Al knew at once that he had heard
A very secret magic word.
From now on he, if he was right,
Could open any door in sight.
He ran for home, he couldn’t wait.
He dashed in through his garden gate
And stood, quite out of breath, before
His humble little cottage door.
He paused and counted one, two, three,
Then shouted, “Open Sesame!”
Behold! At once, this little door
Which had been firmly locked before,
Began to open very wide,
With no one helping from inside.
“It’s magic!” Ali Baba screams.
“It’s far beyond my wildest dreams!
I’ll bet I’m able now, gee whizz,
To open any door there is!
Oh, what a power I possess!
Oh, what excitement and success!
But wait!” he said. “No need to shout!
Let’s simmer down and think things out.
Young fools rush in, it’s always said,
Where even angels fear to tread.”
How wise. Had this been you or me,
We would have jumped up instantly
And rushed along the street point-blank
To rob the safe in Barclays Bank.
Not Ali Baba, no not he,
He wanted fun, not villainy.
And so, upon that selfsame day,
At midnight, Ali made his way
To London, which he knew quite well,
And thence into the Ritz Hotel.
(These days a well-dressed Arab gent
In flowing robes, on pleasure bent,
Is welcomed and is treated well
In every really good hotel.)
The Ritz is truly very grand,
Perhaps the finest in the land.
The hall is full of chandeliers
And duchesses and ancient peers
And saucy women wearing jewels
And baronets and other fools.
But Ali Baba swept right through
And up the stairs and came unto
The first of all the bedroom floors
Where there were lots and lots of doors.
Slowly he walked the corridor
And as he passed each bedroom door
He took the simple liberty
Of saying “Open Sesame!”
By gosh, as each door opened wide,
He saw some funny things inside!
One man was drinking beer in bed
And one was standing on his head.
A man with a terrific snore
Was fast asleep upon the floor.
A woman in a camisole
Was dancing to some rock and roll.
In one large room, a bearded crank
Was fishing in a water-tank
With rod and line and huge delight,
And shouting out, “I’ve got a bite!”
A naked girl and some male freak
Were playing games of hide and seek.
While one man gobbled up a kipper,
His girl drank champagne from a slipper.
In one big bed there slept a goat,
A diamond necklace round its throat.
And in the honeymooners’ suite –
What goings-on beneath the sheet!
As well as that, our hero saw
Some things he’d never seen before,
Fantastic sights both rich and rare
That no one’s going to mention here.
Al could not quite believe his eyes.
“What’s wrong”, he gasps, “with all these guys?
The rich have most peculiar habits,
Less like humans, more like rabbits!”
And then the shouts and yells began,
From every woman, every man,
From every room, all down the floor
They yelled, “Who’s opened up my door?”
They surged into the passageway
In various states of disarray,
Some naked as the day is long,
With absolutely nothing on,
The naughty girls, their virile beaus,
None of them wearing any clothes,
And then the goat came out as well,
Bringing the most appalling smell.
One man yelled out, “There’s burglars here!”
And fired a pistol in the air.
A millionairess in the nude
Had to be forcibly subdued.
She cried, “My emerald bracelet’s gone!
I know quite well I had it on!”
Old men, astounded at their luck,
Forgot themselves and ran amok.
Plump thighs were tweaked and bottoms pinched,
And finally a duke was lynched.
Such chaos in the corridor
No one had ever seen before!
And Ali Baba thought, By gosh,
I’m awfully glad that I’m not posh.
I wouldn’t want to go round nude
Like this lot here. They’re all half-stewed!
They’re all completely round the bend!
I have enjoyed myself no end!
So Ali Baba, feeling swell,
Slips quietly from the Ritz Hotel.
“But wait!” he cries out as he leaves.
“What’s happened to the Forty Thieves?
I clean forgot to put them in!
Oh well,” he murmurs with a grin,
“Who cares? Not me. What’s done is done.
I really can’t please everyone.”
Hey Diddle Diddle
Hey diddle diddle
We’re all on the fiddle
And never get up until noon.
We only take cash
Which we carefully stash,
And we work by the light of the moon.
Mary, Mary
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
“I live with my brat in a high-rise flat,
So how in the world would I know.”
Hansel and Gretel
Mum said to Dad, “Those kids of ours!
The food that each of them devours!
That Hansel! Cripes, that little tick!
