Trouble at Blackfriars' Chapel - The Start of our Tour of St Andrews 22.7.98
Where shall we start? The best place is Madras
By Blackfriars' Chapel, where the buses pass
And wait for minutes at the windy stop
Where people who've come into town to shop
Get on. If you come here at night
You'll see some youngsters here, ready to fight
Or maybe just out for a bit of fun
By shouting out abuse at anyone
Who looks as if they're janitor or teacher,
Natural victim, Englishman or preacher.
These usually are the same ones who can't wait,
As Andrew Lindsay wrote, to leave the gate
Of youth behind them, quit their education
And stay a financial burden on the nation
By hanging round the very place that they
Couldn't wait to quit on the last day.
But during daylight hours, you can inspect
Without being hassled, and give due respect
To the ruined relic of the Blackfriars' Church
At the Reformation left badly in the lurch.
Dr Bell's bust was once placed right inside
So that his stern features might hope to chide
The ragamuffins of Victorian days;
But alas, he was damned without faint praise
For they threw pebbles at the great man's bust
So that the then school rector said: I must
Protect at once our founder's image from
The vulgar throng and place it in my room.
That's where it is today. Would't please you stand
And look at him? (Browning, almost) Grand
Larceny was maybe how he made
His fortune in Madras: the Poet Laureate, paid
By legacy to assemble all the facts
About the barber's son and all his acts,
Filled three large volumes to celebrate his life
(Although Bell had spent a lot of it in strife)
But of the three only the first is Southey,
The other two are letters, very drouthy
(The rhyme's not right, but never mind, one has
To make allowances because I was,
Indeed still am, a German teacher, and so can't
Be expected to be such a sycophant
As to adhere to every piddling rule
In versification, or indeed at school.
Alas, in the ditch surrounding Blackfriars Chapel
Some people like to throw their can, their apple
Core or their chewing gum wrapper. What they need
Is someone to tap their napper (alias heid)
And say: Look here, pal, what is going on here?
Have you been drinking Scrumpy Jack or beer
Or maybe vodka, that you don't think it sin
Not to put your rubbish in the litter bin ?
You might as well save your breath, for that kind of folk
Pay no attention, treat life as a joke
Which it may well be, but if you don't think
About what you're doing, but just drink
And swear, and mess about, and rarely work,
Never take up a garden spade or fork
Or do the dishes, it is no surprise
That practically no-one's going to sympathise
If you are caught red-handed at the till
Or taking drugs so that they make you ill.
Try to be courteous; it can do no harm
If you exert a minimum of charm.
Instead of yelling obscenities at me
Why not try a little generosity
Of spirit, and imagine how adults feel
When treated as if their interests weren't real:
We do our best for you - can't you be civil?
We want everyone to be treated on a level
Playing-field, all to be offered the same chance:
It's like the Ladies' Choice at a big dance -
Nobody's going to ask you on to the floor
If all you do is look at the football score,
Farting and belching - it's hellish amusing -
When you find lessons in the school confusing,
Throw paper darts and break each other's pencils,
Insist on playing hangman, draw with stencils
Footballers' jerseys on each jotter page
And burst out laughing when the teachers rage.
You have to learn - the wide world does not owe
You a living if you behave so
Incredibly selfishly. No employer will
Take kindly to your backchat, he won't thrill
To hear you breaking wind, and when you spit
You're unlikely to impress him one small bit.
So - here's my last word - for God's sake get a grip,
Be nice, be kind, drink coffee, not a nip!
