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C J Dennis - Introduction: Rose of Spadgers
Work rating: Low

I`ve crawled; I`ve eaten dirt; I`ve lied a treat;
I`ve dodged the cops an` led a double life;
I`ve readied up wild tales to tell me wife,
W`ich afterwards I`ve `ad to take an` eat
Red raw. Aw, I been goin` it to beat
A big massed band: mixin` with sin an` strife,
Gettin` me bellers punchered with a knife
An` all but endin` up in Russell Street.

I`ve mixed it -- with the blessin` uv the church --
Down there in Spadgers, fightin` mad, an` blind
With `oly rage.  I`ve `ad full leaf to smirch
Me tongue with sich rude words as come to mind,
Becos I `ated leavin` in the lurch
Wot Ginger Mick, me cobber, left be`ind.

Don`t git me wrong.  I never went an` planned
No gory all-in scraps or double deals.
But one thing follered on another `eels,
Jist like they do in life, until I land
Flop in the soup -- surprised, you understand,
But not averse; jist like a feller feels
`Oo reaches fer the water-jug at meals
An` finds a dinkum gargle in `is `and.

Su`prised but not averse.  That puts it right
An`, if Fate `as these things all fixed before,
Well, wot`s a bloke to do, to `oo a fight
Was not unwelkim in the days of yore?
Pertickler when `e knows `is cause is right
An` `as a gorspil spritiker to ongcore.

Regardin` morils, I was on a cert;
Fer if I`d missed the step an` fell frum grace
By rudely pushin` in me brother`s face
Without no just ixcuse, it might uv `urt.
But this Spike Wegg -- the narsty little squirt! --
Collected `is becos ther` was no trace
Uv virchoo in the cow.  `Is aims was base
When `e laid out to tempt a honest skirt.

An` so me arm was strong becoz me cause
Was on the square, an` I don`t `esitate.
The parson bloke, `e sez all moril laws
They justified me act . . . . But, anyrate,
Before I crools this yarn we better pause
Till I gives you the dope an` git it straight.

Now, Ginger Mick, me cobber, went to war,
An` on Gallipoli, `e wandered West.
Per`aps, less said about `is life the best;
It was `is death that shoved along `is score.
But that tale`s old; an` Ginger ain`t no more.
`E done `is bit an` faded, like the rest
`Oo fought an` fell an` left wot they loved best
In `opes they`d be dealt fair by pals of yore.

An` all Mick left was Rose.  "Look after Rose.
Mafeesh!" `e sez when `e was on the brink.
An` there was thousan`s like `im, I suppose.
I ain`t no moralizer fer to think
Wot others ort to do; I only knows
I `ad me job, frum w`ich I durstn`t shrink.

Unless you `ave a beat down Spadgers way
I don`t ixpect you ever met with Rose.
She don`t move in yer circle, I suppose,
Or call to bite a bun upon yer Day.
An` if yeh got a intro, I dare say
Yeh`d take it snifty an` turn up yer nose.
Now that we don`t need Micks to fight our foes
Them an` their Roses `as to fade away.

They `ave to simmer down an` not ubtrude,
Now we are safe an` finished with the war.
We don`t intend to be unkind or rude
Or crayfish on the things we said before
Uv our brave boys.  An`, as fer gratichood,
Well, there`s a Guv`mint, ain`t there?  Wot`s it for?

But Mick buzzed orf too quick to wed a bride
An` leave a widder doo fer Guv`mint aid.
Spite uv ole Spadgers, Rose was still a maid;
An` spite uv Spadgers, she still `as `er pride
That wouldn`t let `er whimper if she tried,
Or profit by `er misery, an` trade
On Mick`s departin` an` the noise it made.
I know `er.  An` I know she`d sooner died.

I know `er.  But to them that never knows,
An` never tries to know the `earts an` ways
Uv common folk, there wus n`t much to Rose
That called fer any speshul loud `Oorays --
Nothin` `eroic.  She`s jist "one uv those" --
One uv the ruck that don`t attract our gaze.

I guess you was n`t born down Spadgers way,
Or spent yer child`ood in the gutter there
Jist runnin` wild, or dragged up be the `air
Till you was fit to earn a bit of pay
By honest toil or - any other way.
You never `ad to battle to keep square,
Or learn, first `and, uv every trap an` snare
That life `as waitin` for yeh day by day.

But I `ave read about a flower that grows
Once in a while upon a `eap uv muck.
It ain`t the flower`s own choosin`, I suppose,
An` bein` sweet an` pure is jist its luck.
There`s `uman blooms I`ve knowed the like uv those,
Strugglin` in weeds; an` `struth!  I like their pluck.

Don`t make no error.  I ain`t givin` Rose
The `igh-bred manners uv some soshul queen.
She were n`t no shrinkin`, simperin`, girleen,
With modest glances droopin` to `er toes.
She`d smash a prowlin` male acrost the nose
As quick as any tart I ever seen.
But, bli`me, she was straight an` she was clean,
As more than one mauled lady-killer knows.

Straight as a die!  An` jist as clean an` sweet
An` thorny as the bloom `oose name she bears.
To cling on to `er virchoo weren`t no feat
With `er; she simply kep` it unawares
An` natchril, like people trust their feet,
An` don`t turn silly `and-springs on the stairs.

That`s `ow Mick found, an` left `er - straight an` clean.
She seen the good in `im long years before
`E proved it good an` plenty at the war.
She loved an` mothered `im becos she seen
The big, softhearted boy `e`d alwiz been
Be`ind `is leery ways an` fightin` jor,
An` all `is little mix-ups with the Lor.
She knoo `e weren`t the man to treat `er mean.

They was a proper match.  But Mick, `e goes
An` slips `is wind, there, on Gallipoli;
Jist pausin` to remark, "Look after Rose."
An`, if them partin` words weren`t meant fer me,
Well, I`m the gay angora, I suppose,
In this divertin` slab uv `istory.

It ain`t no soft romance, with pale pink bows,
This common little tale I `ave to tell
Concernin` common on folk, an` wot befell
When me an` my ole parson cobber goes
An` does our bit in lookin` after Rose.
The Church admits I done my part reel well;
An` there won`t be no need to ring a bell
Or call the cops in when the langwidge flows.

So, `ere`s a go.  If my remarks is plain
An` short uv frills, they soots me tale; an` so,
I `opes the rood boorjosie will refrain
Frum vulger chuckin`-orf; fer well I know
Ladies an` gentlemen uv Spadgers Lane
Won`t fail to un`erstand.  So, `ere`s a go.
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