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Comedy
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| The Wayman | |
| By NedWilson | ||||||||
| 31 March 2008 | ||||||||
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Dedicated to Stanley Holloway. I was made the constable here In 1723 I knew my parish well - The roads and tracks of these boglands Were certainly no strangers to me. There was a fellow then called Alstye A short man With a bit of a cast in his eye And he was employed to be wayman - A very responsible job. His job was to point out the paths That took people o'er the bogs Avoiding all dangers and mishaps And safe to the other side. Man and boy he worked at his post Thirty five years and more. When I met him one day As the constable To ask him a question or two. Now many folks had gone missing Over those thirty five years and more And we hadn't a clue Or an idea Of where they'd gone or why. The latest missing was Ferris And I asked if he'd seen him at all And he said that he had And he showed me the way he'd advised him As the safest way to go. "But that takes him right into the bog!" I exclaimed with a horrified shout "If you send him that way he'll die Without a shadow of doubt!" Then the wayman quivered with anger And a touch of unbearable pique "Well that's the way I always send 'em. And I'm certainly not changing now!"
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