Oh, sister 6. (Memoirs of Robert Brown ii)

If an opportunity presents itself

An’ that opportunity can lead tae wealth

Ye grab it nae matter what anybody says

Bein’ bound tae integrity never pays

Ah’m no here tae toil for the upper classes

An’ others that get rich oan the sweat o’ the masses

Naw, slowly is how a poor life passes

An’ rich ah wis gonnae be wi’ the help o’ the lassies

The plan began when ah moved in wi’ Nancy

When a customer arrived an’ she enquired aboot his fancy

Ah never heard what the punter said

So ah waited ‘til they were done an’ she got paid

An’ asked her aboot his request

Tae see if there’d be somethin’ o’ interest

The boldness o’ the question caused her tae smile

“What else?” she replied. “Everyone around ’ere wants missionary style.”

That’s what got me thinkin’ aboot the rich

Did some o’ them have another kind o’ itch?

Ah mean, ye hear aw the stories aboot their interbreedin’

Wid the products o’ that be specially needin’?

Could their desire for cruelty be also masochistic?

Ah needed tae know if this wis realistic

Ah had tae get oot an’ aboot

An’ ah had to acquire an expensive suit

That wis easy tae find

Some dandy ah battered fae behind

Wi’ a stick

It wis quick

Robbed him o’ his suit an’ took his cash

Hurriedly dressed an’ then made a dash

The next thing ah needed wis poise

Ah had tae be convincin’ tae get in wi’ these boys

An’ tae put oan ma poshest Scottish voice

Ah didnae have a choice

If ah spoke tae them in ma workin’ class brogue

They’d cotton oan straight away that ah wis a devious rogue

So ah sneaked intae this exclusive club

The people ah wis lookin’ for widnae be found in a pub

Some ponce had the cheek tae ask if ah wis a member

“I’m Lord Brown,” ah told him. “I was here last December. Don’t you remember?”

That seemed tae dae the trick

Jist as well as he wis already gettin’ oan ma wick

The mood soon brightened wi’ whisky

An’ the toffee nosed twits started tae get frisky

Less introverted

An’ ah discovered that their appetites were somewhat perverted

An’ although what they enjoyed wis merr or less the same

Each o’ them enjoyed a different game

Domination

Humiliation

Some had a thing aboot feet

But what really tickled me wis the human seat

This was how some o’ the rich behaved

Withoot a care o’ it bein’ sordid and depraved

This wis how money could be made

An’ when ah asked where ah could find women so willin’ tae degrade

Ah wis given the address o’ a lass called Nerys

She wis prosperin’ an’ ah wanted a piece

We made a deal in nae time at aw

Ah think it might have been the threat o’ the law

Ah promised her that ma intention wisnae purely greed

An’ that ah’d help her an’ the other two tae succeed

An’ wi’ Nancy comin’ along tae make up four

Punters wid soon be queuein’ at the door

As long as we aw contributed tae the rent

We’d continue tae attract the upper class gent 

Oh, sister 5. (Memoirs of Nerys Jones i)

My name is Nerys Jones

Call me the whale from Wales and I’ll bloody break your bones

That’s what they used to call me

Way back when I lived in Swansea

The taunts would never cease

Whale from Wales and obese Nerys

From that you’ve probably gathered that I was largely alone

A little pun to make you groan

At the age of fifteen I was already fourteen stone

And although I’d often moan

Life had to be lived and I just got on with it

From my mum is where I probably got my wit

My dad was a sour bugger that worked in a pit

Work for him meant goin’ away

And I’d only ever see him every other Friday

Home to bring us some much needed money

Home to mum for a little bit of honey

Out of the house I used to sneak

To get away from their grunts and that bed’s awful squeak

One night out of curiosity I decided to take a peek

You should know by now that I’m not exactly meek

But I couldn’t face my mum for the next bloody week

Look, I wasn’t that naïve I’ll have you believe

I knew what it took to conceive

But I thought it’d be a lot gentler and romantic

Not so tumultuous and so frantic

I have some inklin’ of what you’re probably thinkin’

When did it happen to Nerys?

At the age of sixteen with a boy called Rhys

I learned later on that he did it for a dare

But it was so much bloody fun and I didn’t bloody care

And such was my fascination

That I made up my mind to leave my tiny nation

London was where I decided to head

I was filled with excitement and a teeny bit of dread

There had to be someone in that great big city

I was a big girl but I was also pretty

Things didn’t go exactly to plan

And that was due to that crazy man called Stan

What a cad

And probably old enough to be my dad

“Need a place to sleep, love?” he said to me one night on the street. “I’ve got a place, nice and neat.”

I was very tired and I needed a bed

But I refused his offer and shook my head

“Come on, love,” he said as I walked away. “I can see that you’re in need of a place to stay.”

I shook my head again and continued on my way

“Don’t be so rash!” he shouted. “You and I can make a bit of cash!”

I turned and walked back to where he stood. “What do I have to do for a bed and some food?”

