By our Poetry Correspondent, Alice Chirgwin-Jacka
The celebrated Penzance poet (from Colinsey Road, Treneere) 'Odgo Semmens has composed the following rousing work, which we feel should be given the widest possible viewing. This astonishing work, which displays 'Odgo at his magisterial best, is styled simply and, in a characteristically Cornish way, "I aren't".
It has already been viewed by 1,789.654 people, who rate it as the greatest work ever written.
I Aren't
I aren't goin' in town today,
I aren't, coz I'm feelin' a bit queasy;
I aren't goin up Mum's tonight,
I aren't, coz my sister's too teasy.
I aren't gunna g'wovver Newlyn tonight,
I aren't, coz is too bleddy cold.
I aren't gunna g'wout with Liza no more,
I aren't, coz she's too bleddy old.
I aren't goin' to work in Kwop no more,
I aren't, coz I couldn' care less.
I aren't gunna say "no" to Mrs 'Ollis,
I aren't, coz she the fittest and best.
I aren't gunna say that I'm "English",
I aren't, coz is not bleddy true:
I aren't, coz I am bleddy Cornish,
And so, my bleddy friend, are you!
'Odgo
POETRY CORNER
WEST PENWITH ALMOST DEAD POETS SOCIETY
One of the oldest members of the society, who has hitherto never released any of his poems, has now, at the age of 132, given his deathbed permission to publish one of his works.
'Ands up 'oo walked past midnight from Penzance up to St Just.
'Ands up 'oo felt the comfort of dark quiet Cornish night.
'Ands up 'oo looked from Pendeen corner down upon the bay.
'Ands up 'oo didn't fill with wonder walking out that way.
I seen un and I felt un and it was sum smuckin fart:
I seen the sparkling stars and glinting sea,
I seen the shadow geography of West Penwith,
I seen un all laid out 'ere before me.
I wadden the first to clap my eyes on this vocal majesty,
I wadden the first to feel the blonging in my gut.
I wadden the first to feel 'er warmth still in my fingertips,
I wadden the first to see 'er clearly with eyes all shut.
I couldn' wait to go back there and see 'er face again,
I couldn' wait to see the laughter in 'er smiles;
I couldn' wait to touch 'er air an kiss er lips again;
I couldn' wait but 'ad to keep on goin a few more miles.
The time 'ave come to shut the lid on my piano.
The time 'ave come to close the music of my song.
That walk I took at midnight was now a long long time ago,
An' she's no more, my lady love - it all went wrong.
Jack Bolitho-Batten (STBD*)
Alice Chirgwin-Jacka, Poetry Correspondent
* Soon To Be Deceased
5 YEARS AGO THIS WEEK
In the first of an occasional series, we reprint selected stories from our archives. How different Relubbus was just five years ago!
Pictured on the right of the Reverend gentleman are Mathew Laity (29) from Bologas, Martin Rodda (32) from Tresvennack, Davey Kneebone (41) from Chyenhal, Derek "Shortie" Semmens (37) from Trereife Smelting House, and Philadelpha Pentreath (71) from Kerris, sporting moustache and standing to the right.
The troupe will enter the West Cornwall singing contest with high hopes of getting through to the All-Cornwall event.
Little lost souls looking for a home
Just released from the Madron home for the criminally insane, Charlie Paynter and Madge Baragwaneth pictured here with their "cheeld" known as the "babby" are looking for a loving home in the West Cornwall area.
With several murders apiece, the deadly duo have caused something of a stir in a number of village communities. However, it is hoped that finding them a home in a larger community such as that of Penzance or Crows an Wra would provide the stability that these young folk need to keep them on the straight and narrow.
Offers of help from good Christian homes will be welcomed and should be addressed to the editor of the Roundup, who will forward them to the authorities.
Young "Woman" seeks position
Jemima Trevithal (24), formerly Michael Bollock, a granite quarryman from Rosecarne, is seeking a position as a lady’s maid to a lady of quality, preferably in the Penzance area.
Jemima describes herself as a realist with a cheerful disposition. "My maither d’say that I got winsome looks and oughtie ave been a young lady an I aren’t going to give up on my dream of being the best in the West as a lady’s maid."
Jemima is hopeful of being taken into a home of gentility, where she can further develop her feminine side to a point approaching some degree of credibility.
