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C J Dennis - In Spadger`s Lane
Work rating: Low

Ole Mother Moon `oo yanks `er beamin` dile
   Acrost the sky when we`ve grown sick o` day,
She`s like some fat ole Jane `oo loves to smile
   On all concerned, an` smooth our faults away;
An`, like a woman, tries to `ide again
The sores an` scars crool day `as made too plain.

To all the earth she gives the soft glad-eye;
   She picks no fav`rits in this world o` men;
She peeps in nooks, where `appy lovers sigh,
   To make their job more bonzer still; an` then,
O`er Spadger`s Lane she waves a podgy `and,
An` turns the scowlin` slums to Fairyland.

Aw, strike!  I`m gettin` soft in my ole age!
   I`m growin` mushy wiv the passin` years.
Me! that `as called it weakness to ingage
   In sloppy thorts that coax the pearly tears.
But say, me state o` mind I can`t ixplain
When I seen Rose lars` night in Spadger`s Lane.

`Twas Spadger`s Lane where Ginger Mick `ung out
   Before `e took to follerin` the Flag;
The Lane that echoed to `is drunken shout
   When `e lobbed `omeward on a gaudy jag.
Now Spadger`s Lane knows Ginger Mick no more,
Fer `e`s become an `ero at the War.

A flamin` `ero at the War, that`s Mick.
   An` Rose - `is Rose, is waitin` in the Lane,
Nursin` `er achin` `eart, an` lookin` sick
   As she crawls out to work an` `ome again,
Givin` the bird to blokes `oo`d be `er "friend,"
An` prayin`, wiv the rest, fer wars to end.

Quite right; I`m growin` sloppy fer a cert;
   But I must git it orf me chest or bust.
So `ere`s a song about a grievin` skirt,
   An` love, an` Ginger Mick, an` maiden trust!
The choky sort o` song that fetches tears
When blokes is full o` sentiment-or beers.

Lars` night, when I sneaks down to taste again
   The sights an` sounds I used to know so well,
The moon wus shinin` over Spadger`s Lane,
   Sof`nin` the sorrer where `er kind light fell:
Sof`nin` an` soothin`, like it wus `er plan
To make ixcuses fer the sins uv man.

Frum shadder inter shadder, up the street,
   A prowlin` moll sneaks by, wiv eyes all `ate,
Dodgin` some unseen John, `oo`s sure, slow feet
   Comes tappin` after, certin as `er fate;
In some back crib, a shicker`s loud `owled verse
Stops sudden, wiv a crash, an` then a curse.

Low down, a splotch o` red, where `angs a blind
   Before the winder uv a Chow caboose,
Shines in the dead black wall, an` frum be`ind,
   Like all the cats o` Chinertown broke loose,
A mad Chow fiddle wails a two-note toon…
An` then I seen `er, underneath the moon.

Rosie the Rip they calls `er int he Lane;
   Fer she wus alwus willin` wiv `er `an`s,
An` uses `em to make `er meanin` plain
   In ways theat Spadger`s beauties understan`s.
But when ole Ginger played to snare `er `eart,
Rosie the Rip wus jist the soft, weak tart.

`Igh in `er winder she wus leanin` out,
   Swappin` remarks wiv fat ole Mother Moon.
The things around I clean Fergot about -
   Fergot the fiddle an` its crook Chow toon;
I only seen one woman in the light
Achin` to learn `er forchin frum the night.

Ole Ginger`s Rose!  To see `er sittin` there,
   The moonlight shinin` fair into `er face,
An` sort o` touchin` gentle on `er `air,
   It made me fair fergit the time an` place.
I feels I`m peepin` where I never ought,
An` tries `arf not to `ear the words I caught.

One soljer`s sweetheart, that wus wot I seen:
   One out o` thousands grievin` thro` the land.
A tart frum Spadger`s or a weepin` queen -
   Wot`s there between `em, when yeh understand
She `olds fer Mick, wiv all `is ugly chiv,
The best a lovin` woman `as to give.

The best a woman `as to give - Aw, `Struth!
   When war, an` grief, an` trouble`s on the land
Sometimes a bloke gits glimpses uv the truth
   An` sweats `is soul to try an` understand . . .
An` then the World, like some offishus John,
Shoves out a beefy `and, an` moves `im on.

So I seen Rose; an` so, on that same night
   I seen a million women grievin` there.
Ole Mother Moon she showed to me a sight
   She sees around the World, most everyw`ere -
Sneakin` beneath the shadder uv the wall
I seen, an` learned, an` understood it all.

An` as I looks at Rosie, dreamin` there,
   `Er `ead drops on `er arms . . . I seems to wake;
I sees the moonlight streamin` on `er `air;
   I `ears `er sobbin` like `er `eart ud break.
An` me there, pryin` on `er misery.
"Gawstruth!" I sez, "This ain`t no place fer me!"

On my tip-toes I sneaks the way I came -
   (The crook Chow fiddle ain`t done yowlin` yet) -
An` tho` I tells it to me bitter shame -
   I`m gittin` soft as `ell - me eyes wus wet.
An` that stern John, as I go moochin` by
Serloots me wiv a cold, unfeelin` eye.

The fat ole Mother Moon she`s got a `eart.
   An` so I like to think, when she looks down
Wiv `er soft gaze upon some weepin tart
   In bonzer gardens or the slums o` town;
She soothes `em, mother-like, wiv podgy `ands,
An` makes `em dream agen uv peaceful lands.
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