XIII.
HIAWALPOLE’S DEPARTURE
Heavy with the weight of office
Grew the heart of Hiawalpole,
As the joyful-sounding members
Frolicked round her Kingsbury
wigwam;
Though she tried hard to disguise
it
At her monthly social evenings.
From the kitchen, shrill and ceaseless,
Spake the candidate, Penn-Sayers,
While the guests of Hiawalpole,
Weary of electioneering,
Frolicked in the Kingsbury wigwam.
From her place rose Hiawalpole,
Went to speak to B. Penn-Sayers,
Spake in whispers, spake in this
wise,
Not to worry guests that
frolicked.
“I am going, 0 Penn-Sayers,
On a long and distant journey,
Far beyond the bounds of Barnet,
But these guests I leave behind
me,
In your watch and ward I leave
them;
See they have their share of
dances,
See that boredom never face them,
Never blank dates on the
programme,
Never want for picnic parties,
In the Barnet Singles’ Circle!”
Back into the parlour went she,
Bade farewell to all the
spinsters,
Bade farewell to all the old men,
Spake persuading, spake in this
wise:
“I am going, 0 my Members,
On a long and distant journey;
Many walks and many sports days
Will have come and will have
vanished
Ere I may again hold office.
But you have a new committee;
Listen to their words of wisdom,
Read the programmes that they give
you
When the G.P.O. has brought them
From the last collating evening.”
At the door stood Hiawalpole,
Waved her hand at guests
departing.
In the Avenue of Princes,
Derek Snell despatched his Volvo
From the edges of the kerbside,
Shoved it into fourth and top
gear;
Whispered to it: “Homeward,
homeward!”
And with speed it darted forward.
And the party guests departing,
Set the road on fire with rear
lights,
Turned the avenue to crimson,
As they left the Leader’s wigwam,
Left her to her dreams of
splendour
As a foremost party-giver,
Left their noble Hiawalpole,
Drove into the depths of Barnet,
Drove into the Stray of Whetstone,
Drove into the Mount of Arkley.
And the Thirty-plus of Barnet
Had their voting evening meeting,
And the new committee chosen
Lifted high the Salisbury
splendour,
Till it sank into the beer fumes.
And the old ones, more than holy,
Took the line of least resistance.
And they said, “Farewell to Edna!”
Said, “Farewell, 0 Hiawalpole!”
And Gwen Forrest took the
programme
And prepared her countless
footnotes,
Sighing, “Farewell,
Jay-the-Linden!”
And with notes upon the margin,
Jean-the-Taylor took up office,
Sobbing, “Farewell, Don-the-Baker!”
While the hero, Bob-the-Kurschner,
From his perch among the
beer-mugs,
Screeched: “I’ll still control the
members!”
Then Penn-Sayers-B the prophet,
Paid her tribute to the Leader,
Saying that, “With her permission
We may find some virgin members.”
And the Allison, the dealer
In the new enquiry section,
Took the mantle of the Gibson,
Took up, too, relations public.
And the members answered, saying:
“We have listened to your
statements,
WE have heard your words of
wisdom,
Now let’s drink another bitter,
It is well for us, 0 Brothers,
That we haven’t far to get it!”
Then they rose up and departed,
Each one homeward to his wigwam,
Musing, all the men and women,
On the strange new club committee
Which they had, in wisdom, voted
To protect the tribes of Barnet.
Thus departed Hiawalpole,
Hiawalpole the Beloved,
In the glory of the Salisbury,
In the High Street of Old Barnet,
To the Avenue of Princes.
And the regions of the North-West,
And the lands of the Two Brewers,
And the kingdom of the
Herts-Lands,
Vowed to honour her hereafter!
The final one of the midis kindly provided by my friend
Susan Helene is Sentimental Journey written in
1944 by Bud Green, Les Brown and Ben Horner
and famously associated with Doris Day singing
to the accompaniment of Les Brown (and his band
of renown - sic)