Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,Bob Saxton
Date: 23 Dec 12 - 03:18 PM

It was Christmas day in the workhouse,
The day of all the year
The pauper were all merry with their bellies full of beer
And the kind old workhouse master
As he paced those grimy halls
wished them a Merry Christmas
And someone answered Balls
Now this enraged the workhouse master
Who swore by all his gods
I'll stop their Christmas pudding
The rotten lot of sods
Then up spoke one old pauper
With his face as bold as brass
We don't want your christmas pudding
You can stick it up your arse.

It was Christmas day in the harem
And the eunuchs sat on the stairs
Watching the sultans thousand wives
combing their golden hairs
And the kind old sultan asked them
As he paced those marbled halls
What would you like for Christmas
And the Eunuchs answered Balls

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,ken
Date: 26 Dec 10 - 04:08 AM

Twas Christmas Day in the Workhouse
The happiest day of the year
Our hearts were full of gladness
And our bellies full of beer
In came the Workhouse Master
His voice rang round those grimy walls
There's Christmas Pud for you my lads
And we all replied balls
This made the Master angry
He shouted out 'Ye Gods'
Ill stop your Cristmas Pud for you
You dirty lot of ...
Up stood a burly pauper
His face a bold as brass
We dont want you're Christmas pudding
Stick it up your ....
In came the Reverend Tucker
Clear orf you old ...

(London around 1950, I never found anyone who knew the rest)

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: banjoman
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 06:18 AM

It was Christmas day in the cookhouse
The walls were grim and bare
The sergeant cook was serving duff to all the gunners there
Up stepped a fair young gunner
The Bravest of them all
He hit the sergeant with the duff
Said we don't want this F****ing stuff
Cos beer is best beer is best
Makes you fit makes you stron
Puts some muscle on the old Ding Dong
Beer builds bonny babies and beer has stood the test
What was it Adam said to Eve?
Beer is best

It was out in Hindustani the sun was beating down
Up came a chatty Wallah with some water on his brow
Go away you chatty Wallah go away you Gungadin
How dare you bring that stuff to me
Away and find a brewery
Cos beer is best etc.......

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 09 Dec 10 - 12:31 AM

A piece of Victorian versification which notoriously lends itself to parody; but I always think this a pity, as I feel that the extremely effective, and affecting, original is actually a very poignant & powerful bit of polemic. No doubt it was the 'Victorian-ness' of the original, + a certain embarrassment at its undoubted truth about the no doubt well-meaning but ill-judging Guardians, who, however, "didn't give Relief".

As to the poem itself: Respect, I say.

♫♫❤~Michael~❤♫♫

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST
Date: 08 Dec 10 - 09:31 PM

'Twas Christmas Day in the Workhouse

Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse
The whitewashed walls were bare
They doled out Christmas Pudding
To all the paupers there

One pauper got excited
And using naughty words
He struck the master with his cuff
Said 'You can stick your Flaming Duff'

(then start song:)
Beer is Best (have another one)
Beer is Best (have another one)
Makes you fit, makes you strong,
Puts a little muscle on the old bong, bong
Beer makes bonny Britons
Beer has stood the test
What did Adam say to Eve?
Beer is Best

or,if you prefer a slightly bawdier version:

Beer is Best (have another one)
Beer is Best (have another one)
Makes you fit, makes you shit,
Puts a little muscle on the old left tit
Beer makes bonny Britons
Beer has stood the test
What did Adam say to Eve?
Beer is Best

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,J. F. Moore
Date: 18 Jan 10 - 01:09 PM

Here is the version, accurate and verbatim, from "The Gathering". As was said, it was attributed to Kipling. It does, after all, have a Kipling flair and feel, and I'm thinking that it may have been Kipling's parody of the original. As a Kipling parody of someone else's work, it would not, therefore, have been included in any volumes of his own.

Christmas in the Workhouse

It was Christmas in the workhouse
The best day of the year
And the paupers all was 'appy
For their guts was full of beer

The master of the workhouse
Strolled through them dismal 'alls
And he wished them all merry Christmas
And the paupers answered (balls)!

Now the master, he grew angry
And he swore by all the gods
"They'll have no Christmas puddin'
The lousy lot of (cods)!" (the son substituted 'sods')

Up sprang a war-scarred veteran
Who stormed the Kyber Pass, (probably should be 'who had stormed' or 'who'd stormed')
"We don't want your Christmas puddin',
and (you can shove it up your ass)!"