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The ingredients of the elixir are, of course, a closely guarded secret, but Thelonius assures us that they are all distilled from naturally occurring substances found in the environs of Sennen and his goat compound. There is indeed a distinctly 'goatey' smell to the viscous brown fluid that is the elixir. (When quizzed by our Sennen reporter about the magic ingredients, Thelonius just gazed back from his mesmerisingly droopy eyes and said ...nothing.)
The cost of the Elixir is high at £195 for a 5 cl bottle but, as Thelonius says, "Wha's a few bob, when you're fixin' all they problems?"
Thelonius recommends a course of treatment at a bottle a day for fully seven years before the most difficult problems, such as ginger hair or no money, are completely vanquished.
Note: As the Roundup is keen to ensure that it takes advertising money only from bona fide traders - and from no charlatans - we would be happy to hear from anyone after their seven year course of treatment to assure us of the efficacy of Mr Polweath-Bergamot's Elixir.
Hanging by a thread..?
William Ladner (13), drummer of St Just Silver Band, has begun his annual fund-raising efforts for Comic Relief. William is suspended from a swinging trapeze secured only by the curve of his neck and the fervent hope that he will not drop to his death -- no safety net!
William intends to stay up -- without a break -- for 72 hours and all the while he will be playing drum solos, at 10 pence a time, as requested by the public.
Last year, William raised an astonishing 90 pence for good causes and he is determined to better that achievement this time round. William can be viewed -- hanging precariously -- at the Mousehole Methodist Youth Club from Thursday to Saturday.
Local Tycoon starts Charitable Foundation
Richard Quick, the West Cornwall building magnate, who is estimated to be worth some £35 million, has decided that it is time to share his wealth with the less advantaged in the community. He has started up a new charity called "Quick Money". The needy are requested to telephone the charity on an 0800 number and explain the nature of their need for cash. No call is expected to cost more than £4.50.
Tens of thousands of people are expected to call, since Mr Quick has promised to allot the lucky annual winner one of his homes on a holiday estate in Hayle.
When questioned by the West Cornwall Fraud Squad about certain flaws in the charitable nature of his new undertaking, Mr Quick brushed all criticisms aside with a flick of his cigarette, explaining that as long as someone benefited from the charity (possibly himself, in view of the volume of calls) no one was getting hurt.
Loopy Lesneweth is back in town!
Crowds gathered at the advance ticket office of the Sennen Picture House for the sell-out tour of the man they like to call Loopy Laughing Jack Lesnoweth of Lescudjack. The renowned petard amazes his audiences with his ability to blow out a candle at a distance of 35 feet by the sheer force of wind power. Loopy eats only baked beans and raw onions and likes to think that it is his rigid eating regime which keeps him on top of his game.
By day, Loopy works as a driver for St Erth Creamery. All his earnings from his evening entertainment work go to the Newlyn home for fallen Methodist young women, which explains why his act is strongly endorsed by the ministers of the St Just Methodist Circuit.
The Reverend Horton Bolitho commented that the Lord works in wondrous ways and stated that Loopy had been blessed by a divine wind.
Global Warming -- Watch Out!
Intrepid Cornish Inventor, Joseph Bodruggan from Copperhouse in Hayle, has done it again. Aware that the planet faces its greatest challenge in Global Warming, Joe has applied his restless mind to finding a practical solution.
The answer has come in the form of his "bikodrome". A skilled bike rider is balanced on the drum and peddles like mad. The drum turns, producing an electrical current, which can be made available to the National Grid. Joe’s plan is that every house should have a "bikodrome", powered by an illegal immigrant.
The Roundup is proud to have been able to bring you this story first -- before the Nationals.
Poetry Corner
Missus Ollis’s Cat
by a pupil of Lescudjack County Secondary School
Missus Ollis got a cat -- a ginger one -- called Timmy
I ad my eye on ee you see -- me and my mate, Jimmy.
She let n out jes after tea and we grabbed n as ee slinked past
We tied a banger to is tail and never seen n shift so fast.
Policeman Carne came after we, but we was bleddy smart
Ee walked up past where we was id -- laid still - we eard n fart.
But Missus Ollis tole my Ma and she then tole my Dad
Ee gived me ell and belted me - it never urt so bad.
I aren’t upset or nuthin -- tha’s jes the way it goes
I’ll get that bleddy cat again -- is no skin off my nose.
