Hi all

The following was written in the hand of my Uncle Bill, the comedian Billy Matchett (1889-1974), born in Beaufort Street, Toxteth. I have no idea whether it is original to him or not. If you look at the letters beginning every line you will see that it is an acrostic, spelling "Happy Christmas":

Here's a greeting from the old Pier Head in the Port of Liverpool
And may your ship come home to you, full laden on this Yule.
Perhaps you've turkey, perhaps scouse, perhaps just Xmas pud.
Please, as you eat, and sup, believe--I wish you all things good.
You can be sure this will endure, it's better far than quids.

Come as an appetizer or to scarper from the kids
Hiking round this city great. I love it with all my heart
Round Scotty Road or Limey, or even posher part
In Cabbage Hall or Knotty Ash (whur coppers walk in purs)
Soho St where Mother yells, "Johnnie get up them sturs!"
To Marshy Lane or Parky Road we'll make our sober way
Me Judy's Xmas tie we'll hid, to Brunny Dock an' sniff duh spray
And then return to fireside gay to pull a Christmas cracker
So may your day in every way be a gear one, me ould Whacker.

All the Best

Uncle Bill,
Xmas 1962

Great words Chris.

Times past but the sentiment is still the same. Have you ever heard Back Buchanan Street (which doesn't exist by the way) by Harry & George Dison.

A fella from the corpy, just out of planning school,
has told us that we've got to move right out of Liverpool,
They're moving us to Kirkby, to Skelmersdale or Speke,
but we wanna stay where we used to play in Back Buchanan street.

Don't wanna go to Kirkby, don't wanna go to Speke,
don't wanna go from all we know in Back Buchanan Street.

I'll miss the corner pub with the parlour painted red,
likewise the green godesses, likewise the overhead,
and lots of other things, like putting out the cat,
cos there's no back door on the 14th floor of a corpy tower flat.

I'll miss the Mary Ellens, me dad'll miss the docks,
me gran'll miss the wash house where she washed me grandad's socks,
they've pulled down Paddy's market where me ma once had a stall,
and soon their picks and shovels will be through our backyard wall.

Don't wanna go to Kirkby, don't wanna go to Speke,
don't wanna go from all we know in Back Buchanan Street.

From Bootle to the Dingle, you can hear the same old cry,
stop mucking round with Liverpool, at least until I die.

Hi Ged

I do remember that song. Thanks for reminding me of it. It's a good 'un. Glad you enjoyed my uncle's poem. Merry Christmas to you.

Chris

Hi all

The following was written in the hand of my Uncle Bill, the comedian Billy Matchett (1889-1974), born in Beaufort Street, Toxteth.


So was I. :)