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Tootler
Date: 10 Jan 10 - 06:52 PM

I remember this one from my student days:

It was Christmas day in the Harem
The Eunuchs were seated in pairs
Watching the vestal virgins
Combing their pubic hairs
Just then came Father Christmas
Calling from down in the halls
"What do you want for Christmas?"
The eunuchs all answered "Balls!"

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: MikeL2
Date: 10 Jan 10 - 10:08 AM

Hi Stevie

A Lancashire version of yoyrs...

< It was Christmas day in the workhouse
And the snow was raining fast
When a barefooted girl with clogs on
Stood lying in the grass.
We went to the pictures tomorrow
We took a front seat at the back
A lady she gave me an orange
I ate and gave her back. >

Seems even the silliest of rhymes travel well.

Regards

Mike

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,stevie d
Date: 09 Jan 10 - 08:30 PM

it was christmas in the wearhouse,
for the snow was raining fast,
i met a bearfooted lady with clogs on,
(cant remember this line)
i went to the movies and got front seat tickets at the back,
i brought a plain but with raisins that ate,
then i returned it back.

i think thats how it goes, my pop says it a fair bit

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Charley Noble
Date: 26 Dec 09 - 12:21 PM

I've only sung various parodies of this long poem by George Roberts Sims (posted above) and assumed that it was the usual Victorian sentimental claptrap. But evidently he was a serious muckracking journalist with his heart in the right place. His last verse nails most of us:

21. "There, get ye gone to your dinners;
Don't mind me in the least;
Think of the happy paupers
Eating your Christmas feast;
And when you recount their blessings
In your smug parochial way,
Say what you did for me, too,
Only last Christmas Day."

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,William
Date: 26 Dec 09 - 09:56 AM

Twas Christmas day in the Workhouse
The paupers gathered for their repastpoke a veteran of the Khyber Pass
Parson to bless them all

The meagre dinner was eaten
In sullen cleneaniest
Seated on benches heard

The Beadle in waistcoat and hose
Bellowed for order "Tis time to thank the parish".
Afore you gets your pudding

Up spoke a a battle scarred veteran of the Khyber Pass
We do not want your Christmas pudding
You can shove it up your Arse.


This has a resemblance to Kipling's version which remains a vague memory of my grandfather's recitation.

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,Jeff and Simon
Date: 24 Dec 09 - 11:37 PM

It is our family tradition for the eldest son present to recite this version at the Christmas table when the pudding is served-

It was Christmas day in the work house,
The day of all the year,
The workers hearts were filled with joy,
And their stomachs full of beer,
When one bold and brazen worker,
With a face as bold as brass,
Said 'we dont want your Christmas pudding',
'You can shove it up, in the pantry...

Goes back 4 generations...

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: scouse
Date: 19 Dec 09 - 05:14 PM

Twas Christmas day in the workhouse,
Behind those rustic walls,
The teacher called the register,
And someone called out "Balls."
"Balls." to you,You mean ungrateful sod,
You'll get no Christmas Pud for that,
I'll swear by Almighty God,
Balls stood up courageously for Balls are made of brass,
I don't want your Christmas Pud!
"Stick it up your arse!!"

As Aye,

Phil.

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Brakn
Date: 19 Dec 09 - 09:25 AM

I'm still around Jim Dixon. Happy Christmas!

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,Matt Hudson
Date: 19 Dec 09 - 08:38 AM

From my Grandmother - Very like the first one...

'Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse,
The one day of the year.
The paupers' hearts were full of joy
And their bellies full of beer.

Up spoke the Workhouse Master
"To all within these halls,
I wish you a Merry Christmas!"
And the paupers answered, "Balls."

Up spoke the Workhouse Master
And said, "If you're not good
I'll be a lousy rotter
And stop your Christmas pud."

Up spoke the leading pauper
With a face as bold as brass
You can take your Christmas pudding
And stick it up your ass!"

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,Joe Max
Date: 17 Dec 09 - 03:24 PM

This is the version from the film "The Gathering" starring Ed Asner. Asner's character attributed it to Kipling but that apparently is not true.


Christmas in the Workhouse

T'was Christmas at the workhouse,
The prisoners all were there,
To partake of Christmas turkey
Which was the bill of fare.

