I did like his bedside manner                  
His name was Old Doctor Brown
He was part of a very large practice
And the oldest Doctor in town

His son worked there along side him
But the father was certainly best
I always maintained to anyone
His bedside manner was best

He brought me and my children into this world
But the years, oh how they have passed
My mother would never have anyone else
If it wasn’t him, she was aghast.

‘Send for old Doctor Brown,’ she said
If any of the family were ill
‘He’s better than’t new fangled Doctors
Who just stuff you up with a pill’,

Because Old Doctor Brown – well he listened
like he’d all the time in the world.
And the wisdom he spoke it was wonderful
As your symptoms he gently unfurled.

He was lovely when children were poorly
He’d sit by the bed and make jokes
He held out his watch; let them hear its tick
He was good to the ordinary folks.

But happily now in his Grandson,
Old Doctor Brown’s spirit lives on
And we can all see it every time,
We send for young Doctor John



Along the lane, across the fields and where the wild wood starts

There is a little building with a door of blue

And if you knock but loudly and call out very loud 

A little face will then peep out at you

Through the frosted window so round above the door

and pale and frightened looking it will be

And the wall surrounding where the wildwood starts

Is there to keep out strangers, you and me

For it is said with bated breath and told that days of yore

A prince was kidnapped by a gang of thieves

Imprisoned in that building through the dark blue door

And covered from the searchers view with leaves

And there he was neglected, left there all alone

So frightened without any drink or bread

And slowly then so slowly the poor boy grew so weak

And one day sank and died upon his bed

The thieves then disappeared overlooking their demands

And ore the years the prince was never found

But late at night when the moon rises in the sky

A wailing can be heard and a moaning all around

So if you go there late at night you’ll need to be so brave

And if you venture then through that blue door

Hope that you will find the little room all empty there

And pray that it is haunted now no more.




 You saw me crying in the chapel

And you understood my tears

Yes you stood by me in my sorrow

Took my hand and stemmed my fears


I didn’t know how much you cared dear

My eyes were closed I did not see

You saw me crying in the chapel

And you wrapped your love round me

 How can I repay such true love

You gave so freely I was blessed

You were my comforter and saviour

You saw my burden laid to rest

 You saw me crying in the chapel

And ‘ t was not so long ago

Now I realise that I love you

How I long to tell you so.




A tramp sat in a doorway he was sad and ill

Shaking, dirty miserable just sitting there until

The police came ‘Now then dad ,’they said, ‘you know you can’t stop here,’

The old tramp shook his head and said ‘ I know that never fear’

then in a voice as from afar croaked, ‘Any whisky in the jar?’

'Whisky dad?' the policemen said 'You don't want that, now go.'
They made to pull him to his feet but the tramp cried weakly, 'No
just give me twenty minutes, when you come back to see,
you'll find I've gone, I promise, for now just let me be.'

So much against their judgement they left him and walked on
And when they'd gone the old tramp rose he struggled to put on
his shoulders, his belongings, all in a tattered bag.
Racked with pain he hobbled but lighting up a fag

He moved on to the arches, where he knew he'd find his pal.
When he arrived, sank down besides his old mate Woodbine Sal.
'Any whisky in the jar, I'd love a drink I would?’
Sal she laughed delved in her old bag lying in the mud.

Out she pulled a small stone jar, off she pulled the top
She tipped the old jar up on end but there was not a drop.
Late that night the police passed by the two old tramps and then
they saw they were not breathing, they would not move again.

And in between them lay a jar but not much else I fear.
Now often if you walk down there and listen you might hear
a ghostly voice, a spooky cry drifting from afar.

The question always is the same - Any whisky in the jar?


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