WORDSWORTH (NOT)

Doggerel from a new member  (1999)

(subsequently elected as Squire in 2009)

I’m Kathy the Klogger, who stands at the back,
To make up the numbers, when attendance is slack.
I’ve been issued with clogs and a pinny and a dress,
To smarten me up so I don’t look a mess

Gillian taught me to Shuffle and Crunch,
Because up to then, I hadn’t a hunch
That I really should dance on my toes, not my sole.
Next, Marjorie taught me the art of heel roll.

The Crunch I found easy, but Click was a pain,
And the Flett Step continues to drive me insane.
I know that you think, that this sounds rather silly,
But now I aspire to perform Dixon Dilly.

And the band gets a bonus from my Wrigley Twist
And make jokes later on, in the pub when they’re pissed
I just don’t know, why that movement won’t come,
Why instead of my ankles I wriggle my bum.

Margaret just laughs and tells me I’ll get there,
And Helen feigns patience to hide her despair.
Dear Emma, such kindness she shows an old girl,
When I’ve done a twist where I should do a twirl.

On May Day our pinnies took on a new role
When we hoisted them high on a long wooden pole
And we sailed round our village with style and pannash
And clogged through the waves to make a big splash

The places we’ve dance at, you never would guess,
In Kendal, or out on The Prom at Bowness;
We danced for the sighted and danced for the blind,
Who looked on admiringly, no fault could find.
 
And on the front row Pauline scratches her head,
Is someone still tapping when all should be dead?
The clatter continues, though the music has stopped,
Because I have shuffled instead of step hopped.

You danced down in Dent when me and my Ken,
Did something   that we won’t be doing again.
And soon we’ll be clogging in places afar,
For our forthcoming trip to the USSR.

I’m practising hard and I’m doing my best,
Though some of the Lancashire steps are a pest.
The penultimate bit now I’ve nearly got right,
I was taught that by Jacky, just last Wednesday night.

My life was so dull till I joined the group,
Who dance with their sticks and their bells and a hoop,
But thanks to your patience, I’m getting the knack,

From Kathy the Klogger who stands at the back.

Poetic contribution at our 25th birthday (April 2002)

Remember the times long ago, days of 'yore',
(I think you're about to be bored by a bore)
When our limbs were more supple, our waists more defined,
And blokes drooled at our bosoms and pinched our behind.

We first started clogging to honour our Queen,
When for 25 years, our queen she had been.
But it's 25 more, and some are still here,
Well past their 'sell by' date, that's really clear.

We've danced here in Kendal and places afar,
And after each session we'd head for a bar.
'Cause when we had finished we needed a drink,
And some of us lasses a few pint we would sink.

And each Monday night we still practice our art,
Then we dance in the street. Oh we do look .. so pretty,
For our limbs grow so weary, our feet start to ache,
And we've all put on weight eating puddings and cake.

But still we're not finished, we can still draw a crowd,
Who cheer when we're dancing and applaud really loud.
Like a mirage we stand here with black fishnet and tops,
And we're still step tap stepping and shuffling with hops.

Thank you to resigning Squire (December 2009)