Legends -2 Characters:-
King Lear - our oldest local legend! So we’ll begin at the beginning, A very good place to start, Way back in the mists of time, At history’s sparrowfart, Tis to one Geoffrey of Monmouth, That this tale we owe, Though quite where he got it We’ll probably never know, You’ve probably heard tell of King Lear Familiar from the play, Written by that Will Shakespeare, Back in King James’s day, So now we will tell the tale, Which will not take too long, And that’s the introduction To our opening song Black Annis - an extremely scary tale! So Lear was good and wise and sage, Though prone to the follies of old age, But now our tale moves on apace, Unto a far, far darker place, All around the Danehills area, Nothing was ever seen more scarier, Many a soul they fled in flight Beholding such a ghastly sight, Or in their cottages tamely cower, When foul Black Annis left her bower. Ethlefleda - the "Lady of Mercia" who defeated the Danes. So having given us all a chill, We’ll move away from those Danehills, Although the subject of the Danes, Will still be the focus for our brains Enter a lady of reputation, The subject of our dissertation, And after we have dissertated, Her status we’ll have left inflated, Of King Alfred’s daughter, royal stock, Truly a chip off the old block, Forty years had Leicester lain, Under the army of the Dane, We’ve heard the tale of Boudicca told, But our own lady was just as bold, She paid attention to this matter, And with her sword those Danes did scatter, So let us toast a mighty leader Our own good lady Ethelfleda. W.G.Hoskins - Professor of History who told of ordinary folk. So we hear a lot about Kings and Queens That strutted all through many a scene, But what of the more humble folk, Whose history is rarely spoke, Whose story spans across the ages, But nothing there but empty pages, So let’s celebrate the great insight Of the chap who tried to put this right, Though he hailed from Devon very soon he Became a prof at Leicester Uni, But becoming tired of business studies, Sought out where the real life blood is And in the year 1957, Told the story of the Midlands peasant Through inventories and last testaments, Freed us from our ignorance: And took us to a brave new world, Where hidden lives would lie unfurled, Add dimensions to our history, So let’s raise a toast to W.G King Richard lll -our most famous local legend. So if you mention Leicester To the person in the street The first thought coming into the heads Of the people that you meet, Is either of that awesome team (who we’ll come to in a bit) Or of a certain character Who must be our greatest hit? Although we’ve heard the story, So often put about, When speaking about our locality, We just can’t leave him out. Under the car park the story said, Nope, bones chucked in the river said the other, But this was just a bit of fake news As we will now uncover, So, let’s just get on with it, And cut out all the crap, And introduce the fella Who put Leicester on the map:- Captain Pouch (John Reynolds) - rebel against King James l. So, we’ll be moving swiftly on, To when Henry Tudor’s line was done, Unto the reign of James the Scot, And that renowned gunpowder plot, Which, as we know was to prove ill-fated, But had many that were implicated, Lord Tresham was a Catholic born, Who seemed to know more than he let on, And that mere finger of suspicion, Led to a great imposition, A hefty fine he would have to pay Which would lead him to insolvency, And so it was a deal he struck, Enabling him to pass the buck; And loadsamoney he would make, To put the icing back on his cake: With sheep he would fill up his land, Whose wool would always be in demand, But for the local peasants’ lot, He would care not a single jot, And would take the daily bread From lives already at the edge, He’d enclose the fields and would ignore, The common rights of the parish poor, But one John Reynolds put down his foot, Saying “up with this we will not put”, As Captain Pouch he showed such zeal, Saying our rights they will not steal, Level those fences, we will show As diggers we will boldly go, But eternal shame upon the crown That ordered them to be cut down... Jeffrey Hudson - small person with big dreams! Now perhaps you’ve learned of Leicester’s famous prodigy, One Daniel Lambert, Leicester’s BFG, Whose fame has stretched to places far and wide, In Legends 1 his story is described. This you can access this very easily by buying the Legends part 1 CD. Now in part 2, our very next musical theme, Will take us to the opposite extreme. From large to little will be our sharp contrast “So who could that be?” so I hear you ask. A mere eighteen inches tall this fellow stood, (20cm) Though