posted September 03, 2004 04:50 PM
For some strange reason, whilst watching George Bush on the telly and all the current election palava - a flavourful English expression which means fuss, not be confused with pavlova, which is something scrumptious you eat. I remembered the Ballad of the Breadman and I could not help but wonder, what if....Ballad of the Breadman
Mary stood in the kitchen
Baking a loaf of bread
An angel flew in the window
'We've a job for you,' he said.
'God in his big gold heaven
Sitting in his big blue chair,
Wanted a mother for his little son.
Suddenly saw you there.'
Mary shook and trembled,
'It isn't true what you say'
'Don't say that' said the angel
'The baby's on it's way.'
Joseph was in his workshop
Planning a piece of wood.
'The old man's past it,' the neighbours said.
'That girls been up to no good.'
'And who was that elegant fellow'
They said in the shiny gear?'
The things they said about Gabriel
Were hardly fit to hear.
Mary never answered,
Mary never replied,
She kept the information,
Like the baby, safe inside.
It was election winter
They went to vote in town
When Mary found her time had come
The hotels let her down
The baby was born in an annexe
Right next to the local pub.
At midnight a delegation
Turned up from the 'Farmers' club.
They talked about an explosion
That made a hole in the sky
Said they'd been sent to the Lamb and Flag
To see God come on down from on high.
A few days later a bishop
And a five star general were seen
With the head of an African country
In a bullet proof limousine.
'We've come, they said 'with tokens
For the little boy to choose.'
And told the tale about war and peace
in the television news.
After them came the soldiers
With rifles, bombs and guns
Looking for enemies of the state
But the family had packed and gone.
When the got back to the village
The neighbours said to a man,
'That boy will never be one of us,
Though he does what he blessed well can.
He went round to all the people
A paper crown on his head
'Here is some bread from my father.
Take, eat, he said.
Nobody seemed very hungry.
Nobody seemed to care.
Nobody saw the God himself
Quietly standing there.
He finished up in the papers
He came to a very bad end
He was charged with bringing the living to life.
No man was that prisoner's friend.
There's only one kind of a punishment
To fit that type of a crime.
They rigged a trial and shot him dead
They were only just in time.
They lifted the young man by the leg,
They lifted him by the arm,
They locked him in a cathedral
In case he came to harm.
They stored him safe as water
Under seven rocks.
On Sunday morning he burst out
Just like a jack-in-the-box.
Through the town he went walking.
He showed them the holes in his head.
'Now do you want any loaves?' he cried.
'Not today' they said.
By Charles Causley.
Gia
Lindaland
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posted September 03, 2004 04:50 PM
posted September 06, 2004 12:11 PM
