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Feather's Miscellany: Teddy Todd

John Waddington-Feather, a White Rose man to the core, dedicates this poem to his Red Rose friends.

Young Teddy Todd from Todmorden
Scooped the Lottery clean one fine day;
Thirty million pounds he won
For a couple of quid outlay.

He thought he’d landed in Paradise,
And for days walked about in a dream,
But when he’d come to his senses,
He did a strange thing it would seem.

A kindly man was young Teddy
And a sociable soul he was, too;
He’d yearned for his own pub in Todmorden
And his win made his dream to come true.

He purchased a pub as a free-house,
Where he charged twenty pence for a drink;
And folks flocked to his pub by the hundred
And they drank themselves silly till skint.

Now Todmorden stands firm in Lancashire,
But nearby is the shire of York,
Just over a hill and a mile or two,
But as diff’rent as cheese is from chalk.

One day came a traveller from London,
Amazed at the price of Ted’s beer,
Just twenty pence each for a tankard
And full to the brim with good cheer.

He noticed a couple not drinking
And asked Ted why they were dry.
“They’re from Yorkshire, you see,” he answered,
“And come here when Thursday is nigh.

For it’s Pensioners’ Day on Thursdays
And the Tykes come across by the score,
From Keighley and Halifax and Bradford,
When all drinks are half-price and no more!”

John Waddington-Feather (a White Rose Tyke)©


A good selection of John's books are now available from Amazon. Click here for details http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=john+waddington-feather


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