scaled in each proportion fair and good. One Jeffrey Hudson, born in Oakham town, But for celebrity inevitably bound, When the Duke of Buckingham’s favour he then found. Then by the Queen achieved his great ambition, Became a must have acquisition. When stepping boldly from a steaming pie In mini suit of armour caught the royal eye. In the Civil War a captain bold was he, Part of King Charles’s cavalry. But one day stupidly a duel he fought, Killed a man and was exiled from the court, Thereafter suffered many narrow scrapes From which he managed to escape, Including being held in slavery To pirates from the coast of Barbary, And when released from this unfortunate plight, Appeared to have doubled in his height. But left to us at last a legacy In that fine pint of beer called JHB. George Davenport -local highwayman And so from roundheads and cavaliers, Let’s fast forward 100 years When England had much better roads, Which carried many a heavy load. But many bandits upon them strode With no respect for the Highway Code, And to robbery they did resort, So let’s now meet George Davenport. Who was track 7 on Legends -1 But a different song on 2 we’ve done A highwayman of some renown Who hailed from nearby Wigston town. Who, among his many other crimes Took the King’s Shilling forty times Then disappeared to leave no trace, Except the egg on the sergeant’s face, He knocked on many a stagecoach door, To rob the rich and feed the poor, But like all felons met his end Upon the gallows, yes my friend, For folks they gathered from miles about It really made a nice family day out, But that’s enough, let’s hear no more, Come minstrels now with one accord, Let’s sing of our George Davenport. Rasselas Morjan -tragic death of a freed slave:- Among the annals of our history, Are episodes we’d rather not have been, For all across the story through the ages, We come across some very shameful pages, An Empire that could straddle oceans wide Held things in which we cannot boast with pride, And profits from a trade so very vile, Would furnish the walls of many a country pile, But there were some campaigners good and brave, Who said that none should ever be a slave, And Wilberforce at last the fight has won, And our own Elizabeth Heyrick, (she’s on Legends 1) Rasselas Morjan was a prince so bold, From Africa was brought and then was sold, But landed on our shores when he was set free, Befriended by the Palmer family, And having cast off those infernal chains, Could look to find a life set free from pain, But all potential was to come to naught, When by disease his life was cut so short, At a tender 19 years he was to die, In Wanlip cemetery his body lies, So let this song a tribute be, In honour of his memory Ada Lovelace - local sofware pioneer So moving on. we find another one, Of whom it must be said departed far too young, And although one of the centuries pioneers, Departed this life a mere 3 dozen years, A lady, although born into wealth untold, Was destined from the start to break the mould, Lord Byron’s daughter, though 'tis sad to say, Deserted as her father went his wanton way, Ma Lovelace then determined she would not allow, Her daughter that same furrow for to plough, And to shield her offspring was her single goal, From all that sex and drugs and rock and roll, For mathematics, science her mother said, Would be the path that Ada now would tread, And for young Ada it was her intent, That from insanity this would prevent, A well thought out and very cunning plan, So she would not go bonkers like her dear old man, Litlle did she know her clever daughter, Would take unto it like a duck to water, And by those grey cells powerfully driven, Would conjure up that magic algorhythm. That even Mr Babbage had no indication, Of his analytical engine’s implications, And raised full many an eyebrow at the time, That a girl in such a sphere could ever shine... James Hawker - poacher So moving on from clever Ada, Several rungs down the social ladder, To one whose thoughts and later fruits In those “hungry forties” had their roots, When the shadow of the workhouse Hovered over all the poor, And against the cursed landowners He declared an all out war, And would cause them grief and pain, By poaching of their precious game, That later on became a point of principle no less, To outwit those cursed gamekeepers That caused so much distress. Several names he would use, Together with many another ruse, And like George Davenport before, He would connive to outsmart them all, And using his great expertise With trap and snare and gun, He would leave them trailing in his wake, For like a hare he’d run, Crouching low beneath the moon He’d lure those creatures to their doom, Which