The tragic demise of Roy Chubby Brown at The Circus of The Age of Nostalgia
From
rows of tiered benches, red-white-and-blue,
An audience, British and proud, through and through,
Roared, even over the amplified blare
Of Rule Britannia, as the compère,
Grinning like a cream-sated Cheshire cat,
Appeared, complete with Arthur Daily hat,
Finely woven Savile Row tailored suit,
And handmade, Union-Jack shoes, to boot.
“Roll up everyone, let the show begin”,
Said the dandy man, maintaining his grin;
“There’s so much to do; we’ve no time to lose;
By the way; do you like my Brexit shoes?
Are there any immigrants here today?
If you’re a Muslim, you’re welcome to stay
And watch the show, as long as you’re aware,
This is a British and Christian affair.
And if that’s offensive, sorry, but tough!
The game rules have changed, and we’ve had enough
Of being told what we can and can’t say;
Go away now, if you don’t want to play!”
(And with that; some did indeed, “Go away”,
Shaking their heads in apparent dismay,
Giving cause for the dandy man to shout:
“Shut the door behind you, on your way out”.
Drums rolled, and the national anthem played;
The household cavalry, gave a parade,
Upon which; flag-waving formalities done;
The dandy man fired a heart stopping gun:
BANG! And from the tunnel, came, running out
A dancing, skipping, gambolling about,
Smartly clad lad, with a dicky-bowtie;
And the dandy man, announced with a cry:
“Look, Golly is here for the girls and boys
(He was once one of my favourite toys);
That dark fuzzy-hair and smiley black-face
Has nothing to do with colour or race”.
The crowd, in approval shouted, “Hooray!”
The compère declared, “Let the children play,
The way we all used to; innocently,
With no interference from woke PC.”
Into the middle of the ring, there came,
A dozen more gollies, all dressed the same,
Wheeling wheel barrows, with toy gollies filled;
And seemingly, more bewildered than thrilled;
Boys and girls, nervously standing on cue,
Were thrown a “British-made” golly, brand new,
And motioned to sit back down on their seats,
As drummers, once more, rolled opening beats:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please, if you will,
Put your hands together for, Benny Hill!
This marvellous tribute has been prepared
For your entertainment, no expense spared”.
Amplification was turned up to max,
A jazz-band performed the, “Yakety-Sax”,
And there was Benny Hill; genius clown,
Played by none other than…Roy Chubby Brown,
Preceding a parade of well-endowed,
Topless, page-three models; breasts standing proud!
The “Yakety Sax”, continued apace,
As Roy, in the role of Benny, gave chase.
Boisterous cheers and wolf-whistles rang out,
The pretty young girls ran round and about
But Roy, however speedily he ran,
Never quite caught them, the dirty old man!
Suddenly; his face turning purplish-red,
He fell, as if he’d been bashed on the head!
The music, the whistles, the cheering, died down,
And the compère, wearing a worried frown,
Asked; his voice all but quavering with fear:
“Are there any doctors or nurses here?”
But alas; they’d all gone home, long ago,
Shaking their heads, at the start of the show.
“Don’t worry China; I know what to do”,
Said a spectator; Cockney through and through,
And from his bench, Jim Davidson, no less!
Appeared on the scene to, “Sort out this mess;
I’ve done a first aid course, he’ll be alright;
No one’s gonna be dying here tonight”;
He breathed deeply, put his lips to Roy’s mouth,
Blew lifesaving air through his north and south;
He came up for more; compressing Roy’s chest,
All the while getting increasingly stressed;
And finally, he resignedly said:
I’m sorry mate, but I think he’s brown bread”!
Gazing with dawning awareness, amazed,
Shaken severely and fearfully fazed;
Nigel, (for that is the dandy man’s name),
Lamenting, said; “Oh what a frightful shame;
Ladies and gentleman don’t go, please stay,
Don’t let this spoil your Independence Day,
There are still plenty of reasons to cheer,
After all people; Jim Davidson’s here!
We’ve got, “Rivers of Blood”: the musical
By Skrewdriver; and in the interval:
Laurence Fox and Katie Hopkins will each
Read an excerpt from Sir Enoch’s great speech!”
Hence, irrespective of his now dead friend,
The show was seen through till the very end,
And yet, as the Spitfires overhead flew;
Post worshippers, bidding Nigel adieu;
Among the spectators, leaving the tent,
Were those of a misogynistic bent,
Whose tweets with regards to Chubby’s demise,
Were met with equally nasty replies:
“Those topless tarts he was chasing around,
Must surely have known his heart wasn’t sound”,
“Lefty woke feminists aint fit to breathe;
It's mainly down to them, I voted LEAVE”.
“There’s nothing worse than a communist bird”,
“They were ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS, I heard”…
…This last, like a hate-seed planted, gave rise
To a travesty, colossal in size…
A crowd, in Hyde Park, for over a week
Have waited, to hear the dandy man speak;
And at last, he’s here; “Our Nigel” is back;
Standing in front of a Union Jack,
That, despite gigantic proportions, still
Doesn’t overshadow the people’s will,
Personified, in the devil-may-care,
August demeanour of the grave compère;
Ever patriotic, British and proud,
Addressing the multitudinous crowd:
“Ladies and gentlemen: the accolade’s mine,
To unveil this work of priceless design,
Crafted from platinum, poured in the mould,
With weatherproof alloys and solid gold;
Anything less would most certainly be
Unfit; and I’m sure you’ll agree with me,
When I say: there’s a place in all our hearts
For this master of the comedic arts;
A permanent fixture of Yarmouth Pier,
Who died, at the peak of his long career;
I invite you all now, to come on down
And bow in honour of ROY CHUBBY BROWN!”
The banner’s pulled back, the statue’s revealed,
The audience gasps, and the legend’s sealed
With a recitation, voiced loud and clear,
Which, from now on, will be played every year:
“ALL OF GREAT BRITAIN REMEMBERS, WITH PRIDE:
ROYSTON VASEY, THE PATRIOT, WHO DIED,
GUARDING OUR BORDERS, UPHOLDING OUR LAWS
CHASING ILLEGALS AWAY FROM OUR SHORES”.
(And some with sadness and dawning despair,
Would beg to differ, but alas, don’t dare;
Instead, they line-up, with bowing in mind,
Lest they be imprisoned, or at least fined).
“Ladies and gentlemen, all can I say
Is, it’s been a joy to be here today;
I’m so glad you all came; thank you, so much
Enjoy the show people; I’ll be in touch”.
Suddenly, a helicopter appears,
An area’s cleared and everyone cheers,
As the dandy man, boarding, waves goodbye,
And, in a jiffy, he’s hovering high
Above, headed toward a little-known
Aerodrome, from whence he’ll be flown,
In his jet, to an island, faraway,
Where wealthy elites, all night and all day,
Dine on the fruits of popularity;
Enjoying the generous charity,
Of the humble philanthropists, below,
Bowing to Roy, at the end of the show.
