Sunday, 30 December 2012


 Over there in England, in the neighbourhood of Lee,
 A tiny babe, in ’61, increased our family.
 Almost eight pound, an ideal birth, you joined your dad and I,
 Reflecting back with fondness brings a teardrop to my eye.
  Now as a child, most children do, you questioned this and that,
  Though quite persistent in your ways, you wanted things ‘down pat’.   
  A year at school in England and then you said ‘farewell’
  To all your friends, when we all moved to western shores so swell.
   Within five years of moving, you showed a talent rare,
   A local ‘Scot’ the bagpipes taught, you had a natural flair,
   This music plays a vital role for Christopher today,
   The Police band has the honour, to have this piper play.

    While still a late teenager, ‘old England’, your heart, ate,
    And so you traveled back alone, whilst there, you joined the ‘Met’.
     ‘Lone ranger’ and in ‘cruiser’ you loved that high speed life,
      Returning, after seven years, accompanied by your wife.
   Another role, quite serious is that, of ‘parenthood’,
   Your daughters mean the world to you, with them, you’re awfully good.
   A caring lad and thoughtful, this nature, you’ve become,
    I am delighted and o’erjoyed to hear you call me, “mum”.

     So now five decades later, your excellence has shown,
     ‘Superintendent’ is your role, within the Halton zone.
      You’re earnest in your workspace, in ‘you’, you have believed,
      Both dad and I’ve been very proud of all that you’ve achieved.


     Debonair and dapper while clad in fine attire,
 Anticipating beauty, the one of his desire,
 Now the music beckons, the Bridal March resounds,
 In apparel radiant, her beauty, all, astounds.
 Entrance is preceded by dazzling maidens fair,
 Love is so apparent, it’s noted everywhere. 

 After vows are witnessed, a promise made for life,
     Next the declaration, “pronounce you man and wife”
 Down the years together, a clan of boys on tow,

 Knitting them in harmony and love, as they did grow,
 Impassioned and adoring, with a love that’s strong,
 Married now, the ‘’Silver Years’, though 
                           doesn’t seem that  long.
                                                                                                    Colin Ross
September 26th   1987 – 2012
Coppins /Porlier

My Life

Horses are my passion I love my Comet dear
All my friends and family, I hold them very near,
Lots of fine prize ribbons, I’ve had them for a while,
Love to give out presents, to see another smile,
Eating Yorkshire pudding, a wonderful delight,
Sleeping over with my friends, we talk and talk all night, 
    Clothes to match, imperative, it has to be just right.
On my horse you’ll find me, I d love to ride him more,
Music and a movie or Mars bar squares galore.
Each year in December, a stocking’s hung, you bet,
Teachers say I’m ‘pretty good’, but not a ‘teachers pet’
                                                                              Colin Ross


Hands high by fifteen, standing proud and tall,
Arabian, Miniature, Clydesdales, this girl knows them all,
Look at her on Comet, not flying through the air
Leaping over hurdles with elegance and flair,
Equestrianism is in her blood, she’ll never have her fill,
Saddling up her charger, preparing for the drill,

Cantering or dressage, she shows her handling skill,
Overcoming obstacles with footsteps sound and slow,
M arching to the music or jumping in a show,
Every time improving, she’s mastering the knack,
Trotting, sprinting, galloping, loves being on horseback.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Colin Ross

The Ruby Years

September 4th 1970-2010

Two young folk in their twenties
Did vow to share their love,
In front of friends and family,
Before the Lord above.

Within six years of marriage
They’d added to their nest,
The Ross and Harris union
With daughters had been blest.

And so this love that started,
Has lasted ages long,
Four decades bears this witness,
Their love is still as strong.

Call of the wild

Amber, crimson, gold and tan,
Where once 'twas shades of green,
This natural turning of the leaves
Is such a gorgeous scene.

The xylem tissues, no more food
Unto the leaves provide,
Thus giving the impression that
These mighty plants have died.

The trees, so naked in the breeze,
Skeletonized 'til Spring,
Their dormant season soon will end
When new life will begin.

The hardy annuals also die,
They've given up their best,
Now hibernating 'neath the soil
To start a time of rest.

Where we continually take our rest,
Botanical rest is 'Fall'
There's ne'er the possibility of
Ignoring nature's call.