“Sit, that’s it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are you askin’ me to do somethin’ obscene?”

“Some gents I know like to be sat upon,” he replied. “It’s alright, love. You get to keep your knickers on.”

And he was right

I was in demand night after night

Keepin’ these weirdos satisfied

Until one night Stan collapsed and died

I got rid of the corpse and didn’t dilly dally

And out in the street I met a girl called Sally

Later on she brought back Siobhan

I wanted to expand now that he was gone

It all went well until the arrival of Robert Brown

The man that threatened to bring me down

“Nerys,” he said. “Let me run things or ah’ll go tae the police.”

The way he said it sounded like ‘poaliss’

The man was soulless

Oh, sister 4. (Memoirs of Sally McGhee i)

My name is Sally McGhee

Born to be footloose and fancy-free

A girl wi’ a chequered past

That all began in bleak Belfast

Back when we lived in poverty

My mum

My dad

My brother and me

But life wasn’t altogether misery

In our tight knit wee community

Ye could say that there was camaraderie

People with heart

With each and every one playin’ a part

At seventeen I made my start

In the world of sex

And learned very quickly what a man expects

How to please

I took to it with ease

And no matter if I was down on my knees

Or givin’ men a rub when they came out of the pub

I didn’t see it as bad

There was money to be had

In no time at all I’d acquired a tidy sum

But it was soon discovered by my inquisitive mum

All I could do was look at her with dread

When she found it under the mattress whilst makin’ my bed

There was no foolin’ my mum

She knew instinctively from where it had come

And for that I was instantly slapped in the face

And told that I was a filthy disgrace

I expected worse from my dad

But he just shook his head and looked very sad

I tried to say sorry but he refused to speak

Reluctantly I left home at the end of the week

For a while I wore a frown

Until the day I reached London town

I knew that survivin’ there meant havin’ to be gritty

As failure would receive nobody’s pity

A good assumption

But given time and a wee bit o’ gumption

I knew somehow I would make it there

And that life in Belfast wouldn’t compare

My intuition was right

My life would change that very first night

As I stood under a dim streetlight

A few of the other girls got a bit uptight

Shoutin’ to me that it was their territory

And permission to work there was mandatory

I was determined to stay

Who were they to push me away?

I changed my mind when they began to throw stones

And that’s when I bumped into Nerys Jones

What a sight

Eighteen stone and six feet in height

From Swansea

Wales

She could tell you some funny tales

She didn’t work on the street

Men paid her to be her seat

Oh, sister 3 . (Memoirs of Siobhan MacGeary i)

My name is Siobhan MacGeary

And the life I’ve had has been far from dreary

I hail from Eire’s Donegal

And the power o’ femininity I learned from small

The power to sway and get my own way

Sugar and spice

But not so nice

A little sweetness was on offer

But for a very high price

Boys

They love to make noise

Tryin’ to act tough

But the sight o’ me in the buff was enough

To bring them to their knees

Beggin’ me please

Oh, how I loved to tease

Puberty was a blessin’ for me

I ripened very quickly, ye see

Into a pretty and curvaceous lass

Whistles from the boys when they saw me pass

Some sassy remarks of wicked intention

Each one tryin’ to get my attention

This went on for months on end

And it started to drive me around the bend

I suppose when I think o’ it

It was a shame

It wasn’t their fault

Hormones were to blame

A challenge was set

They had to give in order to get

Fight for the right to have a little piece of me

And also pay a generous fee

Sixteen shillin’s was what I required

For that the winner could have what he desired

The challenge was accepted

They were quick to decide

I knew they would

It was a matter of male pride

For weeks they were all well behaved

Each one wanted to win

And the money had to be saved

Eventually the day came and they battled it out

And Sean Malone won every bout

I stuck to the agreement but he didn’t get much

For sixteen shillin’s I allowed him to touch

But before he could kick up a storm

I warned him that I’d tell everyone that he couldn’t perform

That did the trick

He can only blame himself for thinkin’ with his…

You know what I mean

That appendage that makes all of them tick

Well, that was the first time I struck it rich

And that wee triumph was what made me a bitch

Little Siobhan

Learned to con

Decided to move to London to see what was goin’ on

That’s where I met Sally McGhee

In that wonderful den o’ iniquity

Northern Irish was she

She was the one that came up to me

“How would ye like to get off the street?” she asked. “If ye don’t yer morale will begin to deplete.”

“Aye,” I replied. “But a girl has to work if a girl wants to eat.”

“With me ye’ll do more than make ends meet,” she told me. “Men pay me just to kiss my feet.”

Oh, sister 2 . (Memoirs of Nancy Trollop i)

My name is Nancy Trollop

Go on and scoff

Someone tried that once and got a right good wallop

It just weren’t right

A name like that for a lady of the night

Just my luck

I don’t know why I ever gave a…

Oops, I almost said a naughty word

But you ’ave to admit the name is absurd

Obscene

Know what I mean?

None of the customers knew my name

But that’s men

All the bleedin’ same

Give you ’alf a crown

“Come on, love,” they’d say. “Get your knickers down.”