we might question nowadays, But those were then the country ways So of James Hawker you now will hear, In the style of good old Will Shakespeare. Buffalo Bill - his visit to Leicester:- Before computers and TVs, Our ancestors gazed not at screens, But they were solidly entertained By various miscellaneous means , Fairs, circuses and music halls Are just a few that we could name Of many ways our forefathers And mothers would be entertained. And in the year 1891, Leicester folk enjoyed a special treat, A once in a lifetime experience That they would surely mot repeat. A wonderful extravaganza Guaranteed to bring a thrill, So roll up for the Wild West Show, And celebrity Buffalo Bill! Alice Hawkins - Leicester Suffragette:- So James Hawker found himself On the wrong side of the law, Because he saw injustice, He would knock down that brick wall, Now Alice Hawkins was the same, Her patience had run out, In the drive to make sure That women got the vote. All manner of reasoned argument, Had given no satisfaction, So in the end she felt the need To resort to direct action. Not just with written words would she mount her attacks, But stongly reinforce her points with heckles and brickbats. Now Alice was a working girl, Down at the Equity, Not like those Pankhurst sisters, In posh society, She was no shrinking violet, But took to the grandstand, And grabbed the bull by the goolies, Squeezing tightly with both hands. Showing fear of no man, No matter the reputation, And bravely faced those prison walls, In the cause of emancipation. So let’s sing in praise of Alice, Raise our voices to the skies, To the strains of this old tune That you might recognise... Rum Weather - well loved local character So Alice now holds her place with pride, Courtesy of time and tide, But now we come to one who might be, Within our living memory, One of those characters you see around, The streets of many an English town, Whether by choice or by fortune, Or by the phases of the moon, Who tramped around the Leicester streets Well known to those that he would meet, And many stories were attached To how he came to find that patch, And even though his clothes were creased, He meant no harm to man or beast, And though limited in elocution, Became a local institution, So we will use our best endeavour, To tell you all about Rum Weather:- “The Leicestershire Miners” So let’s move now to celebrate, Not just one individual, But ones to whom we owe a debt, And need to praise them one and all They toiled in darkness and in heat 900 feet below the ground, And dug the coal out of the seams, That drove the nation’s wheels around, So let’s all sing a song of praise, Of all those men we’ll celebrate, And carve their names with pride in stone Not those who brought about their fate. Squire de Lyle - closing public footpaths:- Now in the days of James Hawker As we’ve already heard Those who owned fair England’s land Saw fit to act like total turds, We’d like to think that times have changed, Since those far off Victorian times, And that inflated sense of entitlement Which caused those ancient crimes, Had softened with the passing years, And give way to better times, And notions of a rigid caste, And privilege had seemed to wane, And those ideas of pedigree, Had been discarded down the drain. But enter stage right Squire de Lyle, Who seemed to take perverse delight, And like a mediaeval baron, Show no respect for common rights. A footpath ran across his land, To the delight of ramblers all, He chose to block the access though, A right of way enshrined in law. Said that the walkers damage caused, Yet welcoming the local hunt, And quarrying he said was fine, To which we all say “what a cad!” And so we’ll sing unto the Squire, Like Ewan MacColl in times now gone Raise a glass unto his health, And celebrate his name in song. Kun Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha - much loved football club owner:- And so, alas, our show must end, But just before you go, my friends, From Squire de Lisle we will escape And take you to a better place. And try to finish on a high, In fact we’ll reach out for the sky, Throughout the years the faith we’d kept, Yet disappointment must accept, The ups and downs of fortune’s wheel, That fate had chosen us to deal, Yet those who follow the game will know, That high would turn so soon to low, We certainly learned humility, By supporting dear old Leicester City, So seasons come and seasons go, But Nigel and then Claudio Under the reign of King Vichai Who said we should reach for the sky, So many owners were of ill repute, And target of the fans abuse. But we were gifted with the best, Who made the blueprint for the rest, And defying all the longest