Jim O'Shea was born in West London Circa 1950, and is probab;y best known around the village for consuming copious amounts of whiskey with lemonade, and helping Clive out down at the Fountain, he has also been involved for a number of years in numerous comunal activities
(though we won't go into that here)
One of his lesser known talents is as a writer his credits including several co written pantomime scripts and The Naff Tivity.
The Pumpkin Contest Al and Pete were in the Pub one night when the beer began to flow,
The chat got round to gardening and the things that they could grow.
Then Pete began to brag a bit said he could do the best,
“All right” said Al “come on old pal let’s put it to the test” Now Geoff the Vet was at the bar and overheard them fools,
He said,” O.K. before you start we must lay down some rules.
Grow within the Parish and in the open air
You’re not allowed to pierce the stems, just grow with natures care” They went away to make their plans, a pumpkin for to grow.
Who would have the biggest one, only they would know.
Much muck n-sweat n- swearing, the months went gently by,
The race was on the seeds were set it now was do or die. ‘Twas in the year of ‘98’ this contest first began,
Steve Beats put up the trophy, what happened to that man?
It’s gone from strength to strength, got bigger every year,
Good business for the Fountain though, that Clive he sells some beer. One year that Jim O’Hara, he’d thought he’d have a go.
He got some seeds and planted them and thought, “I’ll win this show”.
But little did he realise, the single plant he’d got,
Got raided by the slugs one night, they ate the Fecking lot! Al, he grew the biggest pumpkin, the biggest in the land,
Pete, he said “well done old pal” and shook him by the hand.
The moral of this story is, anyone can have ago.
So dig your plot and plant your seed, next year you’ll never know! It’s time now for the weigh in, so enter what you’ve got,
All you need’s a pumpkin, providing there’s no rot
The biggest grown was 3-5-4 the smallest just a pound.
Whatever size they come in, there’s fun and booze all round So if you’re not a winner, don’t go crying in you’re beer,
Just raise your glass to he who wins, then have a go next year!
The Tale Of A New Pumpkin Grower The Pumpkin Contest, two thousand and six
A new comer thought, them I’ll fix
Clive Cotton, that is his name
He’d grow a big-un, and get fame
A giant pumpkin, he would grow
To beat Alan Hern’s one in the show He bought his plant, and dug his plot
He hoped that it would have no rot
He watered it, three times a day
Nothing would, get in his way Early morning, at each dawn
To the allotment he was drawn
With watering can, gripped in his hand
He proudly walked, across the land
What was his plan? What was his ploy?
Was this something he would enjoy? Time moved on, the plant was off!
At this pumpkin, no one would scoff
The plant it grew, it was doing well
Then a pumpkin began to swell The pumpkin grew, and grew and grew
It was enormous, trust me it’s true!
Because one Thursday evening, just gone six
Me and Clive went to measure it I just could not believe my eyes
Across one side it was thirty-five (inches that is)
The other way was thirty-two
Clive he thought, this can’t be true!
It’s grown again, just since last night
This will give old Hern a fright! The talk around The Fountain Bar
Is “Clive’s pumpkin, will go far”
That Turney’s beat, he’s given up
He ain’t going to win the cup
A new name on the cup this year?
If he wins, is he buying beer? But this rhyme’s not ended yet
My money’s on Cotton, if I was to bet
But watch this space, not long to go
Will Clive Cotton win this show?
We’ll wait to see who wins the day!
I think its Clive Cotton, anyway!
The Tale of the Pumpkins Fetchers
“We’ll meet, Saturday, at lunchtime”
Well that was the cunning plan
“Then we’ll go up to the allotments
Then we’ll see who is a man”
Cos, you need a lot of strength
To hump those pumpkins ‘cross the land
I only hope, that all goes well
And things don’t get out of hand
At the appointed hour,
The gang of chaps arrived
Some called in for a drink
But others had to drive!
“We’ll be ok, there’s enough of us
We’ll do it, we’ll be fine”
“Come on said one,
It’s time to go, we haven’t got much time” So at One o’clock, they supped their beers
And headed out the bar
Some climbed in to a Range Rover
And others in a car An hour or so later,
The first pumpkins did arrive
I heard one say, “That wasn’t bad
I quite enjoyed the drive!”
