[Brian Allgar]

Yes, I've been working on a companion piece for the other chap, Ann. But it's nothing like yours, and for the moment it's not getting anywhere. A tricky fellow, old William B.

[Brian Allgar]

(Hah! It didn't turn out at all Yeatsian. Never mind.)


It was an Ancient Mariner who went to Innisfree;
He had an albatross to sell that stank to buggery.
We told him it was rotten, but he muttered “Just well-hung;
It only needs a little sauce to titillate the tongue.”

We’re pretty fond of game, but this one looked and smelt unpleasant,
Till one of us said “Listen, lads, it’s just a biggish pheasant.”
So, foolishly, we bought the thing - each man coughed up a shilling -
And asked the Mariner if he was competent and willing

To cook the bird for that night’s feast (the village was invited).
We offered him a pint of grog; he said he’d be delighted.
He built a chimney in the glade, then stuffed the beast with mud
And roasted it upon a spit, and basted it with blood.

But when the moment came to dine, the prospect was appalling;
He’d made the sauce from maggots, quite a few of them still crawling.
We choked it down, but left the beak and feathers on our plates.
Still, only one threw up, and that was poor old Willy Yeats.

[Sylvia Fairley]

Originally Posted by Brian Allgar

(Hah! It didn't turn out at all Yeatsian. Never mind.)


It was an Ancient Mariner who went to Innisfree;
He had an albatross to sell that stank to buggery.
We told him it was rotten, but he muttered “Just well-hung;
It only needs a little sauce to titillate the tongue.”........ etc

I've just seen it, Brian. Brilliant. If that doesn't win, there's no justice in this cruel world...

[Brian Allgar]

Aaaarghhh! Don't say it, Sylvia - it's the kiss of death!

[George Simmers]

It was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree,
With an albatross about his neck
And a wish to leave the sea.

He found a man a-cropping beans
(One William Butler Yeats).
He wept: “I shot this albatross,
That’s why I have no mates.”

Said Yeats, “You need some therapy,
And therefore I suggest
You go and tell your story
To a random wedding-guest.

“Transfix him with your glittering eye
And tell of dreadful scenes,
Then come back to enjoy a stew
Of albatross with beans.”

[Nicholas Stone]

Brilliant, George. Isn't the Mariner shriven by a hermit before he starts waylaying wedding-guests, though?

[George Simmers]

So maybe Yeats was that hermit...

[John Whitworth]

I have a feeling you forget to enter them, Ann. Enter this one. I say it's a winner.