Poem of the Day: Wenceslas: A Boxing Day Poem

by Martin Newell

Did you have a good Christmas? Enjoy Doctor Who? It's all over now...

Well, except for today, of course -- Boxing Day! Hurrah! Everyone -- and every family -- have their own rituals for what happens on Boxing Day, and here's just one -- sort of -- that is also, of course, beholden to Funny Friday (I know I said it would be back in January, but I didn't think I'd find a funny one for Boxing Day).

It's ludicrously long -- easily the longest poem yet featured on Poem of the Day -- so will certainly keep you busy if you need to escape the family for a while.

Wenceslas was woken early,
By the hounds, who wanted out.
Brandy glass and tipped-up ashtray
Where his clothes were strewn about.
Cursing by his old four-poster
Utilising his gazunder
Limbs were stiff and head was aching,
Fit to split his skull asunder.
Christmas Eve had snowed all morning
Forced him out to get the stock in
Trip to town and lunchtime session
Followed by a late-night lock-in.
Memory blurred -- a Tarantino
Hangover was what he'd got --
(That's the one where all the flashbacks
Come, before you get the plot).
Still, he'd hang on to his castle
If he made it pay its way
Now his page stood waiting for him
For this was St Stephen's day
Wenceslas and page were talking
Pipes had frozen overnight
Past the gatehouse they were walking
When a couple came in sight.
Poorly dressed for such bad weather
Gathering their winter fuel
City types, they looked, together
On a country break for Yule
"Page," he asked, "Who are those people?"
Page replied with bridled sneer:
"Sire, they are the London grockles,
Renting your old cottage here."
Page continued: "Most unhappy --
Been here for the past few days
It appears they're having trouble
Coping with our country ways.
Sundry powercuts, snow, what-have-you
Laptops, car and mobile phone
Out of service now, they're stranded
Hungry, cold and quite alone."
Wenceslas, an old patrician
Patriarchal sort of gent
Said: "We can't be having this one
Even though I'm overspent.
Fetch some logs, a festive hamper,
Crate of grog to slake their thirst
It can wait though, till it's lunchtime
While we do some shooting first."

Nikki and her partner Drew
Had flipped a coin for what to do
Thirty-something West Elevens
Found themselves at six and sevens
With the Saturnalia near
Tuscany might be too dear
Suffolk? Cheaper, if less fun
Prudence reigned and Suffolk won
Both employed as health advisors
To the various Czars and Kaisers
Who by cattle-prod or stealth
Police our ailing nation's health
Now though, for their own health's sake
They were on a winter break
Country cottage, bird-life, walking.
Perfect cure for weltschmerz stalking
Sat by fireside, bonding, thinking
Freed from stress-related drinking.
Firstly it had been plain sailing
Till the power-grid started failing
Due to weather most malignant
Now they bickered, cold, indignant.
Chiefly on nutrition issues
By a fire of twigs and tissues
All they had to keep them going
While the Suffolk wind was blowing
From the Russian steppes, unstopping
Troshing at the trees and stropping
At the chimneys, window-ledges
Freezing ponds and bending hedges
Nikki and her partner Drew
Found it took an hour or two
Heating soup with scented candles
Holding saucepans by their handles
Huddled up in duvet jackets
Snacking from organic packets.
Till the knock upon the door
And a stout stentorian roar.

Wenceslas stood beaming proudly.
Twinkle-eyed with outstretched hand
Boomed a Merry Christmas loudly
Gestured back towards his land:
"Brought some pine logs over for you
Took them down myself this year
What with all the various cutbacks
Just one man and me left here.
'Tisn't easy trying to manage
Told we must diversify
Still, despite the fiscal damage
What the hell -- a chap gets by.
Met my page already, have you?
Helps me manage this estate
Yes, I grant he may seem surly
As a stockman though, first rate."
Wenceslas regarded Nikki
Said: "The logs are in the 'Drover
Move it girl, it's freezing out here.
Help me haul the buggers over."
Half an hour or so -- no later
Fire was roaring, cheered the gloom
Warmed the landlord and the peasants
As it flickered round the room.
"Page should be here any minute
With a case of wine and grub.
Can't think where the bastard's got to
Prob'ly stopped off at the pub
Touch and go, the trade round here now
Since they built that by-pass mall.
All the shops will disappear now
At this rate, there'll be sod all.
How d'you say you make your living?
Health advice? That's clever stuff.
Lot of call for that in London?
Citizens seem pale enough.
Hardly feel the need to go there
'Less of course, they give us reason
Then we all troop down together
-- Like that march we held last season."
Wenceslas now paused a second
Rummaged in his waxy cloak
"Haven't had a fag all morning
-- Either of you people smoke?
Can't think where that page has got to
Must have been delayed somehow
Sharpener should clear the headache
Ah! Here comes the fellow now."

