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Father and the suitcase
We jumped upon the Glasgow train
in great anticipation
of being met by cheerful young
awaiting at the station.
We are a pair in bonus years,
three score and ten have past us.
we’re from an age where manners paid,
rude haste and waste disastrous.
I nodded off in gentle sleep,
my partner in life’s journey
was wide awake in happy vane -
conversational and cheery.
A lady sitting opposite
arriving at her station
said “Please do help me with my case -
a weighty, large creation
of too much weight and awkward size,
dimensions beyond measure.”
So ever-helpful you-know-who
assisted her with pleasure.
Next stop my eyes were opened wide
and sandwiches were issued.
Another station came our way
and sticky fingers tissued.
A husky man across the aisle
gave cries of great excitement.
“My suitcase! It has gone!” he cried.
“I’ll issue an indictment!
My suitcase was upon that shelf
With green and brown around it,
and now it has been taken
and my stations here -confound it.”
The guard was called - a helpful lad
And ‘guess-who’ squirmed and wriggled.
“I think that I can solve this case.”
He said and glumly giggled”
That lady at that table there
possessed one just the same
so yours has gone to Birmingham
and that label gives her name.”
We opened it and sure enough
saw panties, bra and hose.
“My Rugby kit!” bewailed the man
“I cannot play in those!
I cannot play in bra and pants
I must have proper gear.
Why ever did you give her mine -
they’re gone for good I fear.”
“Not so” The Guard assured us all
“My walky-talky utters
There is an anguished lady
Causing mayhem at the buffers.
“Some helpful man produced a case
without a second glance,
but it was wrong - and rugby boots
do not improve my stance.”
It took some time to sort it out
While trains came in and went.
Eventually - when very late
and nervous systems spent
the family met us - tottering
from all the great palaver.
A weary guard sighed “He’s the one -
he did it!” Poor old Father!
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