A POEM by Paul Curtis, BASED ON THE STORY by
Charles Dickens “A CHRISTMAS CAROL”
VERSE 4 – IN CAMDEN TOWN
They stood in Camden Town outside a poor man’s door
It was the home of Bob Cratchit’s they stood before
The spirit indicated to Scrooge that they would enter
Scrooge held the spirits robe with bony hand and finger
The Spirit stopped on the threshold of the door smiling
With a sprinkle from his torch he blessed Bob’s dwelling
Just think, a fifteen bob a week clerk of no consequence
Has the Ghost of Christmas Present bless his residence
Once inside the four roomed house in Camden Town
They saw Bob’s wife, dressed in a twice-turned gown
Though not dressed in the height of fashion, indeed poorly
Brave in ribbons, which for sixpence decorate cheaply
And she laid the tablecloth, assisted ably by Belinda
Also brave in ribbons who was her second daughter
While Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into a pot
In search of a potato to see if it was cooked or not
And now two smaller Cratchit’s, boy and girl, tore in
“We smelt the goose at the bakers” they were screaming
Soon all the young Cratchit’s danced about the table
All squealing in excitement with a hop and gambol
This went on until the slow potatoes began bubbling
Knocking loudly at the saucepan-lid noisily cooking
“Wherever has your father got too what’s keeping him?”
Said Mrs. Cratchit “And your dear brother, Tiny Tim”
And Martha wasn't as late as this last Christmas Day”
“Here's Martha, mother,” said a girl unbarring her way
The two young Cratchit’s cried, “Mother here's Martha!”
“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!”
Kissing her daughter a dozen times, Mrs. Cratchit said
While taking off her shawl and the bonnet off her head
“We'd a deal of work to finish up last night,” said Martha
“And we had to clear it away this morning, mother”
Mrs. Cratchit said “Never mind so long as you are here “.
“Sit down before the fire and have a warm, my dear”
“Father’s coming,” the two young Cratchit’s loudly cried
They were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!”
So Martha hid herself, and in came Bob, the father,
In his comforter and with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder
He set down the boy who used a crutch tiny as his name
And had to have his limbs supported by an iron frame
“Why, where's our Martha?” cried Bob looking round
“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit staring at the ground
“Not coming!” said Bob, “Not coming” his wife said
“Not coming on Christmas Day?” he hung his head
Martha didn't like to see the disappointed on his face
Even in a joke so she came out from her hiding place
And she ran into her father’s arms and embraced him
While the two young Cratchit’s carried young Tiny Tim
Off into the washhouse that he might hear the pudding
As it boils violently in the copper there loudly singing
When Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content
Then hugged his wife whom he neglected in his merriment
“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit
Watched only by Ebeneezer Scrooge and the spirit
“As good as gold,” said Bob, “And better my dear
He gets thoughtful so much by himself sitting here
And thinks the strangest things you’ve heard honestly
When we were coming home he said to me earnestly
That he hoped that the people in the church saw him
As he was a cripple, as it may be pleasant for them
To remember on this Christmas Day, he told me
Who it was made the lame walk, and blind men see.”
Bob's voice trembled when he told this news to her
And more so as he said Tiny Tim grew much stronger
His active little crutch was heard noisily upon the floor
And Tiny Tim appeared through the wash house door
He was led to his fireside stool by his brother and sister
Bob put a jug of gin and lemons on the hob to simmer
Peter and the young Cratchit's went to fetch the goose
Returning from the bakers with it spitting in its juice
Such a bustle ensued at the returning goose procession
That you may have thought a goose the rarest acquisition
Mrs. Cratchit made gravy hissing hot and full of flavor
Master Peter mashed potatoes with incredible vigor
Belinda made the apple-sauce Martha dusted plates
Bob took Tiny Tim beside him at the table and waits
The two young Cratchit’s set the chairs for everyone
At last dishes were set, and grace was said and done
It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit,
Looking at the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it
In the breast of the modest goose, but when she did
The gush of stuffing issued from where it had been hid
One murmur of delight arose all-round the family table
One and all beat on the table with the their knife handle
And all cried Hurrah! As the festivities were let loose
Bob said in all sincerity “There never was such a goose”
Indeed Its tenderness and flavor, size and cheapness
Were the themes of universal admiration and happiness
Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes all agreed
It was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed
Mrs. Cratchit said surveying a scrap with great delight
That they hadn't eaten everything to the very last bite
Yet everyone had had enough which plainly satisfies
And all were stuffed with sage and onion to the eyes
The dirty plates were cleared away by Miss Martha
And then the clean plates being laid by Miss Belinda
Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone to fetch the pudding
From the wash house and bring it to the table steaming
Suppose it should not be done enough? Well it ought
Suppose it should be done too much? No she thought
Suppose it should break in turning out? Oh damn it
Suppose somebody should have got in and stolen it
All was merry with the goose and gave satisfaction
But all sorts of horrors plagued her in her supposition
The pudding was out of the copper and steaming
In half a minute she returned flushed, but smiling
With the pudding looking like a speckled cannon-ball
Hard and firm, blazing in brandy and holly atop it all
Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob said, and calmly too
Though it was the greatest success ever in his view
Mrs. Cratchit said it was a weight off her mind really
She confessed she had doubts about the flour quantity
Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody
Said or thought it was a small pudding for a large family
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared
The hearth swept, and the fire made up until it roared
The gin and lemons were tasted and passed acceptable
And a plate of apples and oranges were put on the table
Then a shovel-full of chestnuts were then put on the fire
And all the family drew around the hearth like a choir
At Bob’s elbow stood the family set of glass on display
Plus two tumblers and a cup with handle broke away
These held the gin and lemons from the jug, however
A set of golden goblets could not have done better
Bob served out the hot punch while beaming happily
As the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily
Then Bob Cratchit reverently proposed a toast thus
“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us.”