odds, Drank the nectar of the Gods, Though taken far too cruelly, Left an enduring legacy, And your good karma will live on From the father to the son. Legends 3 - Characters:- King Offa - ruler of the Midlands Now we’ve all heard the tale of old King Lear And of course of King Dick too In legends 1 and Legends 2 We brought them both to you But there’s another famous King A man of power and fame, And all throughout the Midlands And further still stretched his domains A mighty statesmen/warrior Whose fame stretched far and wide And even the mighty Charlemagne Let his son become his daughter’s bride In 757 he seized the throne Of Mercia, where we live today. And soon augmented his domain All south of the Humber he held sway. And all to him did homage pay The penny he did introduce A coin that we still often use So when you to spend a penny go Think of him when you're in the loo. But more. of course, endures his fame Because of his dyke we can see today Extended over many a mile And kept those Welsh at bay, So let’s not cut a short story long But celebrate Offa in a song. Ivo de Grandmesnil - the "Ropedancer". Now, if there’s one date in history That most immediately springs to mind, That famous one ten sixty six Will pop up first most of the time. Now this fella called Hugh de Grandmesnil Helped the Conqueror with his sword And in thanks for assistance with the conquest Got most of the Midlands as his reward. Now he had a son called Ivo Who inherited his father’s lands But all too soon the family fortune Was flushed and vanished down the pan. Now Will the Bastard had 3 sons William Rufus, who was next the King, Robert Curthose who got Normandy And young Henry waiting in the wings. But brotherly love existed not With machinations and with plots, Robert, ambitious, had big plans To hold all England in his hands, And Ivo went and lost the plot When with Robert he thew in his lot. But Robert proved a choice not wise Being far too disorganised And with Will Rufus peace he made Leaving poor Ivo all red-faced, To make amends a decision he made To go off on the First Crusade, And to pay for all his actions rash, Mortgaged his lands to get the cash. But his fortunes soon did hit the rocks At the Siege of Antioch, Where his actions brought him shame And brought down that illustrious name And when the battle reached its height, Slid down a rope and took to flight Hence “Ropedancer” he was painted His reputation forever tainted He went on a pilgrimage to make amends Where finally he met his end. The Grey Sisters - Catherine and Mary Grey:- Now, Lady Jane Grey, as is well known, For nine days wore the English crown. But political plots and machinations, Led her to her ruination. And 16 years after she was born, Became a sacrificial pawn. Now Jane had younger sisters two. Who may not be so familiar to you But of this pair we’ll tell the tale, Both equally tragic in their own way. Now Catherine, she was a passionate lass, And very soon it came to pass, With Edward Seymour in love fell she And they were married secretly And in nine months a son was born But there was little joy to come But when you are so close to the throne, These choices they are not your own. And Good Queen Bess was a hissyfit throwing That all this was done without her knowing. And immediately she dictated The couple should be separated And in the Tower were kept apart With no sympathy for affairs of the heart. But a kindly jailer moved by their plight, Allowed the pair to share a night And after this one night of joy There soon was born another boy. But when Liz heard of this get together Decided to split them up forever. Poor Catherine pined now they were apart And they say she died of a broken heart. Now younger sister Mary was a different tale. So small, barely five feet tall She thought she would avoid the fate. Of her unhappy sister, Kate. By an affair with one of low degree A porter by the name of Thomas Keyes. In contrast to Mary being so small, He was nearly 7 feet tall Moreover he was twice her age, They must have looked a couple strange. Now when the Queen she heard the news She was clearly not amused As Mary and Thomas, alas, alack Had done all this behind her back. And just like her sister it was deemed fit, The couple forever more to split. Poor Thomas he was close confined In a cell that was too small for his size. And though released in course of time, His health was truly undermined And soon after all this pain and strife His soul departed from this life Leaving poor Mary to grieve and mourn To spend her last days a figure forlorn. To prove that only grief and distress Could come from crossing Good Queen Bess. John Cook - man who prosecuted Charles l:- Now the Civil War