Subject: Lyr Add: A PROPER LITTLE GENT (Dave Goulder)
From:
Stewie
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 08:57 PM
Here are the lyrics to a delightful song based on the antics of Rev Harold Davidson, Rector of Stiffkey, Norfolk. The saga of this infamous cleric are worthy of Monty Python - it would be difficult to make this stuff up. If you would like to read more about Harold, go to this link: Harold Davidson. The BBC piece is probably closer to the real facts, but 'Antics in Eden' is a great read.
A PROPER LITTLE GENT
(Dave Goulder)
Well, the Reverend Harold Davidson was a proper little gent
As vicar to the parish church in Stiffkey he was sent
In his youth he did engage in performing on the stage
But his eyes were on the Hippodrome in London
So every Monday morning, well the taxi would be there
The discontented driver tried in vain to get his fare
But, time and time again, he took the vicar to the train
For the ladies at the Hippodrome in London
Well, he'd walk round Piccadilly with a sixpenny cigar
And go looking for the ladies who had travelled from afar
With ambition and a case, to try and get a place
In the chorus at the Hippodrome in London
Well, he'd stop them in the street to ply his missionary zeal
Then into Lyons' corner house for a cuppa and a meal
And invite them for a chat to the bedroom of his flat
And two tickets for the Hippodrome in London
But his motives were immaculate, he was an honest man
His parishioners and landladies just didn't understand
He was not a dirty sod, this eccentric man of God
He was stage struck for the Hippodrome in London
His unusual behaviour did not please the Stiffkey flock
They petitioned to the bishop for removal of his frock
And the bishop set the date, but the vicar turned up late
He was busy at the Hippodrome in London
He was tried, condemned and sentenced long before the date came round
Though not a shred of evidence to damn him could be found
But the gossips in the street had his trousers round his feet
And they threw him to the Hippodrome in London
Now a lesser man than Harold would have left things as they were
And gone to live in Glasgow, grown a beard and dyed his hair
But he didn't do his nut, he invested in a hut
And he set it on the Golden Mile at Blackpool
And he walked along the promenade in his clergyman's attire
And to all who would inquire, he'd say that the bishop was a liar
And he'd tell the world with every breath that he swore he'd starve himself to death
And he'd do it on the Golden Mile at Blackpool
So he bought himself a barrel and he placed himself inside
With a sixpenny cigar, prepared to smoke until he died
But the council called it sin, told the police to pull him in
And take him off the Golden Mile at Blackpool
For trying to engineer his own destruction he was charged
But he ate and drank so hearty, he was very soon at large
They refused to play his game for publicity and fame
And returned him to the Golden Mile at Blackpool
So he joined a two-man circus with two lions in a cage
One called Freddie, one called Toto, both of venerable age
And the show enjoyed success on the seafront at Skegness
And Harold left the Golden Mile at Blackpool
It was at one fatal show that Harold trod on Toto's tail
She gave a cry for help and Fearless Freddie did not fail
And he turned for the applause with the vicar in his jaws
The vicar from the Golden Mile at Blackpool
Well his name became the plaything of contemporary fashion
But if his story should be told, please tell it with compassion
He was proper little gent, you can read the testament
Of the ladies at the Hippodrome in London
Source: transcription from Dave Goulder 'Stone, Steam and Starlings' Harbour Town Records HARCD 017.
--Stewie.
|
sj
