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Feather's Miscellany: Pick-Pocketed Copper

John Waddington-Feather brings us a poem with a delicious chuckle in its tail/

Philip de Law was a barrister bold,
A high-ranking lawyer in court,
In line for a judge on a circuit, they said,
But one day he was terribly fraught.

You see he was late for a case one Monday,
Due to start spot on ten down at Leeds;
And he lived out of town up the Dales quite a way,
So was driving along at high speed.

But on one lonely road, high up on the moors,
Stood a fair young maid on her own;
She was thumbing a lift looking helpless and lost,
Said she wanted to go into town.

So gallant de Law screeched to a halt
And took her on board like a gent;
Then sped down the road at a pace once again
Driving like mad all hell-bent.

When a speed-cop appeared, he drew to a halt
And the copper took out his note-book,
And slowly recorded the lawyer’s fast crime.
You should have seen Philip’s black look!

He cautioned the lawyer and then let him go
After stowing his note-book away;
Poor Philip despaired knowing what he would face
When summoned to court the next day.

His fine reputation was tarnished, he knew,
Once the copper had got him in court,
For he’d written the details in his little book
About how poor old Philip was caught.

Philip’s honour was saved by the maid he picked up,
Who thanked him then made a confession:
She gave him the note-book the speed-cop had owned,
And said: “Pick-pocketing is my profession.”

John Waddington-Feather ©


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