To watch him eat, it makes me sick!
And as for ghastly greedy Gretel –
I’m turning round to boil the kettle
And while I’m at it she’s been able
To guzzle all that’s on the table!”
The father merely shrugged and sighed.
Mum waved her frying-pan and cried,
“My motto is that we come first,
Them kids should always get the worst.
Now look, if we could rub them out,
There’d be more beans and sauerkraut
And stuff for you and me to eat.
Mind you, we’d have to be discreet.”
The father said, “Well, what’s to do?
We can’t just flush them down the loo.”
To which the mother answered, “No,
They’re much too big. They wouldn’t go.”
“What if”, the father said, “they fell,
Quite accidentally, down the well?”
“Oh no,” Mum said, “I doubt we oughta,
It might pollute the drinkin’ water.
I think it’s better, on the whole,
To take them for a little stroll
And lose them in among the trees.
Now surely that’s a better wheeze?”
“Let’s do it!” Dad cried out. “And then
We’ll never see the pigs again!”
“Walkies!” the parents cried. “It’s spring!
Let’s go and hear the birdies sing!
Let’s look for robins in the trees!
Let’s pick some wild anemones!”
Now Hansel suddenly espies
His mother’s shrewd and shif
ty eyes.
He whispers softly, “Listen, Sis,
I don’t much like the smell of this.
I think our loving Mum and Dad
Are plotting something rather bad.
I think I’d better mark our track
To help us on the journey back.”
So on the walk, when outward bound,
He scatters breadcrumbs on the ground.
They walk, all four, for hours and hours,
They see no robins, pick no flowers.
The wood is dark and cold and bare,
And Dad says, “Children, stay right here,
Your Mum and I have things to do.
We’ll see you later, toodle-oo.”
They sidled off with perfect ease
And disappeared among the trees.
“They’re going to dump us!” Gretel cried.
“They won’t succeed,” the boy replied.
“We’ll get back home, we cannot fail,
By following the breadcrumb trail.
Just take my hand and come with me,
We’ll find our way, you wait and see.”
But oh! Alas! Where crumbs had been
There now was nothing to be seen.
Young Gretel cried, “You silly twit,
The crows have eaten every bit.”
Poor little children all alone,
The foul and filthy parents flown.
Poor little children all forlorn
To face the dismal murky morn.
“We’ll starve to death!” young Hansel cried,
When all at once the youth espied
A funny little snow-white bird
Who spoke as follows, word for word:
“Come follow me, you troubled things,
I’ll take you on my silver wings
To safety, to a lovely place
Where you can live in peace and grace!”
This wondrous bird then led them forth
For miles and miles towards the north
Until at last there hove in sight
A lovely cottage painted white,
And there before the cottage door
These two enraptured children saw
A sweet old dame with rosy skin
Who smiled and said, “Oh, do come in.
You must be hungry, little lambs.”
She fed them treacle tarts and hams
And sugar-buns and gorgeous jam.
The children cried, “Oh, thank you, ma’am!”
The woman with the rosy cheeks
Now smiles again and softly speaks:
“My darling children, as you see,
You eat extremely well with me.”
She then serves up the second treat,
A very curious roast of meat,
All sizzling hot and crispy brown.
The happy children wolf it down.
The hostess says, “Do have some more.
I doubt you’ve tasted this before.”
Young Hansel asks her, “Is it lamb?
Or is it beef or is it ham?
Whate’er it is, I must admit
It’s awfully tender, isn’t it?”
The woman said, “This special meat
S’the only kind I like to eat.”
Then Gretel says, “I’ll make a bid –
This meat is either goat or kid.”
The woman says, “Well, no-o-o and yes-s-s,
I must say kid’s a clever guess.”
She smiled and chewed and chewed and smiled
And looked so innocent and mild.
As soon as they had left the table
The woman led them to a stable.
Stable? they wondered, turning pale.
The place looked like a sort of jail
With bars and bolts and horrid things
Like manacles and iron rings.
The woman said, “Go in and look,
It’s such a cosy little nook.”
So Hansel, wanting to explore,
Went boldly through the open door.
The woman quickly slammed it, BANG!
The bars and locks and bolts went CLANG!
“Hey, let me out!” young Hansel cried.
“You stay in there!” the dame replied.
“I’m going to feed you up a treat
Until you’re fat enough to eat.”
