My years at school, though dull at times,
Gave ample scope for writing rhymes.
One teacher, a Mr. Whitlesea,
Would get as niggly as could be.
He tried with cardboard coins, that he,
Used in place of LSD
To teach a lad called "Diddley" Marks,
Fond of playing games and larks,
To add up cash, but all in vain.
The "coins" were worn, their faces plain.
The desperate teacher, became quite rash.
And used his own, real silver cash.
He tried once more, but it didn't work,
The frustrated teacher went berserk.
His coins went flying in the air.
And ended up, can't you guess where?
Because so few coins were returned
His passion still more brightly burned.
He set about young "Diddley" Marks,
A punishment he hadn't earned.
Les Marks his twin, now so incensed,
Came to his aid, and then commenced.
To take the canes from teachers rack,
And broke them on the teacher's back.
Upon hearing the furore,
The neighbouring teacher tried the door.
The pupils quickly blocked the way.
Les and "Diddley" didn't stay,
But fled to secret hide-away,
A rotting hulk stuck in the mud,
Was where they chose to stay.
Friends rowed out to them each night,
With food to last the day.
Their absence caused such deep concern,
The class was told, if they'd return,
To home and school immediately,
No more’d be said and they'd go free.
For my part, where I was concerned,
The coins I found were all returned.
The tale I've told, is really true,
The year was nineteen thirty
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