The Inevitable

You will hear of wars and rumours of wars............this must take place..............nation will rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom. Matt 24 v 6-7

As once again there's talk of war,
When will all fighting cease?
The pacifists shout out anew
"Why can't we live in peace?"

Young men and women, daughters, sons,
With all their life to live,
As they, their country's name defend,
Their lives, their all, they give.

Satanical tyrants lust for power,
Oppressive harsh despots,
Their sole reliance for their ends
Are bombs and rifleshots.

They do not care 'pon whom they tread,
To reach their final goal,
Or who they hurt or main or kill
As long as they control.

Yet this was prophesied of old,
Two thousand years ago,
Before the end of time does come,
These wars, we all must know.

No Strings Attached

"Like a puppet on a string"
Triggers memory bells to ring
That sixties hit by Sandie Shaw
Evoking instances of yore.

The Junior Boys Brigade display
At age of eight years and a day,
I was that puppet - when I hear,
I'm transformed back to yesteryear.

Imaginary strings upon my hands,
Taking up a marionette stance,
The puppeteer, I do not know,
But strings are tugged and off I go.

The strings controlling head and limb,
Put me on an impulsive whim,
When at the end, the music stops,
Those strings go loose, the puppet flops.

Playing God?

Scientific advancement
Creating something odd
'I AM' the sole Creator,
Thou shalt not play God.

Identically cloning
Like two peas in a pod
Cloning is not natural
Thou shalt not play God.

Designing 'ideal' babies
Genetically mod.
Children are a special gift
Thou shalt not play God.

Stopping terminal illness
New ground being trod
This is good progression, but
Thou shalt not play God.


Oh to be in Carrick
Where the skies are always blue,
Sitting by the castle old
And thinking thoughts of you,
Looking 'cross the water
As the yachts go sailing by,
Glancing up admiringly
At all that clear blue sky.

But here I am in foreign fields,
Where it is damp with rain,
Thinking of the money spent,
Oh isn't that a pain,
I could have travelled westwards
Where green fields are miost with dew,
To that ancient and historic town,
Where the skies are always blue.

The Ruby Years

It may just seem like yesterday
When Jean was wooed by John,
But really, all those yesteryears
Have inched their way along.

We see a young petite Miss Hale
In finery so grand,
At 'Alexandra', stand by John
And pledge to take his hand.

To love and cherish, rich or poor,
In health and sickness too
Relying on their Lord above
To help them see it through.

This love that started way back then
Is still strong, it appears,
This Hale-Montgomery union has
Now reached its Ruby years.

Saturday, 29 December 2012

The Family

"Goodbye", - it seems so final,
This choir has said a few,
But really, it is very hard
To say 'goodbye' to you.

O'er the silver years of singing,
Enjoying each low note,
And even when the music by
Our George, had been 'rewrote'.

When in mid song, he'll gulder
"You're hissing like a snake"
"Someone, their notes are sliding"
"Too many breaths you take"

To me, the choir's a family
Where friendships we did forge,
And all under the leadership
Of my 'big brother' George.

Is this a day historic George?
I see you look enthralled,
For this must be the first time e'er
That 'BIG', you have been called.

This 'family' is extended,
With aunts and uncles too,
Time has its limitations
So I'll mention just a few.

The first is aunty Jean McBride,
She's known me ages long,
Why, she knew me when she was still
My aunty Jean Armstrong.

How could I forget uncle George?
He's known me quite some time,
Since he and his new bride moved in
Next door, to 'forty nine'

There's Jeannie, our librarian,
A thankless task, no doubt,
With head in drawer she'll oft be found
A-hokin' music out.

And then of course there's Dorothy,
My colleague in the verse,
Perhaps she could do better, 'cause
She sure could do no worse.

There's stories of three legged dogs,
And Tommy's 'oul straw hat'
If ever I feel homesick,
I'll just remember that.

This family has its elders,
I'm thinkinig of 'Big John'
A special 'farwell' to you
From your 'self adopted son'.

So farewell choir family,
I'll think of you with love,
And should we ne'er sing here again,
We'll sing in Heaven above.

Don't make this any harder
For really hard it is,
But I must follow on with
My dear beloved, Liz.

As we conclude our packing,
'Twill be a great relief
When eventually we settle down
In the land of 'Maple leaf'

So 'farewell' tenors, altos,
Sopranos, basses too,
But 'goodbye' seems so final,
So I'll just say ''adieu''.