Philip Trudgeon (14)
Passed Ovver (Obituaries)
Welcome to the ever-popular "'Oo’s Dead?" section of the Roundup!
The first thing that some of our older readers do when they get their hands on their edition of the Roundup is to check up on who’s passed away. This month has seen the usual harvest of the Grim Reaper in the luscious lands of West Penwith and it is with great sadness that we convey the news that the following folk have gone to meet their maker:
Eliza Treloar (86), who lived most of her life as a man (Tommy Treloar, a building labourer with a penchant for sombreros), has died in the Barncoose psychiatric hospital for confused trans-sexuals.Eliza, as she insisted on being known after her 66th year, had fathered a total of 62 children with 11 different mothers -- all over West Penwith. Amazingly, none of the mothers ever knew of or met any of the others. As he had been a jobbing labourer, it was always assumed that he was "away on a job" and never suspected that he could be away on the job.
Eliza continued working -- as a man -- until his 66th year, when he quit to apply for immediate admittance to the Barncoose hospital, where he swapped his sombrero for a flowing floral flamenco dress and castanets. He never left the hospital once and, when the mothers of his children separately found their way to the doors of the hospital, he denied all knowledge of both them and their children, screaming "I aren’t able to faither no children -- I’m a bleddy woman!"
The funeral will take place at Gluvias Street Methodist Church at 2.00 pm next Wednesday. Mourners will be welcome, but are asked to send no flowers. Instead they should feel free to contribute to the Treloar Abandoned Children’s Fund.
Isaac Trenery (45), a devoted amateur dramatist and much-loved local man, passed away quietly and most unexpectedly at home over the weekend. Mr Trenery worked on the Cheese counter at the Lower Co-op in Penzance since he left Heamoor School at the age of 15. He never married, despite his obvious popularity with the housewives, who were prepared to queue for hours to buy his cheese. He lived quietly at home with his mother and his pet gerbils, Cindy and Celandine. He discovered his dramatic bent rather late in life, becoming, at the invitation of a friend, a member of the West Cornwall Men’s Drama Group. Although he most often took girls’ parts, he did occasionally play men and is seen on the left in his favourite role of Macbeth in last year’s production at Nancledra. 
Limpy Polglaze (67), owner of the popular Russian Revolutionary Shoe Shop in Bread Street, Penzance, passed away on Monday Night. Limpy leaves a widow, Agnes, and three adult children. Limpy was a brilliant and colourful Penzance entrepreneur, who was always on the lookout to corner a market. He started his career by launching the Italian Operatic Fish and Chip Shop in Hayle. Tiring quickly, as he did, with every new idea, he moved on to his next "big opportunity" with the opening of Poseidon’s, his Underwater Bookshop, between Penzance Harbour and Battery Rocks. Losing interest in this venture (along with his entire stock and two staff members) following a bad winter storm, he began his theme of "big winners", a string of retail opportunities with different historical themes. Previous themes have included the Elizabethan Lavatory Company; the Tudor Television Company (featuring the world’s only entirely wooden TV set); Legionary’s, the Imperial Roman bakery and delicatessen; and also Atahuallpa’s, the Inca menswear company.
Limpy, a man unfazed by the fact that his left leg was a good four inches shorter than his right, was contented to the last. His funeral will take place at the Kiev-Pechersk Cave Monastery and afterwards (quite a bit afterwards) at the Truro Crematorium.
Dickie "Banjo" Trevains (54) passes on. Commuters from Penzance Railway station will have been familiar with the sight of Dickie Trevains and his banjo. With only one song in his repertoire, Dickie would go to the Station on his days off from work and pluck away enthusiastically at his banjo to accompany himself singing, in his falsetto voice, his Spice Girls’ favourite "Two become one". Thought harmless until his unfortunate arrest some years back for exposing himself to passing schoolgirls, Dickie tried his best, despite his characteristic "toppest" top hat, to simply blend in with local society. He came to West Penwith at the age of 22 and worked for SWEB, then St Just Co-op, and finally Morrisons. Never marrying, he leaves his pet pig, Pauline, to the bacon counter at Morrisons.
LONELY HEARTS
The Roundup has been besieged by the unattached of West Penwith to offer an introduction facility. We are pleased to do so in this edition and hope that the young people featured here will soon find the partner of their dreams.
