Albert Priestley

*The Priestley Page* Albert Priestley was 'speech training' teacher at Joe's. He wrote verses which he made boys recite in front of the class in order to train their speech. Potty Priestley penned his poems, Potty Priestley: poet. Potty Priestley published piffle But he didn't know it.
Silly Billy pushes pills With his nose up steep hills, Silly Billy's little sister Had to treat the awful blister That arose on his nose, By persistent pill propelling, Through the shingle that did mingle, In the grit upon the hills, Up which Billy pushed his pills.	Forshaw and Shaw IV were both in Form IV. Both Forshaw and Shaw IV had seats near the door. Said Forshaw to Shaw IV, " It's a jolly good seat, We're last in and first out - I call it a treat!" But Forshaw and Shaw IV, it goes without saying, Were not nearly so famous for work as for playing.
Revive the Verger's vestry, With a very fine varnish, And freshen up the Vicar's too; The Verger's is the worse that's true. We know that it will aggravate Them both their vestries to vacate; But if veneration is to survive, Their vestries with varnish we must revive.	Struggling Douglas straddles his mare; Struggling Douglas jogs on to the fair; Struggling Douglas can't make her go Though he tugs and wrenches and strains ever so. The stupid old mare just waggles an ear, And goes with only a waddle I fear. He tightens her girdle, he pulls in her girth, But she merely gurgles and snickers with mirth.
Charwoman, charwoman, The china is chipped, The cups are all cracked, And have every one dripped. Charwoman, charwoman, Be chary with china, Royal Doulton's our choice, And if, while you wash up, You clatter and chatter, The rest of our long Cherished china you'll shatter.	Augustus McNab spends his days on a slab, Catching big fat crabs or little flat dabs, And sometimes a sprat, that isn't so flat, He'll throw back to catch a big mackerel. For Augustus McNab alone on his slab, Has grown wise as his dad so smart is the lad, And, "This is my wisdom," says he, "Get into the knack, throw the little ones back, For I've proved it a fact that a sprat will attract The shyest and wisest old mackerel."
Grim and glum is old Gaffer Grundy His wife won't give him his pipe on Sunday, His gun and rod and gaff she's hidden, And him to sit and be good has bidden. But far from good is old Gaffer Grundy, And ten to one he'll break out on Monday.	Meredith Mimble lived at Mumble, Mumble-by-Mold in the Marsh. Meredith Mimble though humble did grumble At the murderous winds of March. For Meredith Mimble lived in a mean hut Of mouldering mud through which the wind cut, And in March he muttered and moaned by the fire, As it whistled and whimpered o'er moor and wild briar, And seemed to be sniffing him out like a dog, As it moved with whimpering whine over bog. No matter how much he mortared each crack, He knew it would find him and leap on his back, Crying, "Here is old Meredith-give him a tumble, Moan round him, groan round him, all over Mumble."
Dazed and dozing lazy Dan, What a dreadful, slow, dull man! Doddering up and down the place, Wrinkled brows and dreamy face, Standing, wondering, looking round, Then down his dazed eyes search the ground. Does he ever Hurry? Never! Diddering, doddering, lazy Dan. What a dreadful, slow, dull man!
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