Ooh Matron

The time has come, the day is nigh,
When we who toiled must say 'goodbye'
With fondness, we'll remember aye
The years that we spent at 'Burnbrae'.

But let us take a closer look
At matron, nurse and oft'times, cook,
The one in charge of personnel,
So many hats, she wore them well.

In '74, not yet eighteen,
Still pretty young, though not so green,
To Belfast she did move, from Toome,
Lived close to Judy Houston's room.

The second floor in Musgrave Park,
No doubt, these young girls had a lark,
Areton Street, her next abode,
Whilst there, increased her study load.

At 'Royal Vic' the aged she nursed,
As fully trained, this was her first,
Then off to Knockagh Court she went,
With Hazel's mother, time, she spent.

Then Hal and Hazel hatched a plot
Some premises they had just bought,
And so to Burnbrae, Sarah came,
As matron, she, employed by them.

A personal trainer she employed,
And many workouts she enjoyed,
Each antic heard by one and all
Of every hour she spent with Paul.

Six years ago she changed her role,
Which put her in complete control
But now the home has closed its doors,
No more the stench of old bedsores.

Yes, now the home, it's doors have closed,
Therefore this poem has been composed,
What's done, I hope you wont regret,
And of your staff?, please don't forget.


They say that life's a miracle,
This, Sylvia would agree,
For many 'miracles' she observed,
And each, a 'joie de vie'.

But miracles happen all the time,
They are not always small,
The fact that Syl. will wed big Al.
Is the biggest one of all.

An eligible 'bachelor-girl'
We thought she'd never wed,
Until this 'Aussie' she did meet
And pledged to share his bed.

But not of course until that ring
Was firmly fixed in place,
Would she dare enter his boudoir
To fluff his pillowcase.

The day that Alec did propose
Would've been a sight to see,
Al. struggling to get back up
From 'pon his wounded knee.

It's said that opposites attract
So is it any wonder
Since Sylvia's from northern 'sphere,
That Alec's from 'down under'.

Though Alec's Sylvia's blue-eyed boy,
We can't turn that around,
'Cause Sylvia has but one blue eye,
The other, is it brown?

Congratulations Sylvia,
And let us not be vague,
For very soon you will be known
As Mrs. Alec Craig.

Response to Variation on Greensleeves

              Alas my brother, you did no harm
         Relating to us your aweful need,
         The dreadful circumstance in which
         You're ending up with green sleeves

Refrain   So, so we urge you now
              To use this present, when in need,
              Blow, blow, keep your nose clean
              Then no longer will you have green sleeves.
             These handkerchiefs are made of cloth
         And large enough for any need,
         A runny nose? just wipe it clean
         Then you will not end up with green sleeves

Refrain   So, so we urge you now
              To use these handkerchiefs when in need
              Blow, blow, keep your nose clean
              And nevermore will you have green sleeves

         Whene'er these handkerchiefs, you have used,
         Soak them in water and wash them clean,
         And when they're dry, just use again,
         To keep you from getting those green sleeves

Double   So, so we urge you now
Refrain   To use these handkerchiefs when in need,
              Blow, blow, keep your nose clean,
              Then you can sing "I have no green sleeves"
              Green sleeves were your dismay
              And green sleeves were no delight,
              Now pupils in years to come
              Wont ask "who's that teacher wi' green sleeves?"

The Last Goodnight

It may be ten long months ago
Whene'er my heart did break,
You were not ill, complained of nought,
Yet God, your life did take.

If I had known a year ago
'Twould be our last Noel,
I would have filled your life with joy
Before we said farewell.

Ten months have passed, I've come to terms,
I know you wont return,
But as I spend this lone Noel,
Your company I yearn.

Family and friends, elated are,
Their Christmas, full of fun,
While here I sit, a lonesome soul,
Thinking of only one.

So spare a thought for those who'll spend
A Christmas blue, not white,
For who's to know when you may say
A final, long 'goodnight'

A Simple Life

Technology, instantaeity,
For some, they have their place,
C.D.'s, laptops and D.V.D.'s
They take up little space.

Wide screen T.V. and motor car,
Once luxuries, - not now,
But absolute necessities
Just like the cat's meow.

Gone are the days when life was slow,
Scones baking on the griddle,
The children making up their fun,
With childish tarradiddle.

