint you are making a mistake

Have you forgot you ain’t Cornish you won’t get inside

Sit here and wait for Terry he is of the Cornish tribe.

 

Bill took up her paint brush and piece of board

She wrote 'Wylmet Maghteth Lanherne'* Bard

Why yes I’ll wait for Terry cause he did call me Pard.

I did not think it was Mansions for each tribe.

 

Jesus says in John 14,

“In my Father's house are many mansions:

if it were not so, I would have told you.

I go to prepare a place for you.”