THE WANDERER IN NORFOLK.
A Fantasia on East Anglian Place-Names.
Tired by the City's ceaseless roaring
I fly to Great or Little Snoring;
When crowds grow riotous and lawless
I seek repose at Stratton Strawless;
When feeling thoroughly week-endish
I hie in haste to Barton Bendish,
Or vegetate at Little Hautbois
(Still uninvaded by the "dough-boy").
The simple rustic fare of Brockdish
Excels the choicest made or mock dish;
Nor is there any patois so
Superb as that of Spooner Row.
Pett-Ridge's lively Arthur Lidlington
Might possibly be bored at Didlington;
And I admit that it would stump Shaw
To stir up a revolt at Strumpshaw.
The spirits of unrest are wholly
Out of their element at Sloley;
But even the weariest straphanger
Regains his courage at Shelfanger.
No taint of Bolshevistic snarling
Poisons the atmosphere of Larling,
And infants in the throes of teething
Become seraphical at Seething.
Nor must my homely Muse be mute on
The charms of Guist and Sall and Booton,
Shimpling and Tattersett and Stody
(Which, be it noted, rhymes with ruddy),
And fair Winfarthing, where King Tino
Would seek in vain for a casino
Or even a flask of maraschino.
For here, far from the social scurry
That devastates suburban Surrey,
You find the authentic countryside;
Here, taking Solitude for bride,
The wanderer almost forgets
The jazzing crowd, the miners' threats.
"UNAPPROACHABLE
Family Ales & Stout."
Advt. in Provincial Paper.
This should please Mr. "Pussyfoot."
