Alan Blunden
Born in North London and educated at Stationers’ Company’s Grammar School, Alan is now retired and living in Bishop’s Stortford. He has been a member of The Harlow Writers’ Workshop since 2009. His literary heroes are John Betjeman, Hilaire Belloc and George Orwell. He writes mainly rhyme and short pieces. His publications include: The Bard Unbarred; a synopsis for all the plays of William Shakespeare, A Tale told by an Idiot; a collection of poems and memories of growing up in North London and a children’s book; The Boy who learned to talk. He likes walking and solving crosswords.
Little Dolly
Little Dolly had a mind
To be quite spiteful and unkind.
She viewed life with a jaundiced eye.
Though no one knew exactly why.
While other children billed and cooed,
Young Dolly could be rather rude.
If her merest wish was thwarted,
Her pretty face became distorted.
She’d scream and shout out, ‘I hate you.’
And raise a finger, sometimes two.
Her parents found it hard to cope
With their malignant misanthrope.
And so, her dad, a clever man,
devised a really cunning plan.
‘We need a holiday,’ he said.
‘So, let’s all go to Beachy Head.’
A lovely bungalow was booked.
One not too small or overlooked.
Which stood five hundred feet or so,
above the ragged rocks below.
But in the middle of the night,
poor Dolly got an awful fright.
‘Oh, daddy dear,’ she loudly cried.
‘A gruesome monster lurks outside.’
Her dad put on his dressing gown
nd went to hunt the monster down.
But in the dark he could not see,
and fell into the raging sea.
An awfully sad thing some might say.
to lose a loved one in that way.
So, why is little Dolly’s mum,
not feeling sad or looking glum?
‘t was Dolly’s evil mum you see,
who’d pushed him in the raging sea.
She’d planned it to the last detail:
a foolproof plan that could not fail.
Now Dolly’s mum, that scheming witch,
will soon be very, very rich.
*
The day arrived for her to go
To London, to collect the dough.
Then, feigning hurt and bleary-eyed,
she called her daughter to her side.
Young Dolly gave her mum a kiss,
and handed her some sandwiches.
But instead of jam inside,
each one was laced with cyanide.
The moral for all mother’s is…
Be wary of a daughter’s kiss
And never let yourself forget……
A daughter’s always daddy’s pet.
Harlow Writers 