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 Albert had no need of thinking His blood rose to answer the call And he jammed his head under the dartboard Crying "For Queen, Club, Country an'all" Not flinching not moving he just stood there Except once when he went out the back Until the game flowed in our favour The opposition was beginning to crack All that was needed for victory Was five and double sixteen Now the five was obtained very easy Then silence fell on the scene The player squared up with his arrows It was Sidney, Albert's own son Who'd played very well the whole evening Until now when something went wrong Now it could've been all the excitement Or some smoke that got in his eye Or it could've been his new wellies 'Cos he slipped just before he let fly Albert stood stricken with horror As he watched the oncoming dart Then his teeth gnashed with pain as it hit his gold chain And ricochet'd up through his heart Did he fall like a bird when it's wounded? Did he cry out in the midst of his pain? No, he winced and he spoke in a whisper "Come on, son. Finish the game" Albert's blood dripped down his waistcoat As Sidney took aim and then threw Hitting double sixteen neat, sweet and clean Though how he felt nobody knew "Someone grab Albert!" cried the Steward "Keep him upright!" they all roared Hold him up by his armpits If he falls he might damage the board... 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.
The end