Nigel Hallworth

This is a story, from nearly fifty years ago, that could easily have been made up. It wasn’t though….

THE STORY OF SCREECHY WILLIAMS

Screechy Williams lived in a terrace

On the corner of Zelah lane

Of all the old ladies she was the scariest

And time and time again

Like a nest-building rook

She collected and took

Precious twigs

From the woods thereabouts

Then she'd stack them as tight as she was able

Underneath her kitchen table

And when there was no room for more

And they covered all the kitchen floor,

Then she would dance and shout and rejoice

And sing in her high-pitched screechy old voice

It's time they should take me away,away,

It's time to be taken away.

So then up to Bodmin she'd happily trail

(To the hospital there, not to the jail)

Where kindly St. Laurence her mind would heal

So she'd forget her delusions and know what was real

And when he'd done that, she'd put on her hat

And sail back home on an even keel.

But whatever happened to the twigs she'd collect ?

I'm afraid I've forgotten,

And can't recollect.