The warden of the workhouse
Proclaimed unto the halls,
"Merry Christmas to you prisoners!"
The prisoners answered, "Balls!"

The warden in his fury,
He swore by all the gods,
"You'll have no Christmas turkey then
You lousy pack of sods!"

Up stood an ancient prisoner,
His voice was cold as brass.
"You can take your Christmas turkey, warden,
And stuff it up your arse!"

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,Steve
Date: 16 Dec 09 - 06:02 AM

This is my version

'twas Christmas day in the workhouse
The snow was raining fast
A bare footed boy with clogs on
Went slowly whizzing past
He turned a strait crooked corner
To see a dead donkey die
He pulled out his gun to stab it
And the donkey spat in his eye

Steve

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Dave the Gnome
Date: 13 Dec 09 - 12:07 PM

'twas Christmas day in the workhouse
The snow was raining fast
A bare footed kid with clogs on
Came slowly whizzing past
He turned a strait crooked corner
To see a dead donkey die
Pulled out his gun to stab it
And clonked it one in the eye

DeG

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,Chamberlain, England.
Date: 13 Dec 09 - 10:32 AM

A parody; I can only remember the first four lines.I would be grateful anyone remembers anymore of it.

Twas Christmas Day in the Workhouse
The snow was falling fast
And a barefooted boy with clogs on
Stood, sitting on the grass.

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: GUEST,David Mitchell Auckland New Zealand
Date: 02 Nov 09 - 03:37 AM

I only remember the one verse from when I was a boy in England.


Twas Christmas day in the workhouse
The snow was falling fast.
When those at the front were first'
and those at the back were last

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 25 Dec 07 - 11:01 AM

The long serious poem that Mick Bracken posted above can be seen, in its original typography, in "The Dagonet Ballads: (Chiefly from the Referee.)" by George Robert Sims, 1881, courtesy of Google Book Search.

Note that this must have been what earl.dandy was asking for in the original request.

I suppose the familiar shorter versions were composed as a parody of this one. One of those rather common situations when the parody becomes more famous than the original (although I suppose the original was quite famous at one time).

Say, whatever happened to Mick Bracken?

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: DonMeixner
Date: 13 Dec 98 - 08:42 AM

I remeber Ed Asner reciting ths poem on a Christmas special he did some years back. He played the part of an estranged parent coming to terms with his sons and daughters and his terminal illness. His character atributed the poem to Rudyard Kipling which explains why I've never been able to find it in my Kipling collections.

Don Meixner

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Brack&
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 08:33 PM

Thank you Wolfgang! I'd never read it until I typed it up today. I'm glad I did. Mick Bracken

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: ORua
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 03:47 PM

Christmas day in the workhouse... Another version..

It was Christmas Day in the workhouse, all the soldiers were standing there. Their hearts were full of gladness and their bellies were full of beer, When up spoke Corporal Shorthouse, with his face as bold as brass, Saying - "We don'y want your Christmas puddin! you can stick it up your ... Tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, Oh oh Tidings of comfort and joy !

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Steve Parkes
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 10:59 AM

If you're interested in a bit of light relief as an alternative, there's a thread on Billy Bennett's Christmas day in the Cookhouse. Otherwise, there's a book from the 70's called Prepare to shed them now, or you can get your local library to order the British Library's copy of The Dagonet Ballads, which is what I did. The humorous stuff is actually funny, in a very gentle way, and the crusading stuff is pretty good, if you can put your mind into the Victorian frame and forget your 20th century cynicism. And don't forget to declaim the words, not just read them!

Steve

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Wolfgang Hell
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 10:11 AM

Mick,
if you have typed all that it must have been an awful lot of work. But I just want to tell you, the lyrics are worth every minute of typing. Thanks a lot.

Wolfgang

Subject: Lyr Add: IN THE WORKHOUSE (George R. Sims)
From: Brack&
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 09:33 AM

It's long, but worth a read.

IN THE WORKHOUSE.
CHRISTMAS DAY.

[George Robert Sims]

1. IT is Christmas Day in the Workhouse,
  And the cold bare walls are bright
With garlands of green and holly,
  And the place is a pleasant sight;
For with clean-washed hands and faces,
  In a long and hungry line
The paupers sit at the tables,
  For this is the hour they dine.