They started to unload,
The pumpkins, one by one
Well! You should have seen them,
Beauties everyone! Just as they finished unloading,
The sky, it turned dark black
“I think we’re due a soaking,
So I’m not going back!
We’ll wait a while, see if it stops,
Over there, the sky is blue!
As we’re here, at the pub,
Only one thing we can do!” Then the heavens opened,
Then rain began to pour
They didn’t need no telling,
They headed for the bar
The rain it fell, it poured and poured,
But there was more to do!
Back up at the allotments,
There sat the “Famous Two” Of the two enormous pumpkins,
One would win the bet
The rain now stopped, “it’s time to go,
At leased we won’t get wet!” So off they went, back up the hill,
To fetch the famous two
They had to be undamaged,
‘Cos nothing else would do! Apparently, there was trouble,
A vehicle, had got stuck
It was right up to it’s axles,
In dirt and mud and muck
Now, as luck would have it,
Chris Cherry, he was there
Could he pull it out, would he even dare?
He climbed in to his Range Rover,
With a line on tight
He started up the engine,
And it pulled with all its might The wheels they span, the mud it flew,
Right up into the air
Then someone said, “We’re in the shite,
He won’t get out if there!”
The engine roared, but it would not budge
They could not get it out
“We’ll be here for hours
Of that there was no doubt
Then someone said, ”I’ve got a plan,
This is what we’ll do,
There’s only one thing for it
Unload the Famous Two” Cos if they were unloaded
The trailer it would budge
And it will be more easy
To pull it out the sludge
Chris pulled and pulled and got him out
The other chap’s so glad,
You’ll understand why, when I tell you
The other Chaps his dad!
But now they have to carry
The pumpkins to the top
Then load them on the trailer
Taking care, so not to drop
Finally they did it, although it was not fun
The struggled to the top, knackered, every one
The two enormous pumpkins,
Arrived, safely at the pub
The job was done, time for a rest,
A drink, and have some fun Now we are a waiting,
Just one day to go
Then we’ll see who is the best,
And wins the pumpkin show!
What Appened Was! Lots of things, have ‘appened of late
The Pumpkin contest, that was great!
Alan Hern, he won the cup
Clive Cotton thought, he’d have the luck
To take the title, he felt sure
That his pumpkin weighed a great deal more!
Alas he’s not the pumpkin king
Two thousand and seven, will he win? Did I tell you about the chicken?
The one from West Street, that went missing Geoff the vet, and his daughter Vicky
Went to Australia, none too quickly
Cause Geoff, he likes his smokes you’ll know
And that’s a very long way to go
Without a drag, a puff, inhale!
Would he survive to tell the tale? What else can I relate to you?
The Village hall, a bit of a do!
A buffet dance, was put on there
Sorted by the Village Farye!
Roy Taylor was there, he’s a mate
Was with his band, and they were great!
The sang and played all through the night
People danced, some were a sight! There was Richard Gibbs and his ferreting friends
Some from Ross, they’re round the bend!
Pete Turney and his wife they danced!
Round and round the hall they pranced
That Alan Hern, was there too!
And he danced, the whole night through! When the dance came to an end
To a party, some did attend
They drank and sang into the night
Believe me, not a pretty sight!
Most had gone by half past two
That left Turney, and me too!
We had one drink, or was it more?
It must have been, it was a quarter to four! Are you sure I told you about the chicken?
The one from West Street, that went missing! Now, Chris and Tara, they got wed,
A honeymoon, was it spent in bed?
A do at Bicester, had been planned
Griff, he went, said it was grand! We’ve also just had Halloween
The night when ghosts and ghouls are seen
But don’t take fright or be upset
They do it for a laugh, I bet
Alan Willis, has bought sweets
I think there for the kids, some treats What else has happened, that I can tell to you
Lockie’s trike’s no longer blue!
He’s painted it, burgundy and gold
I’m sure he thinks, that’s very bold Roy Lewis’s birthday, seventy-seven,
He’ll think he’s died and gone to heaven
‘Cos a party at the Fountain’s planned
No Molly and that Tadge around!
He planned it all, the food and sound
And a magician, he has found!
