[BITList] Eeeh! Tha does look queer.

John Feltham wantok at me.com
Sun Mar 14 03:26:42 GMT 2010

G'day folks,

'ere's a couple for yer ter git yer 'ead 'round. Complete with Youtube recordings.

Yorkshire tales.


(Bob Weston / Bert Lee)
Stanley Holloway (Monologue)

I've been very poorly but now I feel prime, 
I've been out today for the very first time. 
I felt like a lad as I walked down the road, 
Then I met Old Jones and he said, 'Well I'm blowed!' 

My word you do look queer! 
My word you do look queer! 

Oh, dear! You look dreadful: you've had a near shave, 
You look like a man with one foot in the grave.' 
I said, 'Bosh! l'm better; it's true I've been ill.' 
He said, 'I'm delighted you're better, but still, 
I wish you'd a thousand for me in your will. 
My word, you do look queer!' 

That didn't improve me, it quite put me back, 
Still, I walked farther on, and I met Cousin jack. 
He looked at me hard and he murmured,'Gee whiz! 
It's like him! It can't be! It isn't! It is! 
By gosh! Who'd have thought it? Well, well, I declare! 
I'd never have known you except for your hair. 

My word you do look queer! 
My word you do look queer! 

Your cheeks are all sunk and your colour's all gone, 
Your neck's very scraggy, still you're getting on. 
How old are you now? About fifty, that's true. 
Your father died that age, your mother did too. 
Well, the black clothes I wore then'll come in for you. 
My word! You do look queer!' 

That really upset me; I felt quite cast down, 
But I tried to buck up, and then up came old Brown. 
He stared at me hard, then he solemnly said, 
'You shouldn't be out, you should be home in bed. 
I heard you were bad, well I heard you were gone. 
You look like a corpse with an overcoat on. 

'My word you do look queer! 
My word you do look queer! 

You'd best have a brandy before you drop dead.' 
So, pale as a sheet, I crawled in the'King's Head', 
The barmaid sobbed,'Oh you poor fellow,' and then 
She said, 'On the slate you owe just one pound ten, 
You'd better pay up, we shan't see you again. 
My word you do look queer!' 

My knees started knocking, I did feel so sad. 
Then Brown said, 'Don't die in a pub, it looks bad,' 
He said, 'Come with me, I'll show you what to do. 
Now I've got a friend who'll be useful to you.' 
He led me to Black's Undertaking Depot, 
And Black, with some crepe round his hat said, 'Hello, 

'My word you do look queer! 
My word you do look queer!

Now we'll fix you up for a trifling amount. 
Now what do you say to a bit on account?' 
I said,'I'm not dying.'He said,'Don't say that! 
My business of late has been terribly flat, 
But I'm telling my wife she can have that new hat! 
My word, you do look queer!' 

I crawled in the street and I murmured,'I'm done.' 
Then up came Old Jenkins and shouted,'By gum!' 

'My word you do look well! 
My word you do look well! 

You're looking fine and in the pink!' 
I shouted, 'Am I?... Come and have a drink! 
You've put new life in me, I'm sounder than a bell. 
By gad! There's life in the old dog yet. 
My word I do feel well!' 

Yorkshire Pudden.


"It melts in the mouth like the snow in the sunshine, it's light as a maiden's first kiss, as soft as the fluff of the breast of a dove, NOT ELEPHANT'S LEATHER LIKE THIS!!! "

Hi waitress, excuse me a minute, now listen,
I'm not finding fault, but here, Miss,
The 'taters' look gradely - the beef is a' reet
But what kind of pudden is this?

It's what? - Yorkshire pudden!, now coom coom coom,
It's what! Yorkshire pudden d'ye say!
It's pudden I'll grant you - it's some sort o' pudden,
But not Yorkshire pudden, nay nay!

The real Yorkshire pudden's a poem in batter,
To make one's an art not a trade,
Now listen to me - for I'm going to tell thee
How t' first Yorkshire pudden wor made.

A young angel on furlough from Heaven
Came flying above Ilkley Moor
And this angel, poor thing - got cramp in her wing
And coom down at auld woman's door.

The ould woman smiled and said 'Ee, it's an angel,
Well I am surprised to see thee,
I've not seen an angel before but thou'rt welcome,
I'll make thee a nice cup o' tea.'

The angel said 'Ee, thank you kindly I will,'
Well she had two or three cups of tea,
Three or four Sally Lunns, and a couple of buns -
Angels eat very lightly you see.

The t'owd woman looking at clock said 'By Gum!
He's due home from mill is my Dan,
You get on Wi' ye tea, but ye must excuse me,
I must make pudden now for t'owd man.'

Then the angel jumped up and said 'Gimme your bowl -
Flour and t'watter and eggs, salt and all,
And I'll show thee how we make puddens in Heaven,
For Peter and Thomas and Paul.'

Then t'owd woman gave her the things, and the angel
Just pushed back her wings and said 'Hush!'
Then she tenderly tickled the mixture Wi' t'spoon
Like an artist would paint with his brush.

Ave, she mixed up that pudden with Heavenly magic,
She played with her spoon on that dough
Just like Paderewski would play the piano
Or Kreisler now deceased would twiddle his bow.

And when it wor done and she put it in t'oven
She said t'owd woman 'Goodbye',
Then she flew away leaving the first Yorkshire pudden
That ever was made - and that's why.

It melts in the mouth, like the snow in the sunshine
As light as a maiden's first kiss;
As soft as the fluff on the breast of a dove
Not elephant's leather like this!

It's real Yorkshire pudden that makes Yorkshire lassies
So buxom and broad in the hips,
It's real Yorkshire pudden that makes Yorkshire cricketers
Win County championships.

It's real Yorkshire pudden that gives me my dreams
Of a real Paradise up above,
Where at the last trump I'll queue up for a lump
Of the real Yorkshire pudden I love!

And there on a cloud - far away from the crowd
In a real Paradise, not a 'dud' 'un,
I'll do nowt for ever and ever and ever
But gollup up real Yorkshire pudden!


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