Looking for Love in TredenneckLavinia Barnicoat (23) of Bosliven Lane, Tredinnick is looking for a man to complete her life. Lavinia lives at home with her widowed mother and works at the nearby Chynoweth farm as a labourer. Her interests are cross stitch, Sudoku, line dancing, making home-made candles, tormenting small animals, and music. Her passion is the jew’s harp, on which she can play the flight of the bumble bee at devastating speed. Her dream is to find a Prince Charming with whom she can share a life of luxury in a place like St Just, in a house with an inside toilet. Interested Romeos should reply to Box 3024.
In the mood for romance in Ludgvan
Amelia Lewellian (29) of Ludgvan is a catch for any young man. Only child of dairy farmer Ambrose Lewellian (78), she brings with her the warming prospect of the thriving farm in years to come. Close observers of her photograph will have noticed that, whilst Amelia has a fine head with a fetching face marred only by two hardly noticeable moles, she does lack a body. This has held her back in the courting stakes, as she finds it tricky to engage in any of the activities requiring a body. Ambrose hopes that the "farm’ll swing it. Plenty a boys out there ud luv to git their ‘ands on a farm like gis". Amelia remains hopeful. Box 2037 is the one to write to.Shy but willing to try
Rachel Lanyon (27), a lap-dancer from Gwavas Estate in Newlyn, is a shy retiring girl looking for a similarly quiet man. She says that he should be of advanced years, poor in health, but very rich. "I aren’t a gold-digger. I duh jest find rich men easier to talk to." Rachel lists her interests as collecting old coins of the realm, antiques, jewellery, and fast cars. Her as yet unfulfilled dreams are to "'ave snails in some posh restaurant in Penzance and to do a bit o dogging at the Taj Mahal in India". Interested men (wealthy and over the age of 85) should write to Box 2047.Fancy a bender?
Gay plumber, Thomas Nankervis (37) of Treave, is looking for a long term relationship. Tired of playing the gay scene in Treave, Thomas is looking to settle down. His interests are bowls, darts, model railways, collecting bus and train numbers, racing his toy yacht, and cooking and baking. Thomas also plays the triangle in Helston Silver band. Interested males, preferably from Treave, are asked to write to Box 4589.Doctor looking for love
Dr Richard "Scatty" Botheras (42) is a colourful character on the St Ives social and medical scene. Hating dealing with illness and ailments, Scatty likes to cheer up all those he meets with jolly japes, laughs and fun. "Why worry about the illness that will soon have you dead, just have a laugh and a chuckle with me instead!"With one of the shorter patient lists in medical history (he only had 52 patients left at time of writing), Scatty is looking for a woman to help him with his burden of caring for the sick in St Ives. Box 4521 is the one to write to.
Are you ready for the Boscobba experience?
Grace "Asbo" Friggens (25), of Penorven Drive, Boscobba, is looking for a brave man willing to give her a second chance. With a series of convictions for unprovoked spontaneous knife assaults on the young men of Boscobba, Grace has been finding it hard to form relationships.Currently unemployed, it is her dream to find a young man with whom to settle down and make a home, preferably in Boscobba. With a population of just 35, this could be a tall order, as she has seriously injured all the young males currently living in the village. However, she fervently hopes that this serene picture of female pulchritude will lure young males from all around West Penwith. Box 2987 is the one to write to.
The Ladies are back!
Many readers have asked for another picture of the Gwithian Ladies Pedicycle Club. We cannot accede to Mr Bosher Thomas’s request for them to be shown in the nude, but they are modelling the latest in knitted cycle wear -- the next best thing.
Pictured, from the left, are June Beckerleg (26), Mary Hocking (24), Eliza Tonkin (25), Gracie Chellew (29), Martha Tregenza (18) and Faith Kelynack (19).
Since they only have the one bike between them, the ladies are keen to meet men of property in West Penwith, who would be prepared to invest in the Club. (No hanky panky!)
RELUBBUS POETRY FEST
After noisily, but necessarily, clearing his throat and mouth of several tissues worth of phlegm, he then spoke out his verse in the loud sonorous trumpeting voice we have come to love:
An’ now I’ve ‘eard she’s up Treliske;
Tha’s the way ee duh go, boy,
Take a good long look at the world, my cock,
Silence followed the delivery of these potent words, as the mass of people - acting as one -- drank in their meaning and devoted their whole being for almost half an hour to intense interpretation of their significance.
