A Selection of Limericks, Clerihews and Sonnets |
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| Organisers of our Ramble Rallies are not above setting the odd quiz or competition as a supplement to the main event. There follows a sample of entries from previous ramble-rallies. | |
| Gracie Fields invited competitors on their Odiham Rally in January 1994, to submit limericks starting 'There was a young lady from Odiham' and from a large entry, here are some of the more printable: | |
| There was a young lady of Odiham, | |
| Who swallowed a packet of sodium; | |
| She rushed to the sink | |
| And had so much to drink | |
| That she sat all next day on her podium. | (Heeglin's H'owls) |
| There was a young lady of Odiham, | |
| Whose passing is marked by a podium; | |
| She saw a container, | |
| We could not restrain her - | |
| 'Twas plutonium that made her explodium. | (Not The 9 o'clock Clues) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Who stood in the nude on a podium; | |
| Whilst keeping this pose | |
| And using her nose, | |
| She played Brahms on an ancient euphonium. | (Moonlighters) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Who added some water to sodium; | |
| Her final request? | |
| To be laid to her rest | |
| In a coffin on top of a podium. | (Blakes Five) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Who exclaimed with delight "Well I'm blowed-iham; | |
| There's a Ramble tonight! | |
| I'm off to get tight | |
| With Blakes Five in the old Barley Mow-diham!" | (Heeglin's H'owls) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Whose co-ramblers gave her opprobrium; | |
| In the pub at half-time, | |
| On her fourth gin-and-lime | |
| She said "Ish thish a clue? Thanksh you owed me one!" | (Flying Kakapos) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Who avoided her master's opprobrium; | |
| For she blew him a kiss | |
| On the road to high bliss, | |
| With her lips on his shining euphonium. | (The Plods) |
| There was a young lady of Odiham, | |
| Who streaked at the football stadium; | |
| They all wanted a look, | |
| By hook or by crook, | |
| And she caused complete pandemonium. | (SunSpotters) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Who did incredible things on a podium; | |
| Her act was so lewd | |
| That the audience booed | |
| And she's banned from the London Palladium! | (WoosehillBillies Two) |
| There was a young lady from Odiham, | |
| Who ate lots of chloride of sodium; | |
| It gave her a thirst, | |
| So she drank till she burst - | |
| Now she's splattered all over Midlothian. | (Not The 9 o'clock Clues) |
| On the Rotherwick Ramble the following year, the Organisers challenged the competitors to submit clerihews, citing as an example the well-known lines by E Clerihew Bentley himself: 'George the Third / Ought never to have occurred / One can only wonder / At so grotesque a blunder' | |
| There were 142 clerihews submitted in response; here are just a few. | |
| One beautiful evening in June, | |
| We rambled off humming a tune; | |
| We were quick off the mark | |
| And may be back before dark. | (Clueless) |
| There's something about a ramble, | |
| If you'll forgive this preamble, | |
| That puts us in good cheer - | |
| Perhaps it's the walk, perhaps it's the beer? | (Blakes Six) |
| The Streetwalkers are out | |
| Looking for clues about, | |
| But by their score we will find | |
| They must be blind! | |
| Torches in hand or strapped to your head, | |
| God, I hope the batteries aren't dead; | |
| I've got the ones with the copper-coloured top, | |
| My torch will still be going whilst I'm ready to drop! | (Islamic Jehad Underwater Showjumpers) |
| "Where are we, mate?" | |
| "I think it's Point 8"; | |
| But it was D - E, | |
| Another ten-point penalty! | (Gracie Fields) |
| Why do we ramble? | |
| It's always a gamble | |
| To get back within the time allotted, | |
| With all the clues spotted. | (Not The Nine o'clock Clues) |
| People who like gambling, | |
| Don't often go rambling; | |
| There's never been a ramble in a casino, | |
| At least not as far as we know. | (Blakes Six) |
| Night Owl's rambles | |
| Are always a shambles; | |
| Weighed down with pitons, crampons and climbing rope, | |
| To get back within the time? - You've got a hope! | (Flying Kakapos) |
| A wet Ramble Rally, | |
| Uphill and down valley, | |
| Is regarded by everyone who takes part as absolutely splendid | |
| (After it's ended!). | (Islamic Jehad Underwater Showjumpers) |
| Of George the Third | |
| I have seldom heard | |
| But a cow in a herd | |
| Leaves a rambler its turd. | (Ramblin' Sid Rumpo) |
| Gracie Fields were at it again on their Swallowfield 'Midsummer Ramble' of 21st June 1996. | |
