er..this IS actually a true story!

 

 

Now deep in Darkest Norfolk lie

a quaint and sleepy place,

that saw a National scandal, yes,

it were a damned disgrace.

A man was brought to justice so

that decency prevailed,

The Reverend Harold Davidson

were well and truly nailed.

 

Little Jimmy, as he were known

amongst his congregation,

were generally well respected but

had caused some consternation.

As cos his calling lead him out

his parish thrice a week

to seek out fallen women and

see to them, so to speak.

 

The rector was a learned man,

an Oxford grad n all,

had paid his way by acting and

seemed way beyond a fall.

A gap year tourin France, ya know,

a comic mining act,

but never got reviews the like

he was later to attract.

 

1906 this man arrived

in ‘Stewkey’ by the coast,

5 foot three in Sunday shoes,

a larger bloke than most,

and when the Great War needed men

his collar hid him not,

he signed and did his duty, yes,

but God he’d not forgot.

 

Returning home he found his wife,

to test all his conviction,

had acquired in absentia

the strangest of affliction.

Though rumour and conjecture had

brought forward the deception

his stoic faith could accept

an immaculate conception!

 

Poor chap were devastated to

discover that their lodger

had repaid all her kindnesses

quite freely with his todger,

And so a daughter he would love

and treasure as his own

was born a few months later and

the vicar’s shame was known.

 

This unexpected turmoil threw

him deep into his work,

but in a village of 300 he

could hardly go berserk.

Souls he sought to save and heal

were further from his church,

so he set off down to London to

do himself some research.

 

His tireless devotion to

this dark and pious cause

attracted it’s detractors as

it drew to him applause.

For down in Piccadilly were

his targets of pursuit,

our righteous, kindly revered

sought girls of ill repute.

 

Now had he stuck to travelling

to satisfied this need;

to save those helpless sinners

it is generally agreed

that all’d have been just rosey,

but Harold lost his track,

as steadily and surely he

began to bring them back.

 

He cheerfully admitted that

he liked to save ‘em young,

‘A better chance of saving them’

slipped proudly from his tongue.

It seem that young and pretty were

components in his plan,

Could yer doubt the honesty,

integrity of this man?

 

Now obliging girls are popular

in a quiet, moral haunt,

the local boys were grateful for

some quite prepared to flaunt,

and so the scene was set for tales

of conspiracy and deed,

as the subject of this ditty went

and satisfied his need.

 

 

When the village did commemorate

Armistice Day one year

‘The Prostitutes Padre’ was

the only one not there,

this upset the surley Verger,

once a military man,

who notified the Bishop and

so the great downfall began.

 

‘consorting with his trollops’,

a religious trial indeed,

a succession of poor witnesses

now perfectly agreed,

from teenage tarts to landladies,

though the evidence accrued,

Harold would not accept his lot,

he’d been well and truly screwed.

 

Indignantly he protested it,

his innocence to all,

in a noisy public spectacle

most certain to enthral.

The highlight of the case it seemed

did him little to support,

but captivated journalists

and well amused the Court.

 

Now presented with a word you see

he professed his ignorance,

and so required prompting as

he maintained his naïve stance,

he knew not was a ‘buttock’ was,

so a photo clear and bare,

was shown of the randy Reverend

holding a perfect pair.

 

Defrocked, he lost his ministry,

prosecution followed suit,

he mounted some appeals but

he lost those too to boot,

so compulsive was his need and drive

to publicise, proclaim,

he started off a campaign to

make clean his sullied name.

 

Well obviously the ears were deaf,

and so frustration grew,

a Burnley showman heard his plight,

well what was he to do,

offered him a pitch upon

Blackpool’s gay promenade,

he placed him in a barrel to

preach on with his crusade.

 

Eager gawkers they amassed

to pay the tuppence fee,

as Harold browsed the transcripts and

sifted through the debris.

The attraction proved so popular

that the Burghers closed it down,

curtailed his new showbiz career

and drove him out of town.

 

A hunger strike fell foul the law,

a further prosecution,

was this bad luck that followed him

or Devine retribution,

the Jonah theme continued with

another kick in the teeth,

when next he topped the billing with

a whale on Hampstead Heath.

 

An entertainer through and through,

he’d entertained so much,

further roles of comedy proved

he hadn’t lost his touch.

He followed with a Fakir act,

upon a nailed bed,

a frozen act, a roasted act….

and finally one dead.

 

As he was afraid of animals

this bit’s a rum ol do,

when he turned up in Skegness to

perform inside a zoo,

he’d stand around, berate the Church

before a gathered throng,

then enter in a metal cage

where men just don’t belong.

 

Freddie was such a lazy lion,

his companion toothless too,

but they enjoyed poor Harrold then

without the need to chew.

Though no known views upon the church

their behaviour was appalling,

as one night they shot across the cage

and gave our man a mauling.

 

 

Freddie pinned Harold to the floor

and tore him with his claws,

and held and licked and sucked at him,

confined within those jaws.

Thus lost within the Lion’s Den,

to rapturous applause,

another violent end arrived

to a religious cause.

 

 

Just a few more points to note

of the man whom I endorse,

his life was not this simple, no,

far more colourful of course.

There were tabloid hacks and covert stings,

petitions to great men,

and lewd and bawdy gossip, well

I shan’t go there again.

But surely his most audacious move,

where he’d have so needed the rub,

was submitting his application to

Manage Blackpool Football Club,

clearly this soul had lost its mind,

though would not have drawn such pity

if he’d gone down to

Carrow Road

to try and manage City!