The spell was broken when, led by Dame Margo, the other four leapt to their feet in rapturous applause, whilst the old man tripped slowly back to his seat, precarious on his stilettos.
It was then that the young ‘master read out his latest work:
For those who were counting, the other person at the event was Alice Chirgwin-Jacka, Poetry Correspondent of the Relubbus Roundup, who testifies to the powerful impact the poem had on all those present.
Each person attending was given a small memento, in the form of a little hammer and some captured ants in a matchbox, and then the hordes made their way home .
Alice Chirgwin-Jacka
OBITUARY
CAPITAINE ARISTIDE ABSINTHE KNEE-TREMBLAY
SOLDIER, EXPLORER, RACONTEUR, POET
Capitaine Aristide Absinthe Knee-Tremblay has died, at Tresoddit, his clifftop home in St Buryan, aged 116.
Knee-Tremblay was born in Bal-Trap, a tiny village to the south-west of Paris, on February 30th, 1838. In later years he always claimed to be the lovechild of Napoleon III, but local tradition insists that he was, in fact, the illegitimate son of the local priest and a particularly attractive but slatternly ewe named Genevieve.
As a young man, Knee-Tremblay acquired a reputation as a womaniser, duellist, and gambler. When challenged by the husbands and lovers of his conquests to "choose his weapon", he would invariably select the classical tarte à la crème, in the use of which he was an adept.
Knee-Tremblay published his first volume of verse, Premiers Oeuvres, at the tender age of thirty-eight. This juvenile work, though heavily influenced by Rimbaud and Baudelaire, was nonetheless warmly praised by Stéphane Mallarmé. In later years, Yeats described its influence on his own early work as "bollocks".
But it was in World War II that Knee-Tremblay came to the attention of the British. Following the fall of France, he rowed across the Channel in an open boat and joined De Gaulle's Free French forces in Accrington.
In 1944 Knee-Tremblay was seconded to the 1st Highland Foot and Mouth, in the capacity of French interpreter. It was his job to co-ordinate joint operations between the 1st Highland and the Maquis, after D Day. Unfortunately, Knee-Tremblay's grasp of Scots patois was not as great as his grasp of standard English, and he was apt to make mistakes. It was such a misunderstanding that led to the Maquis' courageous but ultimately doomed attack on the Tunnel of Love at the Lille funfair. Excusing the fiasco after the war, Knee-Tremblay was apt to say that, after all, it was only a sideshow.
After the war, Knee-Tremblay gave up soldiering to pursue his other great interest -- exploration. In five years he visited some of the most remote regions on earth, including the then largely unexplored Amazonian rainforest, central Mongolia, and West Penwith. In the latter region he is credited with being the first modern European to traverse the ancient coastal track from Lamorna to Porthgwarra. The public acclaim that greeted this achievement convinced the Frenchman that he should make his home in Cornwall.
In his later years Knee-Tremblay became a familiar figure in West Cornwall, where he was known affectionately as "that Froggie geezer".
Knee-Tremblay leaves a wife, Mathilde Clothilde, and a son, Absinthe Jnr.
POETIC UTTERANCE – WAKFER-BORLASE SPEAKS!
Celebrated St Buryan poet Walter Wakfer-Borlase (94) is shown here on the left in a photograph taken by Dorlas Penrose, ultraloyal retainer, in a photo-shoot some thirty years ago.
Wakfer-Borlase has achieved international recognition (throughout St Buryan) for his evocative poetry, which is inspired by the Cornwall "to which I duh owe my all".
The great man penned the following poem from his deathbed, following a walk in bracing winds in Porthleven last week.
PEN SANS (Wosgoinoneera?)
I wen’ over Porthlebben las’ week -
Went fer a walk an’ a li’l bit geek.
The sun was sum lovely, but the sea - it was rough
A wind was up – an' we soon ‘ad enuff.
So we all come ‘ome fer a nice cup tay
A nice warming drink at the end of the day.
We come through P’nzance, the Ross bridge still down
Forcin’ the traffic round an’ up through the town.
That set me to thinkin’ ‘ow much ‘ave gone by
No Marchants, no Jacobs – no real reason why.
The town changes shops, like a woman ‘er dress
But I don’t think the changes are all fer the best.
Now i’s all bleddy phone shops – estate agents too --
Cheap shops and trash shops – give me nuthin’ – nor you.
