THE BAKED POTATO-MAN'S
NARRATIVE

by
Walter Stanford

The potato man looked down at his stock
As they steamed and hissed
He was a man of a garrulous turn
And he thoughtfully reminisced

To the stranger, who stood with his mouthful of spuds
And a far away look in his eye
While the snow filled the space at the back of his neck
As it fell from the storm-ridden sky

"Yes" the 'Murphy' man said, "It was just such a night,
Some ninety two long years ago
As it 'appened, I'll tell you the tale if you like."
And the stranger said, "Certainly, do."

That night, I was standing alongside my can,
When up drives a carriage and pair
Containing a toff and a lady in silks
With diamonds and things in her 'air.

  And they steps from the carriage, the coachman drives off
And the toff from his pocket 'e drew
Two pennies, a-saying, "Buck up, we're 'ungry
Supply me with 'taters for two."

And 'im and the lady, they stands in the snow there
A munching away there, all gay
When the bloke starts talking in foreign to 'er
In a insolvent sort of a way.

And, all of a sudden, the woman flares up
And she goes for the toff a fair treat
With 'er 'tater she stabs 'im three times in the chest
And 'e falls down a corpse at 'er feet.

When she sees 'im a-sweltering there in 'is gore
She says, "Evings, what 'ave I done?"
And the bloodstained pertater she drops from 'er 'and
As the clock booms out twenty to one

"You heard 'im consult me" she says, with a groan
And my nerves they were fairly unnerved
"I've killed 'im, I've killed 'im, but you are me witness
'Twas only the fate 'e deserved."

Continue Return