Classic Poem

When Grandmama was seventeen
And Queen Victoria was queen,
She wore a gown of bombazine
And was a famous beauty;
She married Grandpapa (although
She much preferred another beau
Who played upon the piccolo)
Because it was her duty
And not, you may be sure, becos
She knew how very rich he was.

They spent a perfect honeymoon
At Como in the month of June;
While Grandpa played on his bassoon
Some airs that he'd invented,
She listened with her cheeks aglow,
And shortly (in a day or so)
Forgot her jilted piccolo
And grew at last contented.
The happy pair were blessed by Fate:
They had a family of eight.

More fair each day dear Grandma grew;
Her eyes were of the palest blue,
Her ringlets of a raven hue
(Or so her portraits tell us);
When as a bride she went about
She was the toast at drum or rout —
Grandpa, who suffered from the gout,
Became extremely jealous,
Trying to tune up his bassoon
At moments most inopportune.

When Grandmama was thirty-three
Her life was peaceful as could be;
With children clustered round her knee
She'd sit and do her knitting.
She wore a black lace cap and shawl,
And hardly ever moved at all,
Though sometimes she would pay a call
(Weather, of course, permitting)
In mantle ruched with sarsenet
And bonnet trimmed with beads and jet.

Though gone the radiant bloom of youth,
As yet she'd hardly lost a tooth;
She was of riper years, in truth,
But still her charms attracted.
Complexioned like an autumn rose
(Her portraits of that date disclose
The glossy and unpowdered nose
That Fashion then exacted),
So elegant, though amply curved,
And wonderfully well preserved.

When Grandmama was fifty-five
She suddenly became alive,
Attended ev'ry Ping-Pong Drive
And on her bike would pedal
To play a round at Forest Row
Where, taking half a stroke or so,
She very often beat the Pro.
And gained the Monthly Medal.
At Cowes she won, by half a lap,
The Roller-skating Handicap.

She occupied a service-flat,
She wore a saucy Trilby hat,
A tailor-made and neat cravat,
Was always in a hurry,
With energy that knew no bounds
She kept a pack of Basset hounds

And exercised them in the grounds
Of Grandpa's seat in Surrey.
Her raven locks were tinged with grey,
But she grew younger ev'ry day.

When Grandmama was sixty-nine
She had acquired a taste for wine,
Wherever she was asked to dine
She criticised the claret;
Her stories were a trifle strange
(She got them from the Stock Exchange),
On ev'ry subject she would range
And chattered like a parrot.
At Bridge so stridently she joked
That her opponents all revoked.

When Grandmama was eighty-two
Her hair resumed its earlier hue
But with a touch of Navy blue
And copper intermingled;
In vain her great-grandchildren raved
And said it made her look depraved,
She had it permanently waved
And, naturally, shingled,
And Lasky (or some Movie-man)
Begged her to star in " Peter Pan. "

She changed her style and taste in dress,
She paid much more and wore much less,
Till there was nothing left to guess
Of what was veiled so slightly
By little frocks of crêpe Georgette
Which she would buy from Lafayette,
And, as she smoked her cigarette
And quaffed her cocktails nightly,
The leaders of the new regime
Said Grandma was a perfect scream!

To-day, although she's ninety-four
At night-clubs still she takes the floor
With dancing partners by the score —
You needn't deem them heroes,
For on the parquet she's so light,
And just the perfect weight and height.
I'm taking her myself to-night
To sup and dance at Ciro's!
It's fun, of course — but, I foresee,
We shan't get home till after three!