Tregenza’s, Trezise’s – old names and true
Like Andrewartha and Simpsons – served my grandfathers too.
They are all old ‘real’ businesses – source of pride fer P’nzance
Give the town value and character – their names ring of romance.
‘Ow long will it be till these old names go too
And we’re left with just ANYTOWN’s Orange and O2?
The Roundup is saddened to have to report that Walter choked on his badger broth some few hours after dictating this work to his ever-faithful live-in companion and amanuensis, Dorlas Penrose (72).
Amidst uncontrollable floods of tears, Dorlas stated that his ‘beloved master’ would now, at least, no longer have to witness the continued depletion of old Cornish businesses in the town he fondly described as the capital of West Penwith.
ERRATA
The Roundup is justly known for its high standards of journalism, which are the envy of the newspaper industry. However, even we have made the odd mistake.
We apologise unreservedly to the family of Mrs Doris Lutey, whose obituary last week was entitled “Soliciting in Penzance for over 35 years”. Mrs Lutey’s calling is, of course, more properly described as that of a solicitor.
We also apologise to Mrs Lutey herself, who has written in to tell us that she is not yet, in fact, dead. Following extensive negotiations with Mrs Lutey, the Roundup has agreed to pay a sum of £12.50 to the Sancreed Methodist Home for Fallen Women.
CHRISTMAS SNOWS COME TO RELUBBUS!!
By our Rover Christmas Correspondent.... the dog with the cool glasses..... and the festive antlers....... whose paws caress the keyboard into sweet language... who, alone amongst our journalists, is completely house-trained.. this report comes from "Fetch" Penhaligon, the dog who always gets his story!!
Yes, you can tell it's Christmas again – that white stuff is back!
The roof of the Relubbus Met Office is covered in six inches of snow, while the picture shows the magical scene this morning at Relubbus Zoo, where Head Keeper Willy Rosewarne (39), recently cleared of all charges of ‘interfering with the animals’, is out with his favourite elephants.
Snowfalls bedeck the whole of Relubbus and the surrounding district. The ski runs at Mount Relubbus have, of course, been carpeted in thick, freshly topped-up snow ever since the end of September, enticing tens of thousands of winter sports enthusiasts to fabled Relubbus, where you can ski in the morning and then travel five miles on a Western National bus, arriving three hours later in the tropical magic of Prah Sands, which is currently basking in 30 degrees Centigrade of luscious sunshine.
In Boswedden Lane in the centre of Relubbus, carol singing took place in front of the statue dedicated to Greater Relubbus Urban Council (GRUC) Leader Billy Spargo’s Enty Mabel – the famed poet.
Carol singing was led by Ms Doris Hitler – seen here giving her trademark salute – and the proceedings concluded with a noted poem by Mabel Spargo specially set to music by Professor Norris Boris Morris of the Relubbus Conservatoire.
The poem is, of course, the renowned favourite “Ee”
I aren’t gunna askee “Knawun do ee?”
Tha’s too easy and idden no fun.
I wain’t ask ‘ee “Seenunroundere avee?”
Cos wi they glasses you kint see nawun.
I aren’t gonna tell ‘ee oo I’m talking abowt
Cos tha’s easy at this time o year.
I bleeve I jes seen Faither Christmas
An ee’s coming ovver your way, my dear!
Another sure sign that the Christmas season is upon us came with the traditional annual Lesbian and Gay Plumbers’ Parade, which started off at Prospidnick Terrace, making its way through the notorious Pink Pydar gay quarter (what Castro is to San Francisco, Pink Pydar is to Relubbus) before emerging on to Cattle Market square, where they linked up – in a symbol of Christmas reconciliation – with both the Triangle and Tambourine Band of the Tregeseal Fundamentalist Methodist Church and the massed Harleys of the Long Rock Bearded Bikers Club.
Participation this year by the Pink Truncheons, a special unit of the Devon and Cornwall Police (DCP), was blocked by Commissioner Percy Penrose of the Relubbus Kreslu Kernewek because of their (DCP's) behaviour unbecoming gay police officers.
Shelley’s of St Just , the world famous hairdressing establishment, has opened an academy for ‘juniors’ in Relubbus, which has just taken on its first one hundred recruits.
We show, as our last picture, some of the girls at play building a snowman.
We leave you with this seasonal snap and wish all our readers a very Merry Christmas!!!!