| This time they requested sonnets, with 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' as the theme! | |
| Here are some teams' responses... | |
| Once, rambling, did I fair Titania see, | |
| Whilst dragging my reluctant boots through mire. | |
| "Where goest thou, with thy map and torch?" quoth she, | |
| "And what's that sheet of which thou dost enquire?" | |
| I looked beyond and thought I caught a glimpse | |
| Of fairies, pixies, leprechauns and imps. | |
| I wondered how I'd found her magic tree, | |
| Whilst diligently searching for Point Three. | |
| Titania looked at me, again she spake, | |
| Impatience growing at my speechless awe. | |
| "Why, mortal, at my words I see you quake. | |
| Fear not, I knowest me of your ramble lore. | |
| This grassy bank, all overgrown with rue, | |
| Conceals a post. Where are we? It's a clue!" | (Heeglin's H'owls) |
| Sonnet to Quince | |
| Shall I compare thee to a rambling rose, | |
| With all thy rich complexity of dress - | |
| Thy boots and headlamp of sartorial pose, | |
| Thy faded t-shirt legend, that is anybody's guess. | |
| How can comparison be made? | |
| Thou hast uniqueness in a woodland setting. | |
| But, faith, some map-skills for thy looks fain would I trade | |
| And ease the tempers of thy team-mates fretting. | |
| For beauty in a forest has no place | |
| And only leads, by perfumes sweet, the mozzies in, | |
| 'Til streaks of "Mosi-guard" adorn thy face | |
| And cause sensation at the halfway inn. | |
| So let us to that hostelry, and gins | |
| An' tonics raise to acclaim sweet Quince. | (Flying Kakapos) |
| Sonnet to Cobweb | |
| Shall I compare thee to the tasteless Puck? | |
| I think not, since all others will abuse his rhyme - | |
| To have a name that rhymes so, is bad luck | |
| And leaves all men in helpless laughter, comedy sublime. | |
| Bawdy verses from Sid Rumpo will for sure appear, | |
| Renowned as they are for ways uncouth, | |
| And always, having downed much beer, | |
| Turn raucous knaves, though strangely competent forsooth! | |
| So, Cobweb, act your part, and clear you from our brains | |
| And set our senses bright and full alert, | |
| And steer our paths from cow-pats, dogs, chatty locals and the drains | |
| And any tempting bits of local skirt... | |
| Thus, sweet Cobweb, this is just your luck, | |
| To have a name that doesn't rhyme with ****! | (Flying Kakapos) |
| Sonnet to Helena | |
| Roses have thorns and silver fountains mud. | |
| Ramblers have a sheet of devious clues, | |
| For which a motley crew demands our sweat and blood | |
| And tears, and even then exacts just dues - | |
| Just think, they charge us for this painful misery, | |
| These random thoughts, this mad pursuit, | |
| And we, poor fools, to go down in ramble history | |
| Devote ourselves to win, regardless of dispute: | |
| For dispute there is, of route, of clues, of rage, | |
| Along the way, 'mongst erstwhile friends and allies, | |
| Doubts cast on judgement, sense and even parentage, | |
| Mixt with deep suspicion - "Is this the way?" - and lies. | |
| But still, sweet mistress, it matters not to have fell'n a | |
| Bog, so it should win approval from my Helena! | (Flying Kakapos) |
| Should we compare this to a Summer's day? | |
| 'Tis forecast 'dry with sunny spells' mayhap; | |
| Rough winds did shake the darling buds of May, | |
| And Gracie's ramble-weathers oft are crap. | |
| How heavy do we journey on the way | |
| When what we seek - our weary travel's end - | |
| Five-times-blest "Crown" we near, at close of day, | |
| On swollen, mud-girt plates of meat we wend. | |
| Weary with toil we haste us to our bed, | |
| The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; | |
| Nor care to count the clues unculled - instead | |
| Bethink how "Fox and Hounds" our time expired; | |
| Ye Gods! This is the thirteenth line - oh Puck! | |
| (And throw in Oberon as well, for luck). | (Heeglin's H'owls) |
| Shall I go rambling on a summer's night? | |
| I'll drink my fill of wine and stay out late | |
| And not come home until the morning light, | |
| (These days I find it hard to get a date). | |
| Cobweb and Mustard Seed shall form my team, | |
| We'll soon beat Oberon and his henchman Puck. | |
| We'll scale the heights and wade the muddy stream | |
| And show those tossers we don't give a ****! | |
| With eyes alert for twisted stump and snag | |
| We'll gaily wander o'er the wold and weald; | |
| And then with all the cluesheets in the bag | |
| Return at weary last to Swallowfield - | |
| There to flaunt my Bottom on the village green: | |
| 'Tis not for naught I'm called the Fairy Queen. | (Rakehell Raiders) |
© 1998 The Ramble Society