All they saw was a ride

It might ’ave been me job but I did ’ave me pride

Sixteen I was when I started on the street

I ’ad to do somethin’ if I wanted to eat

Me dad was the one that kicked me out

The drunken sod was always knockin’ me mum about

We ended up ’avin’ a row

When for once I tried to defend the silly cow

I saw it as an opportunity for us both to flee

But instead the pathetic cow chose ’im instead of me

I left with me ’ead ’eld ’igh

To deny them the satisfaction of seein’ me cry

But tears were abundant in the next few years

That that was mostly due to the loneliness and fears

Then one night I decided to go down to the dock

To see if I could find an eager…

There I go again

From vulgarity I must learn to refrain

Yeah, so there I was down at the dock

In a mucky little dive is where I met the Jock

Robert Brown

Or the Scottish variation bein’ Robert Broon

No matter

Them looks and charm would make any girl swoon

I sensed the atmosphere weren’t right that night

And a couple of lads in the corner were spoilin’ for a fight

I didn’t want to see ’im get ’urt

And nor did I fancy seein’ blood bein’ spurt

So when ’e told me that ’e needed a place to sleep

I said that ’e could stay at mine if ’e paid for ’is keep

I soon realised that I ‘ad a much needed friend

If a customer got out of ’and

The valiant Jock would be there to defend

We always ’ad money and it never ran low

Where ’e got ’is from I wouldn’t bloody know

But ask no questions and you’ll get no lies

Accept things as they are and never surmise

That was ’ow things went for a while

Until one day ’e got ’ome with a very broad smile

“Nancy, what ye need is a better class gent,” ‘e said to me. “It’ll mean we have tae move and pay a higher rent.”

That was the start

I was about to become a different kind of tart

My mentor was an Irish girl by the name of Siobhan

As soon as we met we really got on

“I’ll show ye a thing or two,” she told me. “My customers pay me to tell them what to do.”

Oh, sister 1 (Memoirs of Robert Brown i)

Ah wis born Robert Henry Broon

A Scot fae Glasgow that moved tae London toon

It’s no like there wisnae much work goin’ aroon’

But the polis were efter me an’ ah didnae fancy goin’ doon

So there wis nae point in stayin’

An’ ma poor wee maw wis always at the chapel prayin’

And moanin’ tae Father Beast

Well, that’s what ah called the dirty priest

His real name wis Father Boyce

A man wi’ an unhealthy interest in pre-pubescent boys

Like that time when ah wis ten an’ ah went for a piddle

The sleekit wee celibate couldnae resist a wee fiddle

That wis the first time an’ definitely the last

But let’s jist leave it at that as it’s aw in the past

So back tae what ah wis sayin’

Aboot the trouble ah wis in an’ how ah widnae be stayin’

Ma maw an’ the priest had a wee meetin’

Efter she ran oot o’ the hoose wi’ her face stained fae greetin’

“Oh, Father Boyce!” she’d sobbed. “Ah have tae shop him tae the polis. Ah don’t have a choice.”

“Calm yer fears an’ dry yer tears, Mrs. Brown,” he’d told her. “We’ll send the lad tae London town.”

“But how wid it help tae send him doon there?” she’d asked him. “Jist merr waifs and strays. He widnae have a prayer.”

“Ah know a man that could take oan Rab if he’s prepared tae steer a hansom cab.”

That’s how it went

Ah tried tae resist but they were baith hell bent

Ah wis given some money an’ a reference letter

An’ told that things wid soon get better

So, withoot merr fuss or delay

The very next day ah wis oan ma way

Doon tae the Smoke tae see this bloke

It wid be an understatement tae say that life wis bleak

An’ the job ah wis offered only lasted a week

Ah have tae tell ye that it wis me that quit

Sixteen hour shifts an’ then hame tae a flea pit

Naw, that wisnae for me

An’ for that simple reason ah’m sure ye’ll agree

It wis the time o’ the reign o’ Queen Victoria

An’ life for the workin’ class wis far fae euphoria

Aw strugglin’ tae make ends meet

So many homeless oot in the street

But ah wisnae prepared tae sink

An’ wan night in the East End a went for a drink

Wan o’ these dingy wee places

Frequented by rogues wi’ scars oan their faces

And scores o’ whores wi’ unsightly sores

That wis where ah first met Nancy

“Two shillings or three?” she said to me. “Two for the usual and three will get you whatever you fancy.”

Ah’d jist taken a slug o’ beer an’ she caused me tae choke. “Away ye go, hen,” ah told her. “Ah’m jist aboot broke.”

“Then buy me a drink an’ I’ll ’elp you out of danger. This ’ere pub ain’t safe for a stranger.”

Message to all who view my blog

Due to a possible publishing deal, I’m unable to post any further parts of the ‘Oh, brother’ tale. If it fails to go though, I will post the remaining parts. My apologies. Coming soon – ‘Oh sister’- another rhyming tale set in Victorian London.