was a dreadful thing, Between our Parliament and King And John Cook he took up the yoke, Of defending us poor common folk. At Hogue Hall Burbage he did dwell, And so his story we will tell All from injustice and from wrong So he’s the subject of our next song: Now Charles the First the reigning King Was brought to trial for many a sin, And John Cook used his lawyer’s guile To prosecute him at his trial And would refuse to scrape and bow Before Charles in his royal power The rights of the people were the thing More important than any King So Charles was to the scaffold led And parted company with his head, And for a while in this country We were without a monarchy. But his son Charles who had fled abroad Back to the kingdom was restored And John Cook now was to be tried For the crime of regicide And though he made a stout defence He could not prove his innocence And so upon the appointed date He suffered a grisly traitor’s fate But lets’ all honour his memory As one who fought against tyranny. Georg Friedrich Handel - his visit to our area:- Now those of you who sing in a choir Will be familiar with Handel’s Messiah. But that fine piece of musical perfection Has a good local connection As in the year 1741 A bloke whose name was Jennensen Said to Handel “Come to these shores, So you can complete your musical score The libretto I’ve already done So off you go! At The Rising Sun There you can enjoy your stay, And at your masterpiece work away. I have a temple in a glade Where you can compose in the shade, Together with the excellent crew Of musos you have brought with you. I’m sure this rural situation Will give you total inspiration! So Handel, delighted at the news, Gave free reign unto his muse. His masterpiece for to produce. Later on, in seventeen fifty nine At Church Langton came the time For the first performance locally Arranged by the Reverend Hanbury Whose main interest was growing trees, But also had other big ideas, Who of Handel’s music was a fan so big And so arranged this famous gig. John Flower - Leicester artist:- There was a man by the name John Flower, A framework knitter by calling, But he discovered he had the knack Of doing very fine drawings. And soon Miss Mary Linwood Took him under her wing, And said “you must develop your talent, It is a precious thing. In London he did study His artist’s skills to hone, And after this one year well spent Came back to his Leicester home. In 1826 appeared His book of local views Which preserved for us forever That we might never lose. The vision of a fine old town That he saw every day Before the factories came along And swept it all away. And so we celebrate John Flower And those old views so fine Almost as if he knew He was running out of time. Susannah Watts - writer and anti-slavery activist:- Susannah Watts lived by her pen In a world dominated all be men And when family fortunes took a dive By her writing must now survive, She earned some good remuneration By taking on Italian translation And in the year 1804 Wrote Leicester’s very first guided tour. But as women writing was frowned upon It had to be published as “anon”. But undoubtedly her greatest cause Was to try to change the slavery laws, So she began a long campaign That no one should lead a life in chains, With Elizabeth Heyrick she worked well To ring aloud that freedom bell. (Elizabeth’s story equally bold Has in “Legends -1” been told) They harried Wilberforce to change his position And demand immediate abolition. They made local people well aware That the sugar trade was so unfair Led a big campaign for to persuade Folk to boycott that awful trade; So we’ll take you on a tour round town As it was when Susan wrote it all down, And compare it to the modern day As round the city centre we make our way:- James Cook - last man in England to be gibbeted:- Now James Cook was a bookbinder, His living thus was made, In a workshop found in King Street, Taking over his father’s trade. Now something must have gone amiss And somehow he did let, What should have been a steady trade, Get badly into debt. A Mr Paas arrived from London And at his door he showed Demanding of a sum of money, He said that he was owed. And as a result of this conversation A row did soon explode. It all became so heated That in the end it led, To Cook taking up an iron bar, And cracking open Mr Paas’s head. The blow proved to be fatal And Cook now realised That he would need some desperate measures To cover up his awful crime. He would cut the body into bits And then he did conspire To burn the body parts in his stove And some upon an open fire. But this was not a simple task And the work proceeded slow (Just here I’ll issue a cautionary note -Don’t try this