Edward Dyson

Here you will find the Long Poem Mickey Mollynoo of poet Edward Dyson

Mickey Mollynoo

A mile-long panto dragon ploddin' 
'opeless all the day, 
Stuffed out with kits, 'n' spiked with rifles, 
steamin' in its sweat, 
A-heavin' down the misty road, club-footed 
through the clay, 
By waggons bogged 'n' buckin' guns, 
the wildest welter yet, 
Like 'arf creation's tenants shiftin' early 
in the wet. 

We're marchin' out, we dunno where, to meet 
we dunno who; 
But here we lights eventual, 'n' sighs 'n' 
slips the kit, 
'N', 'struth, the first to take us on is Mickie 
A copper of the Port he was, when 'istory 
was writ. 
Sez I : ?We're sent to face the foe, 'n', selp 
me, this is It.? 

A shine John. Hop is Mollynoo. A mix-up 
with the push 
Is all his joy. One evenin' when his 
baton's flyin' free 
I takes a baby brick, 'n' drives it hard agin 
the cush, 
'N' Privit Mick is scattered out fer all the 
world to see, 
But not afore indelible he's put his mark on 

I got the signs Masonic all inlaid along me 
Where Molly, P.C., swiped me in them 
'appy, careless days. 
He's sargin' now, a vet'ran; I'm a newchum 
and a mug, 
'N' when he sorter fixes me there's some- 
thin' in his gaze 
That's pensive like. ?Move on!? sez he. 
?Keep movin' there!? he says. 

If after this I dreams of scraps promiscuous 
and crool, 
The mills in Butcher's Alley when the 
watch is on the wine, 
Those nights he raided Wylie's shed to break 
the two-up school, 
I takes a screw at Molly. With a grin that 
ain't divine 
He's toyin' with a scar of old I reckernise 
as mine. 

'N' so I'm layin' for it, 'n' I'm wonderin' how 
'n' what. 
We're signed on with the Germans, 'n' there 
ain't a vacant date; 
But sure it's comin' to me, 'n' it's comin' 'ard 
'n' 'ot. 
Me lurk is patient waitin', but I'm trim- 
min' while I wait 
A brick to jab or swing with, in a willin' 

Oh, judge me wonder! There's a scrim that 
follers on a raid. 
I'm roughin' it all-in with Hans. He sock 
me such a bat 
I slides on somethin' narsty, 'n' me little grave 
is made; 
But Molly butts my Hun, 'n' leaves no face 
beneath his hat, 
'N', ?'Scuse me, Mister Herr,? sez he, ?I have a lien on that!? 

He helps me under cover, 'n' he 'ands me 
somethin' wet 
(I've got a lick or two that leaves me feelin' 
pretty sick). 
?Lor love yeh, ole John Hop,? sez I, ?yiv 
buried me in debt.? 
?Don't minton ut at all,? he sez, 'n' eyes 
me arf-a-tick. 
'N' back there in the trench I sits, 'n' trims 
another brick. 

'Tis all this how a month or more; then 
Mollynoo sez he: 
?Come aisy, Jumm, yeh loafer, little hell 'n' 
all to view. 
A job most illegant is on, cut out fer you 'n' 
The damnedest, dirtiest fighter on the 
Continent is you, 
Bar one, yeh gougin' thafe, 'n' that is 
Sargin' Mollynoo!? 

I take, with knife 'n' pistol, arf a brick to line 
me shirt. 
We creeps a thousan' yards or so to jigger 
up a gun 
Which seven Huns is workin' on the Irish like 
a squirt. 
We gets across them, me 'n' him. I pots 
the extra one; 
Mick chokes his third in comfort, 'n', 
be'old, the thing is done! 

He stands above me, rakin' sweat from off his 
gleamin' nut. 
?Me dipper's leakin', Mick,? sez I; ?me 
leg is bit in two.? 
Sez he: ?Bleed there in comfort, I'm for 
bringin' help, ye scut.? 
He's back in twenty minutes, with a dillied 
German crew. 
?Three'll carry in the gun,? sez he, ?the 
rest will carry you.? 

I dunno how he got 'em, but he made them 
barrer me. 
They lugged the gun before him, 'n' he 
yarded them like geese. 
Then Mickie s'lutes the Major. ?They're in 
custody,? sez he, 
?Fer conduc' calculated to provoke a breach 
iv peace, 
A-tearin' iv me uniform, 'n' 'saultin' the 

Then down he dumped. His wounds would 
make a 'arf a column list. 
When hack to front I chucks me bricks 'n' 
smiles the best I can. 
He grins at me: ?Yer right,? sez he, ?Hold 
out yer bla'-guard fist, 
I couldn't fight yeh, blarst yeh, if yeh dinted 
in me pan. 
This messin' round wid Germans makes a 
chicken iv a man.?