FUNGAL FUN

You may recall dear reader, that a while ago, I published a post called 'Pierrot' which introduced you to my grandfather's college yearbook. The book was put together between 1904 and 1907 and 'Grampa' (Herbert Pearce) continued to add to it throughout his life.

I love the thought that I am able to keep these jottings alive by reproducing them here. He was a lovely man and would no doubt have been astonished to be told that his notes would survive and make it into cyberspace in the form of the internet!

I promised that we would return to Pierrot's album and so I present you with a poem written by Herbert in August, 1944. This was about 4 months after my parents married. It tells the salutary tale of the boy who assisted the milkman in the days when milk was delivered to your doorstep in glass bottles. The illustration was drawn by Grampa too.

Please enjoy the tale of:

The Mushroom

A mushroom grew in the early dawn
On a small, trim, green suburban lawn.

The lawn's fat owner smiled with joy -
He took small heed of the milkman's boy.

Damp and warmth and the week wore on -
A child's cry - 'Father! The mushroom's gone!'


The fat man's wife at the garden gate -
Why is the milkman's boy so late?

The milkboy rests 'neath funeral pall.
It was not a mushroom after all.