Walks in the park on Saturday,
A family night of games,
A life of unpretentiousness
With really simple aims.

But there are those still in the past,
Communities such, are scarce,
Technology may have its place,
For some, it's just a curse.

Friday, 28 December 2012


Ecliptically the earth turned dark,
Sacrificed for me and you,
Jesus died at Calvary,
Curtain torn in two.
Three days later He arose,
Resurrection glory.

Driving Force

Our son was ill, brain disorder
His seizures weren't that bad,
Still hindered him from living life
Like any other lad.

At twenty two, he'd still no car,
Still travelling on the bus,
His older siblings all could drive,
As could the two of us.

He longed for independence great,
A bicycle he'd ride,
And though it only had two wheels,
It kept him satisfied.

But then one night he had a dream,
Was driving far and near,
The licence number "LIA"
For him "was a good year".

Now fifteen years have passed him by,
His seizures disappeared,
The day he passed his driving test,
How mum and I both cheered.

One Wish

If I could have a single wish,
And know it would come true,
I would not ask for power or wealth,
Or monetary value.

I would not ask for stocks and shares,
Or even public fame,
A larger house or brand new car,
Or letters past my name.

But just one wish would be my plea,
And that alone would do,
"To have suffice to live each day
With health to see it through"

The Builder

I've built a house of brick and stone,
A house that I can call my own,
With gardens at both front and rear,
And all the best of modern gear.
The site is past the twelfth milestone,
Beside a field that's overgrown,
Although this fact is unbeknown,
I've built a house.

Alone, I laid the cornerstone
And since that day, the time has flown,
From weeks to months and then a year,
The final stone was laid with cheer
And though my joints with pains do groan,
I've built a house.


The leaves are turning amber-brown,
The days becoming drear,
They say that summer's long since past,
Why, was it even here?

Oh yes, in countries farther south,
Or 'round that 'central line'
But then, down there and all year through,
The weather's always fine.

But farther north, around these isles,
The climate's not so hot,
To our dismay we have learnt to
Put up with what we've got.

So as before, in years gone by,
As winter looms, severe,
We'll batten down and live in hope
Of warmer climes, next year.


Jamaican sun in January,          
Uncrowded sandy beach,
Sapphire sea seductively
Torments me to outreach.
Adventuresome and awesome,
White horses waving by,

Island paradise, ideal,
Shimmering sun in clear blue sky, 
Heavenly enchanting appeal.

Love Unconditional

 She never asks a question,
And yet, she's always there,
Her love is unconditional.
Her love is always fair.

She has no sense of reason,
The time, she cannot tell,
But for rising and retiring,
These times she knows quite well.

And then of course, there's supper,
She knows she'll get a snack,
Five fingertips of butter
Helps keep her coat gloss black.

When beads of light are dancing
On ceiling or on wall,
She'll jump so high to catch them,
But never will she fall.

She loves to have her comfort,
Security and heat,
When waking in the morning,
She's curled up, 'round my feet.

Someone to share your problems,
A listing ear to bend,
How could I live without her?
My little feline friend.

Blind Vision

I cannot see the beauty
That for granted, others take,
The cloudless sky in summer,
Or the stillness of the lake.

The leas, adorned with colour
By the 'drops and bells of blue,
The spider's webs that glisten
With the sheen of morning dew.

But I have got a vision
That is special just to me,
A sense of inner beauty,
Let me tell you what I see.

The flowers, like an altar
Send an incense in the air,
The lavander and 'suckle
Growing wildly everywhere.

The music of the river
Speedily ripples past my way,
I hear it singing to me
As with pebbles it does play.

I feel the wind so gentle
Like a kiss upon my face,
The sticky thread from spiders
As they weave their webs of lace.

Then on my lips, the raindrops,
As they fall on me, barefaced,
Send innermost revival
With a fresh enriching taste.

Yes, I have got a vision
That 'most anyone can see,
A sensual arousal
That you too can share with me.


Dug out of mines deep in the ground
I'm overjoyed that you were found,

Amazing spectrum you project,

Myriad lovers, you select,

Orectic, you're the natural choice,

Niveous, or it that like 'ice'?

Debonair, one can overspend,

Set in gold, you're a girls best friend.


She sits there by the window,
Though not to snoop or pry,
But as a caring neighbour
Who keeps a watchful eye.

