Mr & Mrs "Ding-dong" Bell
There's another story I would like to tell,
It concerns two teachers, by the name of Bell.
Remember the tale of the young Marks brothers.
The twins, less famous than the others?
In the form above, where that took place,
Mr Bell the teacher, had a beetroot face
He seemed very often the worse for drink.
Why he chewed chalks, we just couldn't think.
Obviously, now the reason's quite clear,
To settle his stomach, upset by the beer.
He'd walk through the classroom cane in hand.
On several occasions, beside me he'd stand.
He would thrust his cane, inside my coat sleeve.
That obstruction during lessons, I couldn't relieve.
For not doing my school work, I'd then get the blame,
And for that I'd be punished with three cuts of the cane.
One day during lessons, my mind far away,
In reply to his question I replied right away,
Florence Nightingale the nurse, sir? she was no other,
Than the half sister, to my Great Great Grandmother.
Though the pupils were, he wasn't amused,
Of cheeking and lying I was falsely accused.
My indignant protests were all in vain,
It ended once more, with me getting the cane.
The wife of that teacher, worked as "Relief",
How she kept that position, is beyond belief.
When she was angry, as was often the case
She'd remove her ink-well, from it's resting place.
To throw at a pupil, with considerable force
That she did once too often, for her own good, of course.
The time that her victim, returned her fire.
I'm sure you can guess, what was bound to transpire,
Several others threw theirs, which were full of black ink.
That incident caused such a terrible stink,
She ceased circulation quite soon after that.
And not before time, the rotten old cat.
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