2. And the guardians and their ladies,
  Although the wind is east,
Have come in their furs and wrappers,
  To watch their charges feast;
To smile and be condescending,
  Put pudding on pauper plates,
To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
  They’ve paid for—with the rates.

3. Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
  With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's";
So long as they fill their stomachs,
  What matter it whence it comes?
But one of the old men mutters,
  And pushes his plate aside:
"Great God!" he cries; "but it chokes me!
  For this is the day she died."

4. The guardians gazed in horror,
  The master's face went white;
"Did a pauper refuse their pudding?'
  "Could their ears believe aright?"
Then the ladies clutched their husbands
  Thinking the man would die,
Struck by a bolt, or something,
  By the outraged One on high.

5. But the pauper sat for a moment,
  Then rose 'mid a silence grim,
For the others had ceased to chatter
  And trembled in every limb.
He looked at the guardians' ladies,
  Then, eyeing their lords, he said,
"I eat not the food of villains
  Whose hands are foul and red:

6. "Whose victims cry for vengeance
  From their dank, unhallowed graves."
"He's drunk!" said the workhouse master,
  "Or else he's mad, and raves."
"Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper,
  "But only a hunted beast,
Who, torn by the hounds and mangled,
  Declines the vulture's feast.

7. "I care not a curse for the guardians,
  And I won't be dragged away.
Just let me have the fit out,
  It's only on Christmas Day
That the black past comes to goad me,
  And prey on my burning brain;
I’ll tell you the rest in a whisper,—
  I swear I won't shout again.

8. “Keep your hands off me, curse you!
  Hear me right out to the end.
You came here to see how paupers
  The season of Christmas spend.
You came here to watch us feeding,
  As they watch the captured beast.
Hear why a penniless pauper
  Spits on your paltry feast.

9. "Do you think I will take your bounty,
  And let you smile and think
You're doing a noble action
  With the parish's meat and drink?
Where is my wife, you traitors—
  The poor old wife you slew?
Yes, by the God above us,
  My Nance was killed by you!

10. "Last winter my wife lay dying,
  Starved in a filthy den;
I had never been to the parish,—
  I came to the parish then.
I swallowed my pride in coming,
  For, ere the ruin came,
I held up my head as a trader,
  And I bore a spotless name.

11. "I came to the parish, craving
  Bread for a starving wife,
Bread for the woman who'd loved me
  Through fifty years of life;
And what do you think they told me,
  Mocking my awful grief?
That 'the House' was open to us,
  But they wouldn't give 'out relief.'

12. "I slunk to the filthy alley—
  'Twas a cold, raw Christmas eve—
And the bakers' shops were open,
  Tempting a man to thieve;
But I clenched my fists together,
  Holding my head awry,
So I come to her empty-handed,
  And mournfully told her why.

13. "Then I told her 'the House' was open;
  She had heard of the ways of that,
For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,
  And up in her rags she sat,
Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John,
  We’ve never had one apart;
I think I can bear the hunger,—
  The other would break my heart.'

14. "All through that eve I watched her,
  Holding her hand in mine,
Praying the Lord, and weeping
  Till my lips were salt as brine.
I asked her once if she hungered,
  And as she answered 'No,'
The moon shone in at the window
  Set in a wreath of snow.

15. "Then the room was bathed in glory,
  And I saw in my darling's eyes
The far-away look of wonder
  That comes when the spirit flies;
And her lips were parched and parted,
  And her reason came and went,
For she raved of our home in Devon,
  Where our happiest years were spent.

16. "And the accents, long forgotten,
  Came back to the tongue once more,
For she talked like the country lassie
  I woo'd by the Devon shore.
Then she rose to her feet and trembled,
  And fell on the rags and moaned,
And, 'Give me a crust—I'm famished—
  For the love of God!' she groaned.

17. "I rushed from the room like a madman,
  And flew to the workhouse gate,
Crying, 'Food for a dying woman!'
  And the answer came, 'Too late.'
They drove me away with curses;
  Then I fought with a dog in the street,
And tore from the mongrel's clutches
  A crust he was trying to eat.

18. "Back, through the filthy by-lanes!
  Back, through the trampled slush!
Up to the crazy garret,
  Wrapped in an awful hush.
My heart sank down at the threshold,
  And I paused with a sudden thrill,
For there in the silv'ry moonlight
  My Nance lay, cold and still.