She notes when no-one visits
And pops in for a chat,
Aware of family problems,
She's e'er the diplomat.

Though down the road by six miles,
I still am not 'next door'
So it is reassuring that
On her I can implore.

My mother, she is aging,
Though independant still,
To keep her self-sufficiency,
The struggle is uphill.

But thanks to this good neighbour,
The gradient's less severe
And though it's been said often,
These thanks are most sincere.

The Rule of Time

One hour forward, one hour back,
Oh what a waste of time,
G.M., B.S. and back again,
It's quite a pantomime.

An hour less at work, for some,
And then, an hour more,
The time it takes to change each clock
Is really quite a chore.

Up north they say it gets too dark
As weans go off to school,
So back one hour the clocks do go
Like a regimental rule.

But one solution is at hand
That I suggest we do,
Just change the clock by one half hour
And keep that all year through.

Two Sides

C does not mean Chaos,instead, it's the Christ child,
H is not the Hustle, but Hope from one so mild,
R for Rudolph reindeer? not so, Redeemer came, 
does not mean Icicles, but Infant, Christ his name,
does not the Stocking mean, but Shepherds from afar,
T is not the Turkey, but Three wise men and a star,
M for Mistletoe? not so, the Manger, rude and bare,
A is not for Alcohol, but Agape, to spare,
S for Santa Clause? not so, the Son of God come down,
   One side of Christmas, temporal,
   The other, yields a crown.

Widow's Dirge

It may be ten long months ago
Whene'er my heart did break,
You were not ill, complained of nought,
Yet God, your life did take.

I was not there to say goodbye,
Our lives we'll now not share,
The emptiness I feel inside
Is tormentuous to bear.

The day we laid you down to rest,
With broken heart, I cried,
Though painfully, I held it back,
I wished I too, had died.

But now you've left me so alone,
Asunder, my life's torn,
I dread the coming of new dawn,
I'm feeling so forlorn.

Your photographs are all arouond,
Evoking lost memories,
Though you will aye be in my thoughts,
With time, the pain might ease.

Ten months have passed; I've come to terms,
I know you'll ne'er return,
But as I spend this long first year,
Your comp'ny I still yearn.


I'm going on a great vacation,
Be visiting another nation,
Might even need a vaccination.

I will be seeing foreign places,
And hopefully, some friendly faces
Will carry some of my suitcases.

At Heathrow airport, I'll emplane
And sit beside a windowpane
To watch, as we fly tramontane.

As we commence our downward flight
I'll pray that we will land aright,
It will be reaching their twilight.

Then to the airport we will trek,
I hope it wont be some old shack
In that vast countries great outback.

But I will have a time of pleasure,
Doing things at my own leisure,
Then memories I'll fondly treasure.

Thursday, 27 December 2012


I'm hungry, so on you I'll leap,
Even though you are asleep,
My tail, your face, it will upsweep.

My phenotype is quite crinite
And since I have an appetite,
I will ensure you get upright.

You see, there's nothing in my bowl,
No cat-flap, so I cannot stroll
Outside, to fine me mole or vole.

And so, on you, I must depend,
For by myself, I cannot fend,
'Cause I'm your helpless feline friend.


At last, you're up, - I'll get my meal,
This really was a great ordeal,
But then, I hear that can unseal.

I smell my food, my tastebuds burst,
And to my bowl I dash - headfirst
As in my dreams I had rehearsed.


Four Dirges

I do not know the reason
Why you were called away
But in my heart you will remain
For ever, and a day.

If tears could send a message,
If sadness eased the pain,
You'd get a message every day
Until we'd meet again.

A loving smile, a thoughtful deed,
A helping hand when others need,
A fragrant rose, a summer breeze,
We'll think of you in all of these.

Do not let the tears run dry,
Let mourning have its place,
But empty yourself of sorrow,
Then let memories fill that space.

Armies Loves

'Twas early summer, late in May,
In '29, the year,
To Bill and Georgie, there was born
A darling son so dear.

They knew not what to call him, so
They gave him family names,
But "Armstrong Haveron"  was not right,
And so they added 'James'.

He started work in Gallaghers
In 1944,
And as the 'post-boy', he'd be found
A-pacing every floor.

An incident in '76,
For better, changed his life,
When J.V.N. Parkinson did
Consent to be his wife.

Though Valerie is years younger,
Armie is really smart,
'Cause marrying a younger girl
Has kept him young at heart.

