One night in the Peanuts Club in Birmingham, about 30 years ago, I stood with Stan Hugill, listening to a number of floor-singers airing their interpretations of classic seasongs, each of them attempting to replace the bowdlerised words and phrases.

'They never get it right', Stan said. 'We were much more filthy-minded than they imagine'.

The topic rose again after the club closed at John Swift's home where Stan was staying. Eventually we prevailed on him to sing us an example. He launched into 'Bollocky Bill the Sailor' but rapidly faded into silence, saying, 'It's no good. I wasn't brought up to sing filth in front of ladies, like you young buggers!'

He certainly did send a number of uncut versions to Gershon Legman. Didn't Legman publish them in something called 'The New Kryptadia'?