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| Jack Widger |
[♬ Treacle Tommy] lyrics
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| creeping jennny |
FDV: "Now it was the habit [...] Treacle Tom had been absent from his usual haunts for some time previously (he was in the habit of frequenting common lodging-houses where he slept in a nude state in strange beds) but returning on Baldoyle night"
4DV: "forties during a priestly flutter for safe and sane bets at the racecourse of Baldoyle on a date easily capable of remembrance by good turfites when the Portmarnock plate was captured by two lengths from Bold Boy Cromwell after a clever getaway by Captain Blount's fresh colt Drummer Coxon at short odds. It was two coves of the name of Treacle Tom and his own blood and milk brother Frisky Shorty come off the hulks what was out on the bum around for an oofbird game for a jimmyogoblin or a small thick as heard the reverend parson make use of the language which he was having a gurgle off his own along of the bloke in the specs. This Treacle Tom, to whom reference has just been made, had been absent from his usual wild and woolly haunts for some time previous to that (he was, in fact, in the habit of frequenting common lodginghouses where he slept in a nude state in strange men's bunks) but revisiting on racenight his house of call at Block W,"
mysteries:
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about the middle of his forties,
ReplyDeleteduring a priestly flutter for safe and sane bets
at the hippic runfields of breezy Baldoyle
on a date (W. W. goes through the card) easily capable of rememberance
by all pickersup of events national and Dublin details,
the doubles of Perkin and Paullock, peer and prole,
when the classic Encourage Hackney Plate was captured by two noses
in a stablecloth finish, ek and nek, some and none, evelo nevelo,
from the cream colt Bold Boy Cromwell
after a clever getaway by Captain Chaplain Blount's roe hinny Saint Dalough
(Drummer Coxon nondepict third) at breakneck odds,
thanks to you, great little, bonny little, portey little Winny Widger!
you're all their nappies!
who in his neverrip mud and purpular cap was surely leagues unlike
any other phantomweight that ever toppit our timber maggies.
'Twas two pisonouse Timcoves
(the wetter is pest, the renns are overt and come
and the voax of the turfur is hurled on our lande)
of the name of Treacle Tom, as was just out of pop
following the theft of a leg of Kehoe, Donnelly and Pakenham's Finnish pork,
and his own blood and milk brother Frisky Shorty
(he was, to be exquisitely punctilious about them, both shorty and frisky),
a tipster come off the hulks, both of them awful poor,
what was out on the bumaround for an oofbird game
for a jimmy o'goblin or a small thick un
as chanced, while the Seaforths was making the colleenbawl,
to ear wick their own hears
the passon in the motor clobber make use of his law language
(Edzo, Edzo on)
touchin the case of Mr Adams what was in all the sundays about it
which he was rubbing noses with
and having a gurgle off his own
along of the butty bloke in the specs.
This Treacle Tom, to whom reference has been made,
had been absent from his usual wild and woolly haunts
in the land of counties capalleens for some time previous to that
(he was, in fact, in the habit of frequenting common lodginghouses
where he slept in a nude state, hailfellow with meth,
in strange men's cots)
but on racenight, blotto after divers tots
of hell fire, red biddy, bull dog, blue ruin
and creeping jenny, Englandine's choicest herbage,
supplied by the Duck and Doggies, the Galopping Primrose,
Brigid Brewster's, the Cock, the Postboy's Horn,