Though this relationship evolved,
There was another 'one'
His other pride and joy was his
Beloved teenage son.

But he has yet another love
As everybody has,
And that's the love he has for song,
He really loves his jazz.

Another love we must include,
His avid love of sport,
The cup displayed was won for his
Great skill, on the squash court.

So now he is a husband true,
A father and granddad,
Val, Peter, Pam and their two girls
Make Armies life so glad.

Now he has reached three score and ten
And looking rather well,
In San Diego, he'll be found
With Robert and Hazel.

Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Britains Best?

Britain?, Well it used to be Great,
That "Great British Empire"
Other nations did us respect,
Our power, they did aspire.

Our kings, our queens, palaces grand,
Also the 'House of Lords'
Brought different peoples to our land,
They came in throngs and hoards.

They came, but they went not away,
Their culture brought also,
Britain with her e'er open door
Helped foreign cultures grow.

Then we the "Common Market" joined,
That was a grave mistake,
What benefits have we enjoyed?
We give, while others take.

Passports of old, they are no more,
Now joined with the E.U.
Sterling, once strong, they want removed,
And British cars are few.

What next?, Our culture's disappeared,
Our heritage will fade,
Governments say "It's for the best"
But errors, they have made.

But yet there's still ONE thing we have,
They can't take this away,
Something that now is in the past,
And that's our history.

Saturday, 22 December 2012

Childhood Years

In just nine months, a bundle of joy,
A cross 'tween mum and dad,
Their simple trust, their innocence too
Makes every parent glad.

We watch each stage of development,
Reactions, all innate,
Their every 'first' etched deep in our mind,
And noting every date.

First smile, first word and then their first step,
Their first wee pair of shoes,
In years to come, when we recollect,
They'll chase away our blues.

We watch with joy and awe as they ape
Our actuions, in their play,
He copies his dad, and she, her mum,
Their various traits display.

Psychologists say that's how they learn,
So let them have their play,
Their childhood years are some of the best,
Don't wish their lives away.

At four or five, they look so grown up,
As they go out to school,
And as they learn to read and to write,
They show us they're no fool.

So cherish all those happy moments,
They're gifts from God above,
And ponder just how lucky you are,
Then shower them with your love.

The Tame Game

There is a game this tutor plays,
To us it's all hard slog,
At first we don't know where to go,
Like driving home through fog.

But then this tutor takes control
And through the fog, does steer,
Within an instant, it has gone
And everything's quite clear.

Like enzymes with their active cells
Denatured by tense heat,
Amoebas, pseudo podium,
Or two of them, - false feet?

Mitosis and meiosis
Division of a cell
But with this tutors knowledge
We grasp it very well.

To keep all things in balance,
That's homeostosis
When all's in equilibrium,
Then everything's sheer bliss.

And then there is the microscope,
Electron, not, - just light,
But viewing microbes through that lens
Is such an awesome sight.

Her phenotype is 'curvy'
And yes, she likes her food,
But when she gets to teaching
She's really very good.

Although she's merely five foot five,
It's not a great amount,
'Specially, since in biology
She tells us 'size does count'

She'd like to have a 'liquid lunch'
That surely is no sin,
But her H2O consists of
Hydro and Oxy-GIN.

And so, I hear you ask of me,
"What is this tutors name?"
Why, it's none other than the best,
Our own dear Barbara Tame.

The Ballad of Jim Magill

I thought I'd say this little ode
It is a fancy thing,
It is NOT for an old friend, more
A friend of long standing.

When you were only eighteen years
You sadly lost a limb,
About the town, the folk would say
"Oh here comes 'one-legged Jim' ".

Very shortly after that,
You got a leg of tin,
And every time that you did move,
You made an aweful din.

When in your early twenties,
You met this girl - Betty,
And from a Londoner, I'm told,
You stole your bride away.

They say 'practice makes perfect'
And I would say that's true,
It took some time before you got
A child NOT wrapped in blue.

And when the kids were younger,
Some folk say it's a sin,
But they'd hide toys and sweeties down
The leg that's made of tin.

Though now not in employment,
Retires, 'cause you were ill,
Whene'er odd jobs are needing done,
They'll call on Jim Magill.

So have a happy birthday,
And many more do yen,
If anyone says sixty's old,
Just say you're 'fifty ten'.