Mike Brown had steamed a large fresh fish
Salmon served upon a dish! Bonfire night, again it looms
With oohs and arrh’s and bangs and booms
Dogs will bark, but have no fear
They’ll do it all again next year! Griff’s had his birthday, fifty-three
He cel-e-bra-ted it with glee
Lots of cards were on display
To help him celebrate the day Are you sure I told you about the chicken?
The one from West Street, that went missing! A messy business I have to say
Clearing up the pumpkin day
The winning seeds have gone I think
All that’s left is the rotting stink
Of pumpkins that were left behind
To clear them up, someone kind -
Enough to clear the minging flesh
Believe me, it’s a slimy mess
Lots of pumpkins began to rot
Left by people who forgot
To take them home, dispose of them
So we would not, see them again
One way to loose them, nice and cheap
Dump them on Griff’s compost heap! Are you sure I told you about the chicken?
The one from West Street, that went missing! Soon, Santa, will be on his rounds
Collecting money, lots of pounds
It’s for a good cause, please give hearty
It’s for the Pensioners Christmas Party!
We do it in December each year
So when you see us, give us a cheer!
All through the village, we go round
So give us more than just a pound! I’m going to tell you about the chicken
From 11 West Street, it went missing
By all accounts, was seen in oz
Missing, I don’t think because
It never left our fridge I’m sure
It did not slip out side the door
It sent a card from the Emerald Isle
When I read it, it made me smile
I wonder where it is right now?
Not in China Chicken Chow!
Soon it’s Christmas, trees and gifts
Will the snow end up in drifts?
Then the panto will be here
Will you’ll be there, to boo and cheer!
They’re doing Mother Goose this time
I bet the story’s not in rhyme
Rehearsals now well under way
Are the cast ready to play?
The lines they’ve learnt, the songs, the moves
I’m sure they will be in the groove Roy and Jim, worked at night
Building up a new web site
Claydon connection is its name
Snazzy eh! A great domain!
If you’ve something you want to sell
Or some news you want to tell
Tell us soon, though space is tight
And we’ll put it on our site Plans for the Fayre, are under way
I hope the sun shines on that day
Don’t worry though, it will be grand
We’re planning winter wonderland!
Lots of things to do and see
You might spot your old Christmas tree! Ted has left, gone back to Oz
We’ll miss him, won’t we? We will because
He’s told us tales, fibs and spin
About the lotto he will win As this year draws to a close
There’ll be more stories, I suppose
I’ll save them up and write them down
They’ll make you laugh or make you frown You’ve heard about the missing chicken
The tale of Ted, who some are missing
The story of the village dance
It’s all quite true, it’s not enhanced!
Santa going on his rounds
Collecting money lots of pounds
The panto that will make you smile
The postcard from the Emerald Isle
All these tales are true, no lies
But it’s made me realise
That another year has gone again
I hope it’s caused you all, no pain The time has come to end this now
How to end it, I know not how…..
I have it now! The end is nigh So long,.. farewell,.. a dieu,.. goodbye!
Wheels on Fire!
After a bad day at work, Roy set off for home
He climbed in his van, that man, all alone!
He set off from Aylesbury, the traffic was thick
Roy thought to himself, ”this is making me sick”
“Day after day I put up with this tat
I’ve been working quite hard,
And I don’t need this crap! I’ve been making a window, one in the round
It’s was getting me down,
And it’s made my head pound”
On the outskirts Claydon, he was close to home
Still in his van, that man all alone
He drove up toward the village,
Crossed over rail tracks
He thought,” now I’ve made it, it’s time to relax” As he got nearer, his pride, it did swell
He thought to himself, “this is all going well”
As he drove into Claydon
He went past the church
Then all of a sudden, the van gave a lurch
Roy, thought,” that was strange,
The van, it’s not well”
But he carried on, down Chand-lers Hill, Now down at the Co-Op, the traffic it was busy
So Roy, he slowed down, he was in no hurry
Right up behind Roy, Chris Barton, was there
Chris flashed his lights, with just reason and care
Roy thought, “how kind”, as anyone would
Roy didn’t know Chris’s intentions were good Roy turned into West Street, heading for home
Still in his van, that man all alone
Looked in the rear view, what did Roy see!
