Hang-Gliding Policeman and The Pugilistic Chimney Sweep

Torridon Writers were asked to combine a profession with an unusual activity. These poems are how John and Dot approached the topic.



Hang- gliding Policeman


Jonathon Smith, the local bobby,

Enjoyed a very useful hobby.

He said to the station serg “I’ve thought of a way

To cover a much wider area each day.

Tramping the pavements on my beat

Gives me blisters on weary feet.

But hand-gliding being easy for me,

Just think how much more I could see.”

Crime figures plummeted down to zero,

Jonathon  became a local hero.

As his venture became a success

He even made the national press:

People used to look up and shout:

“Watch out, there’s a copper about!”

One day while pursuing a criminal gang

He hit a power cable with a flash and a bang:

Who’d have thought his duty to the nation

Would all end in instant cremation?


John Cush-Frewer, January 2009



The Pugilistic Chimney Sweep


Wearing dirty rags and with calloused feet,

Climbing inside chimneys to clear soot away,

Choking bricks close me in the cloying heat,

Long hours, seeing little of the day.

When work is all done, my own time is come:

Discard the filth, wearing mother’s homemade.

For I fight, I box, a pugilist’s son;

My heart and soul is this, my chosen trade:

Should fame come, Mother will not scrub floors.

Father’s fame was short, whisky was his friend;

I will repay her for all she endures:

A full dining table, us at each end.

The purse is full tonight and will ensure

Future of dreams, choking blackness no more.


Dot Mayhew, January 2009


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