thank you Joe for bringing the site to my attention I was brought up with dad reciting Robert Service poems The shooting of Dan Mgrew, the leather medal and his favourite The cremation of Sam Magee. I would spend hours immersed in the big hard back book with all his poems but when dad passed away the books disappeared. I was therefore delighted to find my personal favourite Bide-A-Wee Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (2949 reads) You've heard, may be, of Maw McGee Bide-A-Wee You've heard, may be, of Maw McGee Who from Old Reckie came; A lorn and lonely widder she, And sorry for the same; Who put her scanty savings in A tiny shop for tea, In Lucky Strike, that bed of sin, And called it Bide-a-Wee. The which is Scotch for Rest-A-While, But somehow no one did, And poor Maw with a sickly smile Her woe and worry hid. Her hand-made scones and cookies were Forever growing stale, For sourdoughs vinously aver Tea's splendid - for the trail. Then one day Montreal Maree, In gaily passing bye Saw silver-haired old Maw McGee Partaking of a cry. So bold she breezed into the shop: "I like your joint," says she: "And every afternoon I'll stop To have a cup of tea." Right there she tuckered in with toast And orange-pekoe brew; Of shortbread that was Scotland's boast She bought a pound or two. The to the dance-hall dolls she spoke: "I sink zere ess no doubt Zat poor ol' leddy she go broke: We gotta help her out." And so next day 'twas joy to see Them babies bargin' in, And maw was busy as a bee Amid the merry din. And then the hooch-hounds lent their aid; Said they: "It's jest like home." Why, even spoonin' marmalade Was Black Moran from Nome. The Nugget bar was lonesome-like From four to five each day, And wondering was One-eyed Mike What kept the boys away. Says he: "Where are them sons o' guns? I'll stroll the street to see." When lo! he found them buying buns In jam-packed Bide-a-Wee. The boys looked sheepish, I'll allow, As One-eyed Mike strolled in, To see him kiss Maw on the brow And greet her with a grin. "Why, bless you, dear, give me a pot, And make it strong," says he; "Since Mother died I've quite forgot The taste of home made tea." So in the Camp of Lucky Strike Maw sure has made the grade, And patronized by One-eyed Mike She plies a pretty trade. To all the girls a mother's part She plays, but oh how she Is grateful for the golden heart Of Montreal Maree!
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