POETRY OF MOTION
Ups and Downs in West Penwith
‘Mind ‘ow you go’, they used to say and never more true than ‘ere --
If you don’t say’un right, my boy, you’ll be a stranger ‘ere.
The startin’ point fer journies is P’nzance, as we d’ all know:
It don’t matter where you’re ‘eaded, it d’ matter ‘ow you go!
I’s right t’ go DOWN Newlyn and I’s right to g’w UP St Just;
From ‘ere you can g’w UP London - and BACK DOWN again, when you’re bust.
You can ‘gw OVVER Marazion and from there gw’UP Pendeen,
But then you d’come INTO P’nzance on the number 17.
Goin UP fair, goin UP Treneere, and then goin DOWN the Prom.,
To ‘ave bit geek if Loveday is still goin out with Tom.
‘Ee d’ farm OUT Ludgvan way and d’ come IN town each week.
I seen ‘un out with Loveday, when I went t’ ‘ave my bit geek.
I d’ dearly love goin round about, I’s proper job, my bird;
But if I d’ want describ’ un, I must use the proper word.
Up, down, in and ovver, there’s so many ways to go --
But if you are a Cornishman, I’m sure, like me, you’ll know.
A composition by Ezekiel Lestrange (78) of Ponsendance and Lower Leskinnick Bicycle Club
RELUBBUS POETRY COMPETITION -- RESULT!
The Roundup is honoured to be able to publish the top two entries for the annual RELUBBUS POETRY COMPETITION, which are:
Meeting in Cot Valley
I leave St Just – a busy place – a full of purpose town,
And set off for Cot Valley - on the path that takes me down.
My soul knows these steps more surely than seemingly my feet -
It draws me down along the way –it knows whom I shall meet.
For parts of me came down here– long ago – this selfsame way
English had no meaning then - Kernewek chat all day.
Now I meet no one here, but I sense her company.
So, peel away the mists of time and let me see her face - Her eyes - the fire of my desire - her posture full of grace.
Her laughter - music of my soul, her smile – peace of my heart
Her presence - anchor of my being –O - do not let us part!
I feel sea spray upon my face – it wakens me to now.
I sense that she is gone again - and am left to wonder how
A person who was made for me – who was my partner true
Can leave me in this curl of time – my Sweet, I long for you.
I turn then back along the path and move with heavy tread
My body knows the way to go, but, sadly, not my head.
The thoughts of you are just as real as when you were just here
But I cannot kiss you now, my love, O, how I wish you near!
Pascoe Trembath (21)
Git Plumb Boy
Sixteen years old – short trousers still – daft cap upon ‘is ‘ead,
That silly bugger Archibald never knew the cat was dead.
‘Ee loved ‘un still, despite the smell, which was almighty strong,
But daftee never noticed that anything was wrong.
'Ee took ‘un to the vet and said “My mouser idden eating!”
The vet was shocked at such a sight and soon ‘ee started bleating!
“You git plum boy – daft as a brush – wha’s wrong with yer bleddy ‘ead?
That cat is done with ‘eatin’ - the thing is bleddy dead!”
Archibald was sad now – was quiet as the grave
‘Ee’d ‘ad that cat since just a boy and truly was its slave.
The git plumb boy was plumb no more – ‘is growing time was done
‘Is cap was gone, ‘is trousers long and childhood’s battle won.
Madron Barlewenna (18)
As usual, the winning entry was chosen by a panel selected from the Silver Thread Society of the Penlowarth Centre for the Extremely Aged in Penzance.
Gracie Angwin (104) stated, on behalf of the panel, 75% of whom were still alive, that Madron's poem was " 'ead an shoulders above the rest". They have accordingly given him the prize, which is a bottle of "Head and Shoulders".
ODGO SEMMENS -- POET OF THE PEOPLE
By our Poetry Correspondent, Alice Chirgwin-Jacka
'Odgo (the "dg" is pronounced as in "stodge") Semmens (73), the restless Penzance poet of Colinsey Road, Treneere, has recently received the honour of coming twelfth in the Perrananworthal Horticultural Society's poetry competition. (The other 8 contestants were all younger than him.)
His entry was a reflective work taking the theme of his Penzance childhood. Written in, unusually for him, standard English, this work is entitled Cornish Boy's Childhood.Cornish Boy's Childhood
As a lad, I played in hedgerows and smelt the earth and green,
And felt a strange excitement as Linda became my queen.