In the page came, even surlier
Than he'd been three hours earlier
"Bloody hunt-sabs in the lane.
-- Ran over the fox again.
Accident it would appear
Third time it's occurred this year."
Wenceslas just shrugged and sighed:
"Way it's going country-wide.
Since the Bill was fast-tracked through
They kill more than our side do."
Nikki, shocked at this exchange
Barked: "I find your logic strange.
I hate hunting, so does Drew."
As the awkward silence grew
Wenceslas clapped hands, said: "Fine!
Let's agree to differ. Wine?
It's St Agnes Fountain, red.
Very good indeed they said."
Drew enquired where it was made
Was the import-scheme Fair Trade?
Did the wine upon the table
Have the units marked on label?
Wenceslas just shrugged and sighed:
"Way it's going country-wide.
Since the Bill was fast-tracked through
They kill more than our side do."
Nikki, shocked at this exchange
Barked: "I find your logic strange.
I hate hunting, so does Drew."
As the awkward silence grew
Wenceslas clapped hands, said: "Fine!
Let's agree to differ. Wine?
It's St Agnes Fountain, red.
Very good indeed they said."
Drew enquired where it was made
Was the import-scheme Fair Trade?
Did the wine upon the table
Have the units marked on label?
Can't be fussed to take a test.
-- These bi-focals cost a lot --
Look, d'you want a drink, or not?"
Drew replied that it was fine
Though perhaps he'd best decline
Watch those units and all that
And besides -- it made one fat.
Wasn't worth the risk somehow
Healthier drinking water now.

Wenceslas and page stood muttering
Smoking in the freezing yard
Shaking hands round ciggies sputtering
While the blizzard came down hard
Ordered from the house by Nikki
Whose reaction was dramatic:
Shrieking anti-smoking maxims
In a tone sub-operatic.
Back inside again, the heroes
Dripping like retriever dogs
Found themselves interrogated
On the matter of those logs:
Were they seasoned quite correctly?
God-forbid the wood was green
Lest the smoke be carcinogenic
Which, said Drew, it might have been
Was it not a folly planting
Pine -- a non-deciduous tree
Leaving harsh acidic needles --
When a healthy mulch was key
To the lives of forest creatures,
Nesting birds and generally?
How much better, Nikki hectored
Ash and oak, or beech might be.
Finally, this Christmas hamper...
What was in it, Drew enquired
"Venison and boar," the page said,
Lit the paper and retired.
Which unleashed a further salvo
From the peasants at the pair
In a gale of Nikki's fury
Page and king stood withered there.
Wenceslas withdrew at this point
Pine logs, wine and flesh despatched
Had he not fulfilled his duty?
Even if it wasn't matched
By the gratitude incumbent
On recipients of such.
"Whaddyaknow?" The baffled king said.
Blandly said the page: "Not much."

Wind had dropped, the sky was clear
Moon to cheer the dying year
Sparkling blue on frosted snow
Beckoning the pair to go
Snow had covered up the 'Drover
Feast of Stephen nearly over
Home they went, the mission finished
Cold, but spirits undiminished
Wenceslas and trusty page
Silent for what seemed an age
Till the king produced some brandy
From the flask he'd kept in handy
"Need a tincture in this climate
Weld the balls back on the primate.
Things get worse as we go on.
Years ago, in times long gone
Peasants that you got in those days
Whiffed a bit -- we needed nosegays
When we did the logs-of-pine gig
Garnished with the flesh'n'wine rig
But we found them grateful for it
Fell on it as soon as saw it
These days when you leave the castle
May as well forget the parcel
Best avoided, Feast Of Steve.
Or maybe, I'm being naive."
Peasants - 2. Bohemians - nowt.
Good King Wenceslas, look out.

Said it was long.

Discovered here; originally from The Independent on Sunday in 2004.