Half a league, half a league, football league, onward.
In fifteen char-a-bancs rode the Six Hundred.
This is the tale of a football match where men fought to their
death,
A tale of forwards, backs and fronts, and footballs filled with breath.
The famous Chelsea Totspurs — what a name! (there's nought could kill it)
Were playing Woolworth's Arsenic for the cup (and beer to fill it).
There in the stands they stood, hoping the match was good.
Up to their knees in mud (well, it rhymes) — noble Six Hundred!
The band was blowing bubbles, trills, and frills, and rolls,
And a pair of cows were busy chewing grass from round the goals.
The good old Totspurs came on first, a hefty lot of kickers,
They all wore shinguards on their shins, and mudguards on their knickers.
"Forward," cried Marshal Hall. "Bring out that busted ball."
Answer your country's call. Who killed Rob Cockin?
"Pass," shouted Porky Flynn, [Corky?] "Pass me a double gin."
Who's kicked the captain's chin — pushed all his dimples in?
Rude girls began to grin, his pants were giving in.
Lend him a safety pin, or pop goes the weasel.
Half-backs to right of 'em. Draw-backs to left of 'em.
Switch-backs in front of them, touching your jersey [tuck in your jersey?].
Centre and have a shot, cannon in-off and pot,
Don't hit the baby's cot. Someone has blundered.
They tackled them, and tickled them, but give the men their due,
The ball bounced swiftly to and fro, and sometimes fro and to.
And when they'd scored fifty goals, postmen delivered coal,
Boy scouts climbed up their poles, all waving sausage rolls.
Navvies in camisoles went to the Better Holes [?]
Back, back to draw their doles, to buy silk pyjamas.
Then came an awful smash, goalposts fell with a crash,
Hit? one ball, had? a bash, shingled the bloke's moustache.
But don't tell his mother.
The referee put his foot down, with a most decided smack.
He ordered eight men off the field, and fetched eleven back.
He tried to blow his whistle, but they pushed it through his face.
He'd two black eyes and his trousers torn in a very awkward place.
Offside, for leg before. Inside, to have one more.
Outside the canteen door stood the Six Hundred.
Oh,? what a charge they made. Oh,? what a canteen raid.
All drank and no one paid. Honour that Tight Brigade.
Chock full of — hic! — lemonade.
NOBLE SIX HUNDRED!
There is a recording of BB [William Robertson Russell Bennet DCM MM, 1887-1942] here (and there may be others online):
BILLY BENNETT (1887 - 1942) was born in Glasgow but grew up in Liverpool. (He refers to himself on one of his records as William Russell Bennett). His father was one of a comedy duo, Bennett & Martell. Bennett Jr. worked onstage as an elephant's back legs, then as an acrobat, prior to World War I. He then served his country as a farrier sergeant, gaining the DCM, MM and Croix de Guerre; he also entertained his fellow soldiers with comic acts.
After the War, he apparently did a straight type of soldier act with appropriate songs, until an occasion in Dublin when he was told to alter it at the last minute in case it was too provocative of any "troubles"; so he improvised the huge moustache, quiff of hair, etc. and guyed the whole thing. Later, keeping the Army boots, he adopted his "junkshop evening dress" outfit.
He specialised in surrealistic and witty monologues delivered in confidential forte voice reminiscent of the market trader; his was the original "Road to Mandalay" skit (later done by fellow Liverpudlian Ken Dodd). Echoes of Dan Leno have been seen in his material; he is said to have inspired Beatle John Lennon's (feeble) attempt to write a witty book; and I suppose a modern relation is Les Dawson and his long monologue - which singularly lack Bennett's own robust optimism in his own material.
He was in Royal Command Performances in 1926, 1931, 1933 and 1934 ; and one must mention that in one he delivered his skit, "The green tie on the little yellow dog" with the addition of a very vulgar Hindustani word, knowing that King George V was acquainted with this language. The King (if no-one else) roared with laughter. Bennett was truly "Almost a Gentleman".
In 1930 he went blackface, as Moses Washington Lincoln in "Alexander and Mose", first with James Carew for a short while, and then from 1931 with Albert Whelan, in a deadly accurate take-off of the "Moran and Mack" type of "coon dialogue". (Look out for HMV record, "In dark subjects" by these two.)
I hope I am correct in recalling that he died in his dressing room at the Blackpool Tower, like a true pro. He is described by Stanley Holloway as a great amateur performer who never really became "professional" but this is surely unfair. Judging by the imperfect evidence of his records, and also by those who saw him, it would seem that he had perfect timing and the trick (like Max Miller) of keeping vulgarity acceptable and not "losing" the audience, while giving the impression of one who has reluctantly come on to "do a turn" whether you like it or not.
His records were mainly on 10-inch and 12-inch Columbia, on Regal/Regal-Zonophone, and Rex. And that's all there is of that (except to add that some of his records are reissued on a Topic LP.)
Out of the many favourites I finally chose his parody on "The Charge of the Light Brigade" (study the original first), and his observations on The League of Nations - which regrettably have lost some point in the light of the absurdities currently perpetuated by the EEC over the size of our fish, eggs and so on... And I particularly like the surrealism of the empty taxis, which reminds one of Mr. Chamberlain going to Munich, perhaps
THE CHARGE OF THE TIGHT BRIGADE on Columbia 9205 (WAX2310)
"Now listen, people, I was very nearly late for the enter- tainment this afternoon - it wasn't my fault. My grand father mislaid his false teeth and I had to stop at home and help him to chew.
Well, while I'm at it, I'd better tell you about the rest of the family.
My aunt Mary is the fattest woman you ever saw. She weighs three pounds more than a horse. The only thing she can buy readymade is her handkerchief. She sent her nightdress to the laundry and they sent it back, and said "We don't wash tents." The doctor told her horseback riding would reduce her weight, so she tried it. At the end of the month she had gained two stones - and the horse had lost seven.
Her husband is just opposite - he's tall and thin. If he ever fell down, he'd be half way home. He's so tall, he has to use a stepladder to comb his own hair; and so thin he drinks muddy water so people can't see through him. But you don't want to hear my family troubles - I came out here to recite. So pin your ears back and listen to this .
[TEXT OF "CHARGE OF THE TIGHT BRIGADE" - check if it's the same as mine, above.]
Taraaa'. That's it - me off."
[Source: John Goslin, "Off the Record", in Taking Machine Review 60-61, Oct-Dec 1979. Various formats available at https://archive.org/details/TMR60_61. There is a pdf copy of JS's article here.]