A kid's small world to him is vast and time it has no end --
Events just string together in childhood's journey without end.
Penzance it was my universe -- the world that I could see,
There was no place beyond it that could mean as much to me.
For all those in the world I loved could be seen within a walk,
And the comfort warm of Cornish chat could be heard within their talk.
Family day out in Trevaylor beneath those trees so tall,
With hide and seek, then sandwiches and laughing fun for all.
I have so many images of now distant boyhood years:
It is a world lit up with love, in which there were no fears.
I wish that every child could know the warmth of a loving nest.
When small, I knew just my Cornish home -- for me it was the best.
A Penwith boy, of Cornish blood, I grew on Cornish scenes;
And feel the love of that sweet place abundant in my genes.
'Odgo
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STAR INTERVIEW: CHEBNEY QUISTLE
Artist, poet, and musician Chebney Quistle speaks to the Roundup
The Relubbus Roundup will be running a series of "big name" interviews and, to launch the series, is proud to be able to publish an interview between none other than Renaissance man, Chebney Quistle (64), and star Roundup reporter, Loveday Liddicoat (34). As Mr Quistle is resident near Vaduz, Lichtenstein, Ms Liddicoat availed herself of the new Western National Bus Services from Relubbus to Vaduz Station, taking a day return saver ticket at the incredible price of only £4 15s 3d.
Mr Quistle, an Englishman who has come to love Cornwall, has through his numerous paintings, musical compositions, prose and poetry written to the glory of Cornwall, made himself dear to many a true Cornishman.
He came to live in Boskednan near New Mill as a young man of 23 back in 1932. He acquired his great love of the Cornish natural world by walking in the hills around his new home.
It was only the dark clouds of scandal that forced him to move abroad, following the alleged incident in a field near Heamoor two years ago. However, despite lengthy painstaking investigations by both police and the RSPCA, no charges were ever brought against Mr Quistle and, indeed, milk yields in that particular herd went up and not down...
Although he chose to remain a confirmed bachelor, Chebney was a very keen participant in many aspects of local life. He was an officer in the Boys' Brigade and a leader in the Scouts and could always be relied upon when it came to taking boys away to camp. He was also a Choirmaster at his local Church, spending extra time with the owners of his treble voices to ensure the piping quality of their performance.
However, the bulk of his time was spent with the brush or the pen or with his beloved xylophones.
Pictured on the left is Chebney's most famous (and valuable) painting, entitled My House. It cost him some 8 months of tortured work and perfectly captures the atmosphere of Boskednan in the early 1830s, when he first came to live there. This great work was purchased at a price of some £55 for the Tate by Sir Richard Branson, who was a great friend and admirer of Chebney before the incident in Heamoor.
Leaving his very considerable achievements with the brush aside, Chebney was a maestro with the pen and is acknowledged to be one of the greatest English poets.
His poem I am is reckoned to be one of the finest statements of the human spirit in print.
I am -- I am what it is to be,
Because I am what it is to feel.
So ask, please, no more of me!
Ask ye no hedgehog, ask ye no eel!
Just ask Elizabeth to show you -- her spot!
That tender centre of her innermost being --
That is a wonder to behold and not to share!
Brake markings on my underpants --
They are proof of my being there!
They will fade, as do all marks of human kind,
But when fresh, they are proof to the curious nose.
There are, grant you, prettier things -- like daffodils;
Like wandering trees on distant hills:
They summon up images of years gone by,
And of happy peoples whose smiles are no more.
I tire of musing and must close down
Or we will both wear your worried frown.
So go now away and leave me alone,
To play my wondrous Xylophone!
This phenomenally great work was purchased by Roman Abramski for the Russian Nation at a price of 76 billion roubles in 1995.
Chebney was never happier that when playing on his Xylophone. His favourite work, which he played for hours on end, was The three mice, who couldn't see! Like all great works, this too was subject to much plagiarism -- a popular version of it now circulating as "The three blind mice".
The Star Interview went as follows:
Loveday Liddicoat: "Mr Quistle, I do not wish to embarrass you, but could you tell us in your own words just what was happening in that field in Heamoor?"
The great man: " You little bugger! You...you....you....". Gasping for breath," You....". Eyes swimming, he then expired. Since no further words came from the great man, we must let his works alone speak for him.
