Cottages covered with ancient thatch,
A horseshoe on every door,
The church was seven centuries old,
The vicar seemed somewhat more.
The life was slow, the speech bucolic,
The evenings merry and alcoholic,
With wholesome meals of prunes and junket,
While knurdling gloops in the barney plunket.
(I hope no one's going to ask me what that means, because I never understood it at the time)
Then, into this peaceful idyll,
Right into the midyll,
Came a man.
A harshly tyranical,
Brightly mechanical
Neat, economical,
Consciously comical,
Non parenthetical,
Somewhat heretical,
Serious, sensible,
Incomprehensible,
Normally notable,
Largely unquotable,
Sometimes regrettable,
Quite unforgettable,
All-American man.
His name was Hiram C. MacYankee, and was he dynamic? Boy, was he dynamic!
He looked at the way our lives were run,
The cumbersome way the work was done,
The slowness of life and the lack of zest,
And he told us he wasn't much impressed.
"You're so lethargic, you might be dead.
You guys gotta get up and go!" he said.
I payed him heed.
I quite agreed.
I dedicated my life to speed.
(Not the drug, of course, just rapid movement)
I got up early. I went to bed late,
An enormous workload on my plate.
My motto was always 'get up and go'.
I became a human dynamo.
My friends and neighbours simply gazed,
In stupefaction, quite amazed.
And then, when my self-esteem was high,
Hiram MacYankee chanced to come by.
I told him all the things I'd done.
I showed him the prizes and things I'd won,
(You know, cups and medals and diplomas and certificates and freedoms-of-the-city and honorary degrees and a few things like that),
But he stood there, slowly shaking his head.
"That's no good, boy. That's no good.
Ya gotta GET UP AND GO!" he said.
So - I - cancelled all leisure. I worked like a slave.
I drove myself to an early grave.
(Well, towards an early grave. You know, in that general direction. As you must realise, I didn't actually get there).
But every record that I could find
For speed or achievement or sheer hard grind,
I thrust aside the fatigue and strain,
And broke it and broke it and broke it again.
And then, when I thought I was home and dry,
Hiram MacYankee chanced to come by.
I told him all the things I'd done.
I showed him the prizes and things I'd won,
But he stood there, slowly shaking his head.
That's no good,boy. That's no good
Ya gotta GET UP AND GO!" he said.
So - I - plunged back into my work again
With the force of a human hurricane.
I felt so frantic
I swam the Atlantic.
And then, having done that I felt so terrific
That I just went straight across to the other side of America and - swam the Pacific.
(I mean to say, what else does one do in such situations)
I made a lot of friends. I influenced people.
I climbed the church to the top of the steeple.
I tackled my work like a man possessed.
Never has anyone been so stressed.
And in less than a week I accomplished more
Than I'd ever done in a month before.
And then one day in a fine July
Hiram MacYankee chanced to come by.
I told him all the things I'd done.
I showed him the prizes and things I'd won,
But he stood there, slowly shaking his head.
"That's no good, boy. That's no good.
Ya gotta GET UP AND GO!" he said.
So - I ---- BANG!
Something seemed to crack in my brain.
It blew out a circuit because of the strain.
I fell to the floor in a crumpled heap,
Restraining a strong desire to weep.
Then, mustering my remaining strength, I raised myself up on one elbow, and in a weak and barely audible voice I said to him, "Hiram", I said, please Hiram, if you wish to do me a favour, will you please - GET - UP - AND -- (you've guessed it) -- GO!
Well, all-American boy that he was, he got up and went. He was sitting down at the time, you see, so he got up and he went, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that he never comes back.
No offence meant, of course, to any trans-aquean people.
Thank you.
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