Twilight Lawns plc

(if neccessary, Mrs Bovine-Pratt may be contacted through nurse Smythe,

or at her room,

Number 43,

Princess May of Teck Wing)

England My England


Beryl Bovine-Pratt (Mrs)


Goodbye to my England, So long my old friend

Your days are numbered, being brought to an end

To be Scottish, Irish or Welsh that's fine

But don't say you're English, that's way out of line.


The French and the Germans may call themselves such

So may Norwegians, the Swedes and the Dutch

You can say you are Russian or maybe a Dane

But don't say you're English ever again.


At Broadcasting House the word is taboo

In Brussels it's scrapped, in Parliament too

Even schools are affected. Staff do as they're told

They must not teach children about England of old.


Writers like Shakespeare, Milton and Shaw

The pupils don't learn about them anymore

How about Agincourt, Hastings, Arnhem or Mons?

When England lost hosts of her very brave sons.


We are not Europeans, how can we be?

Europe is miles away, over the sea

We're the English from England , let's all be proud

Stand up and be counted - Shout it out loud!

Let's tell our Government and Brussels too

We're proud of our heritage and the Red, White and Blue

Fly the flag of Saint George or the Union Jack

Let the world know - WE WANT OUR ENGLAND BACK!!!!


England?  Whose England?

(In response to the above)


Why say “Goodbye, England”?  Where have you been?

Your old days are numbered. You are a Has Been.

You have been (or thought you were) top of the lot;

Top of Wales, Ireland, Scotland… but that you were not.


You thought that when Britain interfered in the world

And in strange foreign lands the flag was unfurled

That the Cross of Saint George was the only one there.

Well Bollocks! That cross wasn’t even half of a pair


There was Saint Andrew’s flag and Saint Patrick’s as well

And the Welsh; the Red Dragon.  Well that went to Hell.

It’s not England, my friend, which should go on forever

There are three other parts, equally or more clever.


Don’t say you’re English?  Well yes, I agree:

Unless you mean English; there’s a difference, you see.

When the English say English, they frequently claim

Things that are British, and that’s not quite the same.


And why do you think that Auntie B.B.C.

Has dropped the word English by some strange decree?

I’ve heard England or English being bandied about

In discussion of football thugs and lager louts


In school, no restrictions on what there is taught

Whether agrarian reform, or old battles fought

Except, now, you’ll find in historical lists

That other nations matter; not only England exists.


Oh! Listen, poor soul, who penned this sad verse.

Your poetry was turgid, but your reasoning worse;

Extolling England’s great writers, e.g. George Bernard Shaw

My friend, Shaw was Irish, I suggest you withdraw!


And Statesmen and Generals, why didn’t you say

How our “Great English Soldiers” all carried the day:

Perhaps Wellington, the Iron Duke, General and P.M.

But he was from Ireland… and there are far more of them.


Disraeli was not from those Golden Few:

Neither English, Scots, Welsh nor Irish… but a Jew.

And of our greatest statesmen, recall, if you can;

Our Winston Churchill’s mother was American.


Britain’s in Europe, so don’t be deluded

It’s a group of islands off its coast; not secluded

In Glorious Isolation as you so allege;

It clings to Continental Europe… just on the edge!


Even our Royals, they that rule and have ruled you,

Weren’t one tiny bit English, not one bit, you poor fool, you.

The Tudors were Welsh; their predecessors Normans

The Stuarts were Scots; then came Dutchmen and Germans.


So yes, I agree, tell the powers that be

That you’re proud of your country; and you’re glad to be free.

But with privilege goes responsibility to all souls, they say;

And labels and names often get in the way.


So forget all this carping and putting the blame

On others because you feel that a name

Has been taken away from you. It’s not a disgrace.

Just face it…We’re a very small part of the whole Human Race.

The above is an advertisement for Dulcie cards.  

All names & addresses are purely fictional; any similarities between persons, living or dead are coincidental & the product of a deranged mind.

We are sorry to admit that this page is an obvious plagiarism of the dreadful little verse which was doing the rounds on the Internet recently.

Although our Dear Mrs Bovine-Pratt’s mind runs on these lines, she certainly isn’t as rabid as the person who penned the original.  

We thought we would write an equally puerile reply (If the Residents of a Retirrment Home can be considered puerile)

The Egalitarian Girls of Twilight Lawns

(Names withheld to protect our safety).

the collected thoughts of

Mrs BERYL Bovine-Pratt