is an adage as old as time.
So I 'ope yer find amusin'
this true tale Ah tell as rhyme...
Mi Grandad loved 'is garden -
ther wer nowt 'e couldn't grow.
An' ivvery year, when summer cem,
'e always stole the show.
'Is pals wer not malicious,
they just meant ter pull 'is leg,
An so devised a little scheme
ter tek 'im dahn a peg.
They said they'd got some "special seeds"
tha nowbody could grow...
Mi Grandad sed 'ed heard o them,
t'germination rate wer slow.
Convinced that they would grow fer 'im
'e gave a knowin' wink.
If nothin' showed within a month
'ed buy 'em all a drink!
The seeds 'e fed on nitrates, potash,
an' the days went by...
But nothin' cem. Per'aps a mulch
o'fish bits he'd try.
So Gran'ma went shoppin' ter't
fishmongers t'next day.
Two cronies wives wer gossipin'
as shoo passed she heard one say:
Her husband 'ad confided
that the seeds would niiver grow.
For all Grandad 'ad planted was
sum dried up 'errin roe!
At first Gran'ma wer furious,
but then shoo hatched a plan:
in cunning, female, devious ways
shoo wud protect 'er man.
Shoo rose befoar the crack o'dawn
an' down the garden sped.
Shoo 'ad the job completed befoar
Grandad left 'is bed.
The month was up! An 'e 'ad failed.
They'd all bi rahn ter cheer.
What hurt 'im most of all, of course,
wer payin' fo the beer!
At openin' time the men cem rahnd
ter claim their jars of ale.
They'd all swarmed dahn the garden path
while Grandad turned quite pale...
They stopped in blank amazement
at the sight that met their eyes...
For row on row of silver fish
stood pointed ter the skies!
The men collapsed in merriment -
they'd 'ad their bit o' fun.
An as they went, Gran'ma was pleased
that justice 'ad bin done!
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