Rummaging through the desk the other night, I uncovered this. Grandad did it before he passed away in 1996 and we have somewhere at home the original copy with full illustrations. A typical depiction of our family state of mind.
When the oysters are in blossom and the buttered toast in bloom
And the muffins in the meadow haunt us with their pale perfume
Then methinks I’d like to wander neath the roasted chestnut’s shade
And watch the waterlilies floating in a sea of marmalade.
When the jam tarts and roly poly puddings have all been washed and fed
And the baby pickled onions have all been put to bed
Then let us close the parlour shutters, shut our eyes and cross our legs
And watch the sun slowly setting on a dozen new laid eggs.