(The Brothers Grimm who wrote this story
Made it a thousand times more gory.
I’ve taken out the foulest scene
In order that you won’t turn green.
It is beyond me how it came
To merit such enormous fame.
Did parents really, in those days,
Agree to read such gruesome plays
To little children in the night?
And did they never die of fright?
It might have been okay, who knows,
If there’d been humour in the prose.
Did I say humour? Wilhelm Grimm?
There’s not a scrap of it in him.)
I’ll cut the grizzly ending short,
But even so I think I ought
To tell you gently what came next.
I’ll make it brief so don’t be vexed.
Just when the stove is nice and hot
And water’s boiling in the pot
(The pot’s for boiling Hansel in,
The stove for crisping up his skin),
Young Gretel in her pinafore
Flings open wide the oven door.
“The fire is going out!” she cried.
The woman pokes her head inside
And Gretel with a springy jump
Takes aim and kicks her on the rump.
She totters forward, in she goes
Head first, and last of all her toes.
Now Gretel with a gleeful roar
Slams shut the open oven door.
The temperature inside, she sees,
Is just on four-five-o degrees,
Gives out the smell of roasting meat.
The child runs fast as she is able
To open up the prison-stable.
“Hansel!” she shouts. “We’re free at last!
The foul old dame is roasting fast!”
Young Hansel cried, “Oh, well done you!
Oh, what a splendid thing to do!
But then again, you must admit
You always liked to cook a bit.”
Aladdin and the Magic Lamp
A very wicked old Chinese
Called Jock MacFaddin, if you please
(His father may have been a Scot,
His mother certainly was not),
Had found while snooping on the sly
A secret cave outside Shanghai.
Excitedly he peered inside,
His eyeballs popped, he jumped and cried,
“Great heaven’s above! Well, I’ll be dashed!
This cave is absolutely stashed
With gorgeous gleaming precious jewels!
I wonder why those Chinese fools
Have not gone in and grabbed the lot.
Cripes, what a fortune I have got!”
The cave was huge in solid rock,
And standing there, old Chinese Jock
Espied amidst the murk and damp
A most unusual little lamp.
This lamp gave out a lovely glow
And Jock MacFaddin wasn’t slow
To realise that this must be
The magic lamp that nobody
For centuries had ever found
Although they knew it was around.
Just say the word, this lamp would bring
You absolutely anything –
A ton of sweets, a dozen hams,
Full marks in end-of-term exams,
A catapult, a huge cigar,
A snazzy scarlet racing-car.
Right now Jock’s mind was going through
The things he’d a
sk the lamp to do.
He’d turn his landlord, Kung Egg Nog,
Into an ugly jumping frog.
He’d have the Emperor O No Go
Incinerated nice and slow,
And as for Mister How U Pong
Who always beat him at mah-jong,
He’d see that Mister How U paid
In every single game they played.
And now this Scottish-Chinese knave
Moved softly through the murky cave.
Over the pearls and gold he stepped
And on towards the lamp he crept,
And just as he reached out a hand
To grab it quickly off its stand
A ghoulish snarling ghastly sound
Came up from somewhere underground,
Then slimy tendrils tugged his coat
And tried to fasten round his throat.
An icy wind swept through the cave,
Then darkness darker than the grave,
And now a voice was heard to shout,
“Get out, you filthy thief, get out!
No half-Chinese half-Scottish scamp
Is going to steal this magic lamp!”
Jock’s liver and his gizzards froze,
Two bony fingers tweaked his nose.
He screamed, he ran with all his power
And did not stop for half an hour.
“Although I want that lamp!” he cried,
“I’m never going back inside!
Not gold or silver or champagne
Will get me in that cave again!”
But even now, though out of breath
And tired and frightened near to death,
This wicked half-baked mandarin
Was not too keen on giving in.
So finally, like all great thinkers
Who also happen to be stinkers,
He hit upon that ancient creed,
The changeless motto of his breed:
“Why not get someone else to do
Your dangerous dirty work for you.”
He hurried to the market-place
And picked him out a friendly face,
A boy who stood there trying to hawk
A load of sweet and sour pork.
Jock now behaved, to be exact,
Precisely as car-salesmen act.
He grinned and grabbed the youthful hand
And shouted, “Oh, how great! How grand!
I’ve found my relative at last!