19. "Up to the blackened ceiling
  The sunken eyes were cast—
I knew on those lips all bloodless
  My name had been the last;
She'd called for her absent husband—
  O God! had I but known!—
Had called in vain, and in anguish
  Had died in that den—alone.

20. "Yes, there, in a land of plenty,
  Lay a loving woman dead,
Cruelly starved and murdered
  For a loaf of the parish bread.
At yonder gate, last Christmas,
  I craved for a human life.
You, who would feast us paupers,
  What of my murdered wife!

* * * *

21. "There, get ye gone to your dinners;
  Don't mind me in the least;
Think of the happy paupers
  Eating your Christmas feast;
And when you recount their blessings
  In your smug parochial way,
Say what you did for me, too,
  Only last Christmas Day."

Regards Mick Bracken

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Brack&
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 07:46 AM

B******

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Paddy
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 06:37 AM

Yes please !

Paddy

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Brack&
Date: 10 Dec 98 - 06:10 AM

I've found it! It may take a while, 21 verses. Do you want them all? Regards Mick Bracken

Subject: Lyr Add: CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN THE WORKHOUSE
From: dulcimer
Date: 17 Dec 97 - 08:28 PM

Finally found this and thought it appropriate or at least timely humor.

CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN THE WORKHOUSE

It was Christmas night in the workhouse
And the paupers was having their dinners.
And the preacher he called from the top of the hall,
"Get down on your knees, you sinners."
And them poor paupers knelt in the cheerless room
On their benches hard and wooden,
And the preacher called in a voice of doom,
"Bring in the Christmas puddin'".
"Put down your heads," says he with a leer,
"Cause I want you all to think
Of the sins of the flesh that has bring us here--
Tobacco and women and drink."

"And I'm telling youse all and I'm telling youse good"--
And his voice took a dangerous edge--
"No one gets to ate the puddin'
Till everyone takes the pledge."
And a chill of doom ran round the room.
You could cut the air with knife.
As each man searched in the depths of his soul
For the sins of his wasted life.
And then them paupers rose as one
And said as bold as brass,
"You can keep your Christmas puddin'
And stick it up your..."

Hear it on an Irish soap opera.

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: Geoff
Date: 15 Jul 97 - 05:04 PM

Topic Records LONDON have re released this on a CD.

The number of which is TSCD 780

Their telephone number is [phone]

It's a fine album !

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From: hartley
Date: 15 Jul 97 - 06:53 AM

I've heard a similar song/poem about "Christmas Day in the Poor House" on an Irish soap opera. Does anyone have the words to it.

Subject: Lyr Add: CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE WORKHOUSE
From: dick greenhaus
Date: 14 Jul 97 - 10:42 PM

Anthony Hopkins, In “Songs from the Front and Rear,” has:

CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE WORKHOUSE

'Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse,
The happiest day of the year.
The paupers' hearts were filled with joy
And their bellies full of beer.

Up spoke the Workhouse Master
"To all within these halls,
I wish you a Merry Christmas!"
And the paupers answered, "Balls."

If you don't believe me
If you think I'm telling a lie
Just ask the Workhouse Master
He was there as well as I.

Up spoke the Workhouse Master
And said, "If you're not good
I'll be a lousy rotter
And stop your Christmas pud."

Up spoke the leading pauper
He said, “It’s all a farce
You can take your Christmas pudding
And stick it up your arse!"

And if you don't believe me
If you think I'm telling a lie
Just ask the Workhouse Master
He was there as well as I.

(Sung by Canadian servicemen in WWII)

Subject: RE: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From:
Date: 14 Jul 97 - 06:48 PM

The "sheeps eyes" version was written by the music hall (vaudeville) performer Billy Bennet and that appears on a Topic Records LP 'Almost a Gentleman' 12T387 (1978). That has recently been expanded onto a CD within the past couple of months (no details I'm afraid). The original Sims version should be in many Victorian Parlour Ballads books. It was recorded by Kenneth Williams on a Saydisc LP some years ago bigj

Subject: Christmas Day in the Workhouse
From:
Date: 12 Jul 97 - 10:31 AM

I know this isn't really a song, but I'm getting desperate. It was written by George R Sims in 1881. Anyone have the complete thing?