one at home!) He worked away both night and day, But progressed none too well, And when it came to the innards It made an awful smell. The neighbours were suspicious And enquiries were begun, But Cook said it was horse flesh That he’d bought off a man, But soon the awful truth it dawned That this was a human trunk, At which James Cook did panic And decided to do a bunk. To America he would embark And board upon a ship, So to Liverpool he caught a coach And would give his pursuers the slip. But Officer Cummins was soon on the trail In hot pursuit he went And Cook was brought back a prisoner To face trial and punishment. He was, of course, found guilty And would hang for this dreadful crime, And his carcass would be gibbeted (For this was still done at this time) But those who were living near Saffron Lane Were clearly not amused And demanded the gibbet be taken down- The last time in England this was used. So the rather dubious honour To James Cook on this date. In the year of 1832 the last To suffer this gruesome fate. Tom Barclay - Irish immigrant and pioneer Socialist:- Now one of the most shameful parts Of our country’s history Is that dreadful famine that occured Across the Irish Sea. When a million fled their homeland From hunger and disease And to the Earth’s far places Crossed oceans wide and seas, Now here in Leicester at that time Lived a family struggling to get by, Tom Barclay was born into darkness Seen through a child’s eye. His father gathered rags and bones To try to make ends meet Or sometimes chopped up firewood Which he sold in the street Hounded by the English kids Resentment every day Many were the sticks and stones That were hurled his way. Yet Tom he proved a clever lad And my some means he learned The skills of how to read and write, And the ways of the world to learn. He found out all about history And of the lives of men And very soon did start to write With a persuasive pen. Fighting for the working class Trying hard to give them hope That they would soon cast off the chains That bound them to the yoke. Tom produced “The Pioneer” And gained a reputation As one who would advance the cause Of the workers’ situation. He’d take any job he could To help him to get by And earned respect from all he met For his sincerity At times though he felt very sad Around him all to see His fellow working men resigned In political apathy The pub and the 'free and easy', Temptations hard to resist And served so well to soften the edge Of the way they had to exist. And yet he never got bitter Or gave up his Socialist cause But in the hearts of his fellow men and women Only the good he saw. Tanky Smith - famous Leicester detective:- Now Leicester often has produced Some fine upholders of the law, Including Tubby Stephens Who we’ve dealt with before. Now Frances Smith was a clever soul And would uphold those laws, By using a range of clever means To catch those criminals. He got the nickname “Tanky” As “tanking” it was called, To give a forceful tap on the head, To villains large and small. And Tanky took on many roles, A master of disguise To infiltrate those dens of vice Without being recognised. He really did clean up the town Kept the baddies off the streets So all the folk of Leicester Could sleep safely between the sheets. He even chased down missing persons All the way to Germany To track down a prominent member Of the Win stan-e leys Though he couldn’t bring the poor lad back, Because he’d sadly drowned, At least he found what happened And the family closure found. Now Tanky is remembered Thanks to efforts by his son Who decided on a permanent way To celebrate what his dad had done. In Top Hat Terrace on London Road Where Tanky used to dwell Are sixteen gargoyles carved in stone The story for to tell Of the disguises Tanky used Those villains to waylay And to this day they can be seen If you’re passing by that way. Muggy Measures - another much loved local character:- Now going back through Leicester’s past Those streets did once resound With street cries of those a – selling their wares All around the town. Now it’s of one such as here we sing George Measures was his name, Known to all as “Muggy Measures” Who lived in Loseby Lane. His speciality muffins But other stuff as well, Like sausages and buns And minted peas he’d sell. He’d often walk to Syston Where the kids would gather round, This well known local character Who was so well renowned. But he was still remembered For many years to come After he passed away In the year nineteen o one. So we’ve put him in a song To preserve him for all time, The chorus being a modified form Of a famous nursery rhyme. Larry Gains - brought boxing glory to Leicester:- Now folk in Leicester