by | Dec 8, 2007 | Poetry | 0 comments

Come to the Cross Butte’s restaurant near the Victoria farms!
Ivan the deaf ex Gunner, he Heard the Victoria Arms,
Then we were all quite puzzled and thought it rather queer
The garden centre opposite didn’t have a drop of beer.

If you want your lunch at Whitby just follow the 164,
Drive straight along the road there, I’ll be waiting at the door.
So sorry we are late John the road goes on and on,
I’m Sorry about that Barbara, I meant the 171.

Standing in the car park it’s really some what weird,
You look so different Ivan now, without your bushy beard.

I think you’ve made gaff mate, we really ought to laff!!!
I’m not an old ex sailor, I was in the blooming RAFF
My mistake me hearty I see him from afar,
He’s coming in the car park, inside of Barbara’s car.

At last we are assembled and ready for our lunch,
You see this lot at Whitby are quite a pleasant bunch.

It seems that all are related and to meet them is a rave,
We long to visit Whitby to see Uncle John and Aunty Mave.


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