UNCLE ALBERT'S SAD FAREWELL
TO THE WORLD

by
Ed Pickford

There's a stain on the floor of the bar room
There's a cap in a case by the door
There's a verse on a stone in a churchyard
In memory of one who's no more...

If you turn second left at the High Street
Past an old pub called the Swan
There's a monument to my Uncle Albert
And though of not many heroes, he was one

He wasn't a chap prone to boasting
And he stood, I bet, only five feet
But those five feet he covered in glory
As you'll hear when his old comrades meet

It was the time of the first Yankee moon men
There was racing at Catterick as well
And I backed the six-to-four favourite
And he was, that is, till he fell

That night was the championship darts match
And the bar of the club was jammed full
  We were playing at home in the final
And we started - being nearest the bull

The 'oohs' and the 'aahs' broke the silence
As both teams wrestled with might
A game to remember for ever
By all - even those who were tight

Some favoured cardboard some feathers
Some favoured heavy, some light
But all were experienced past masters
Of split second reckoning and flight

Then the nail that was holding the dart board
Bent with a fearful creak
And there wasn't another to replace it
'Least not straight to hand, so to speak

At last the club's Concert Chairman
Renowned for his improvised wit
Says "Put old Albert beneath it -
With his height he'll just about fit"

The company looked around at poor Albert
Then the Secretary got right to the nub
Saying "If he doesn't, the match will be forfeit
Come on Albert, for the honour of the club
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