Which the family re-echoed “God bless us every one!”
Said Tiny Tim, the last to say when the others had done.
He sat close to his father's side upon his little chair
Holding his withered hand he gave the hand a stare
Loving his son and wishing to keep him by his side
His dread that he might lose him he could not hide
“Spirit,” said Scrooge with previously unfelt interest
“Tell me if Tiny Tim will live.” He asked in earnest
“I see a vacant seat,” replied the Ghost, “In the corner
And a crutch carefully preserved without an owner
The child will die if these shadows remain unaltered”
“No,” said Scrooge. “Kind Spirit. Say he will be spared.”
“If these shadows do remain unaltered by the Future,
The ghost said, “None other of my race will find him here”
“What then? If he be like to die” continued the apparition
“He had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”
Scrooge hung his head low in penitence and disbelief
To hear his own words and was overcome with grief
“You should hold your tongue and not speak wickedly
Until you discover what the surplus is, and where it be.”
Scrooge cowered and could not meet the spirit’s eye
“And will you decide who shall live and who shall die?
It may be, you are more worthless in the sight of Heaven
And less fit to live than millions of poor men's children”
Scrooge bent low before the Ghost's rebuke trembling
But raised his eyes speedily on hearing Bob speaking
“Mr. Scrooge!” said Bob addressing them like a priest
“I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!”
“The Founder of the Feast indeed! I wish I had him here
I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, my dear
And I hope he would have a very good appetite for it.”
Finished the volatile and reddening Mrs. Cratchit
“My dear,” said Bob, “The children. Christmas Day.”
“It should be Christmas Day, I am sure I would say,
On which one drinks the health of such an odiously
Unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge so cruel hard and stingy
Nobody knows better than you about Scrooges way”
“My dear,” was Bob's mild answer, “Christmas Day.”
“I'll drink his health for your sake and the Day's,”
Said Mrs. Cratchit, “Not for him and his miserable ways
Long life a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!
He’ll be very merry and very happy, I’m quite sure”
The children drank the toast after her long address
It was the first of their rituals having no heartiness
Tiny Tim drank last of all, but didn't care much for it
Scrooge was the ogre of the whole family of Cratchit
Mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party
Lasting full five minutes until they were again hearty
After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier
With thought of Scrooge behind them they were happier
Bob Cratchit told them how he had in his eye a situation
For Master Peter, which would bring in, as contribution
If obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly for their son
Which that sums receipt would be a bewildering income
The rest of the time passed by in family conversation
While chestnuts and jug went round without cessation
Martha, who was an apprentice at a millinery locally
Told them what kind of work had kept her so busy
And by-and-bye there were songs sung quite by choice
Even Tiny Tim, who had a very plaintive little voice
They were not remarkable they were quite ordinary
They were not a handsome or a well-dressed family
Their shoes were far from being proof against weather
Scanty clothed and were not strangers to the pawnbroker
But, were happy, grateful, pleased with one another
And contented with their lot and their time together
They left the Cratchit family in their happy reveling
The spirit gave a sprinkle from his torch in parting
And Ebeneezer Scrooge had kept his eye upon them
Until the very last moment and especially on Tiny Tim
VERSE 5 – WIDELY ABROAD
By this time it was getting dark, and snowing heavily
And as they went along the spirit used his torch merrily
Brightness spilled from each kitchen or parlor window
Doors open to welcome visitors to the fireside glow
Every person they passed received a liberal sprinkling
Of the spirits torch his eyes were constantly twinkling
Even the lamplighter received a blessing that night
As he ran the dusky streets dotting them with light
And so it was the spirit blessed all who came before
Then suddenly they stood on a bleak deserted moor
Monstrous masses of rude stone were cast randomly
A course barren place where the wind moaned eerily
“What place is this?” asked Scrooge uneasy at the sound
“A place where Miners live, who labor underground”
Returned the Spirit. “But they know me. Look and see.”
A light shone out from the window of a hut distantly
Swiftly they moved to it as the wind continued to moan
And they passed through the wall of mud and stone
Inside the dwelling they found a cheerful company
Made up of several generations of the same family
They were all happily assembled round a glowing fire
And everyone was decked out gaily in holiday attire
The oldest man led them in the Christmas singing
As loud and hearty at the end as in the beginning
Then they passed through the mud wall once more
To once again stand upon the grim desolate moor
The Spirit and Scrooge did not however tarry here
They sped away with Scrooge tried to hide his fear
To Scrooge's horror they flew off across the dark sea
Looking back, he saw the last of the land fading quickly
Below were ragged rocks pounded by thundering waves
There treachery sending many men to watery graves
Built on this reef of sunken rock and out cropping
There stood a solitary lighthouse to warn all shipping
But even out here, the two men who watched the light
Had made a fire and were making merry on the holy night
Again the Ghost sped on, above the black heaving sea
On until far from shore they saw a ship blown fiercely
They lighted on the ship and stood beside the helmsman
Who fought with the wheel watched by a midshipman
But every man of them as against the wind they fought
Hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought
Or spoke to a companion of some bygone Christmas Day
And every man on board spoke in a much friendlier way
Then the ship suddenly faded away and the wind died
And laughter pervaded as they stood under a city sky
No comments:
Post a Comment