Basil Bowl
by
Cyril Fletcher
This is the tale of Basil Bowl
Who didn't trust a living soul.
So in his mattress made a gash,
And stuffed inside his surplus cash.
Then cried, 'It's awkward how it wedges
It's gone all knobbly round the edges!
So frequently in bed he jumps,
And counts his fortune by the lumps.
But one night, with his pipe aglow,
He lay there by his radio,
And heard a National Savings plea,
By Sir Robert, now Lord Kindersley.
But Basil scowled, and said, 'What rot,
I'm holding on to all I've got.'
Then with a supercilious smile,
His pipe knocked out in careless style,
And murmuring, 'Ain't it hot tonight?'
He found he'd set the bed alight.
He scrambled out with bounding heart,
And blisters on an awkward part.
A neighbour dashed in full of gump
And doused it with a stirrup pump.
He shouted, 'There's no bloomin doubt,
Your fortune has gone up the spout
You should have been like all your mates,
And purchased some certificates,
They're safe from flood and fire and crime
And all for fifteen bob a time.'
So Basil, sad but wiser man,
Now lends the country all he can:
And nurtured by the Government;
It grows at over six per cent.
And to save others falling in the soup,
He started a National Savings Group.
And now he saves to win the fight
And he can burn his bed up every night. 
The end