have become well used To knowing sporting success, And in that period between the wars, There was certainly some of this. A boxer who was called Larry Gains Though Canadian by birth, Came to live in Leicester, And there to prove his worth. He won himself many titles Put many an opponent down, Including two world champions But he’d never get to win that crown. Because his skin was coloured black The powers that be decreed, That he couldn’t fight for the world heavyweight crown Where only white men could succeed. In Wharf Street he trained very hard And all his mettle showed When he won the Empire Title Down the Welford Road. With an open top bus tour He made his victory parade Became a local hero, As history was made. But still it left a bitter taste, That he was to be deprived Of that golden opportunity To fight for that biggest prize. But as a local hero He passes all the tests And so we’ll celebrate his life A Leicester legend among the best. (Johannes) Matthaeus Koelz – painter and anti-war campaigner:- Now Matthaeus Koelz was a German soldier brave Who fought in the Great War. Won the Iron Cross for bravery For actions above the call Yet, he was totally outraged By the horrors he had seen Became an advocate of peace, Saying "all war is obscene." And only serves for profits To those who weapons made Ignoring all the grief and loss And misery and pain. To make it worse those priests of God, All this slaughter blessed, Encouraged men to go and fight And walk the road to death. Now Matthaeus was a painter Who used his artistic skills To paint a giant Triptych Called “Thou Shalt Not Kill”. It showed up all the horrors In scenes most graphically A powerful visual protest For all the world to see. But life it was now dangerous Due to the new regime That cast a giant shadow Over thirties Germany. When asked to paint the Fuhrer He really could not bear To put on that awful brown shirt Upon his back to wear. So he decided to take flight, To avoid almost certain arrest, And sawed up the giant Triptych Into squares he left with friends. In various places so one day It might be reassembled And hopefully go on display, When the world became more settled From having lost its way. But, as soon as he went to a new country He’d have to move on fast, As the Nazi war machine, Extended its evil grasp. 'Til he arrived in England, But still no peace found then As he was incarcerated As an enemy alien. And shipped across to Australia, Just like a poor convict And by a German U-boat Narrowly missed being hit. Eventually he did return To a world to be soon at peace And saw out his final days quietly In well deserv-ed ease Now the pieces of the Triptych Were scattered all around And the pieces of this jigsaw Would never all be found. But some postcards had been made That showed the work complete And from the pieces that remained Was reconstructed the masterpiece. And so in the New Walk Museum This fine work was displayed, In its full size so the full impact Of the painting was surveyed. His life was an incredible story, We’ve left out some details But if you read the book by Simon Lake It’s a really well told tale. And so we’ve written here a poem That’s really rather long. Will celebrate this great mans life In a shortish song. Jamie Vardy - Leicester City goal machine:- Now let’s speak more of that sporting success For which our city is renowned, And go back to that famous season When the Foxes won that crown; The Premier League title In two thousand and sixteen At odds of 5,000 to one, Another “impossible dream”. Now of that amazing team of players One story we’ll relate, Because it tells the moral That it really never is too late. In Sheffield he was born, That town of tempered steel, And proved to be the sharpest knife From the grinding wheel Jamie Vardy played for local teams Usually part time Working in a factory At the daily grind. For Fleetwood Town he made a mark And soon the eye he caught Of scouts from Leicester City, Who a new striker sought. And from the bargain basement Was plucked this famous prize Who’d been told he’s never make it Because of his small size. He helped the team do the “Great Escape” Avoiding relegation And very soon turned out to be A goal scoring sensation. He helped the team to win the League Which could not have beed foreseen, And then went on from strength to strength, A goal scoring machine. Lethal in front of goal he proved Many records he did set, He terrified defenders Before putting the ball in the net. He played for his country Though loyal to our team he stayed. To become a Leicester legend A master of his trade. So our final song we’ll sing Even raise a glass of wine To the amazing Mr Vardy A true legend of our time.