One wheel’s on fire,” it can’t be happening to me!
My van is on fire! I’m just yards from home
I’ll try and get there, and put it out, on my own
Roy’s having gas fitted,and they’ve dug up his drive
Where can I park it? And will it survive?
Will it set fire to the house and the grounds?
And will it cost me, thousands of pounds?”
With all these thoughts, going round in his head
Roy thought to himself,” I should of stayed in bed”
He dashed in the house, and grabbed the garden hose
“My wheel’s on fire, just my luck, I suppose” I cannot believe it! Are you sure this is right
Why is it happening, on this Thursday night!
When I think of the crap day, I’ve just had at work
Surely this can-not be, my just dessert!” Roy put out the fire, the damage was small
The brake pad got hot and caught light, that was all!
But now he won’t risk it, he’s getting it fixed
Steve, he will do it, he knows all the tricks So when next travelling home
And you’ve had a bad shift
Try and stay calm, and don’t get too miffed
Just think yourself lucky, cause it could be dire
But I think you’ll get home, without your
wheel’s on fire!
The Tale of the missing chicken
It was July the 8th 2006
Geoff was up to his usual tricks
A Chicken from the freezer he took,
It was for Sunday lunch to cook But Sunday came, no time to spare,
We were still clearing up the Fayre
The Chicken, he would have to wait,
It would be cooked, at a later date The clearing done, now time for fun,
Down to The Fountain we would run
A pint or two, or three or four,
Was late afternoon, when went out the door Geoff went first, his head to rest
I went later, I’d thought it best
Bread rolls were left, we’d bought too many
I took some home to feed my belly The box of rolls I’d put away,
Not now, but on another day
Sunday night, they came to no harm
But come Monday, there was great alarm!
The rolls were missing, no sight at all
Should we give the police a call?
It’s only rolls, not worth the fuss
But it made me, swear and cuss Monday lunchtime in the pub
Geoff said he would cook some grub
Geoff’s eyes light up, then said with glee,
“We’ll have that Chicken for our tea”
In the bar that very day, Andy Spenser came to say
“How you feeling, Jim to-day?”
“I’m good” I said, “You’ve made my day”
“The Fayre was great”, Andy said
I said to Andy, “do you want some bread?”
“What sort of bread” replied the chap
“Rolls” said I, “and that’s no crap
Lots of them, you can have for free
Take them home, have some for tea
I’ll get them for you, won’t take a tick
I’ll just nip home, I’ll be quite quick” Home I went, the rolls to get But when I’d looked round, I thought Oh heck!
The box had gone, to my surprise To Andy, I would have to apologise Back in the bar, Geoff still there
I said to Geoff, ” the rolls aren’t there!”
“What rolls” said Geoff, nothing to hide
“The ones that I left upon the side “
“I’ve seen no rolls”, Geoff did retort
He’s joking, he’s having sport!
“Sorry Andy, the rolls aren’t there”
“Never mind, I don’t really care” “I’m going home, the tea to cook
And while I’m there I’ll have a look
For the rolls you said you got for us”
“They are only rolls, not worth the fuss”
Then the pub phone it rang, I answered it
Geoff said, “Listen mate this ain’t bull shite
The rolls aren’t here, and what is more
The Chicken gone, so what’s the score”? “It was in the fridge, I saw it there!
No head, no legs, it wouldn’t dare,
Escape our fridge, and leave the ham!
Was this a conspiracy, a plot, a plan?” July 17th on the front door mat
A card from Shropshire, lying flat
The Chicken wrote that he was cold
A journey North, the story told
Send feathers, was his request
And we are trying to do our best
To send him some, but where to post?
I bet he’s somewhere on the coast A lost Chicken poster we did print
On paper, using dark black ink
Our Chicken’s lost, no sign at all
So if you see it, give Geoff a call We would like to see it here
When it returns, we’ll give a cheer
It would look good, upon a plate
With spuds and veggies, that would be great! Our Chicken’s gone, it’s far too late
Cause now its past, its sell by date!
Too late for roast or grill or fry
Our Chicken’s gone, farewell good-bye!
© James O’Shea 2006
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