Poems by ChrisPenfold
These are the work of the author and such copyright to them you may not copy or reproduce these poems without the permission of said author.


Along came a rackli and she was sobben,
My Dadus to steripen he has gone,
Just for some matchi, and a cannie or two,
Who put him there ? Yes it was you.

What will we do now for the chavvies ?
Mong, dukker, and work like navvis,
To take hoben from Duvel's poov,
Does no more harm then having a toov.

You sit there in your kenner warm,
While our clothes are worn and torn,
You think your vastis are clean,
But the dirt on your hand's can't be seen.

My prals and phenas for their Dadus will cry,
While in your kushti bed you'll lie,
Us older chavvies our best we will do,
But not one of us will ever forgive you.

What difference would it make a cannie or two ?
None to the Queen and I'm sure none to you,
The shosies they run round by the score,
Why shouldn't there be a few to chor.?

A little Gypsy gal took the thorns from Jesus's' head,
So it's all right for Romanichals to live off the land, it has been said,
The older ones had to suffer,
Thier life couldn't have been tougher.
Pooro and tatcho our hearts will be,
And our souls will always be free,
Born to roam this world so wide,
But our pride we will never hide.


I never got chance to read this to cousin Eli,often wonder what he would of thought of it !

Eli Frankham.
Eli was a man of this world so wide,
He had a good, big heart inside,
A Romany poet they always called him,
A strong fist, or cirticisam he could that on the chin,

Born in a wagon at Canterbury ring,
He could box, play a bugle and sing,
It was in the army in played a bugle well,
And many a good story he had to tell.

Spent time with his uncle Eddie, he was the same too,
They could talk and talk the whole day through,
No one could get a word in, when the two were there,
All we could do was listen, stand and stare.

I'm proud he was my cousin,for I can see him now,
Alway's laughing and joking, with him you'd never row,
He's gone but not forgotten, in our hearts he'll always be,
For him to come vist us was always a kushti sight to see.

He helped lots of people, up and down this countryside,
His name spread through this land, far and wide,
On Jake Bowers radio show, Eli had his slot,
I was asked to read his poems, as his book I have got.

I was proud to read his poems, and I try to do my best,
I'll never be as good as him, he was better then the rest,
But I think he would be pleased to know, I have tried,
I just wish I had of before he'd died.
My Mothers cousin.
DAVID.
David Mitchell was a good travellen man,
He was a prisoner of war in Japan,
Left here a strapping 12 stone,
Only his Mother knew him, when he returned home.

Missing presumed dead,
Oh ! No he's not !; she said,
His Mother was the only one that knew he hadn't perished,
She held onto his memory that she always cherished.

His cousin got him through the dark despair,
At the bottom of their cages, they would tear,
Tear in the ground to find a juicy bug,
Their hunger could turn it into any grub.

What's yours going to be my pral ?
Even if it was a little snail,
A bit of meat pudding for me today,
Mine's a bit of hochey the other did say.

His own grave he dug more then once,
He never knew why he was spared,
But he knew it wasn't because THEY cared,
Stand BACK away ! they made him do,
Then opend fire, and in the trench his comrades flew.

A service was held for him but his Mother wouldn't go,
Home she stayed waiting for news and her tears they would flow.
Her tears turned to joy when he was helped off the train,
And her heart was at peace once again.

It has been said by folk that don't know,
That Romany men to war didn't go,
From up and down this country wide,
They did fight and a good many died.

I'd like to say I was proud of this man,
And all the others that gave us back our land,
Let's remember them all in their glory,
It's been my pleasure to write this story.

The Nasty Gamekeeper.(Yogomush)
We stopped the lorry, to start our toll,
He came to me, and began to boil,
What are you doing here ? he said,
With his face turning very red.

Red with rage, without knowing a thing,
I'm sure he thought he was a king,
Shouting and swearing, he carried on,
We knew he thought, we were in the wrong.

Not a word she said, my Mother so proud,
I couldn't understand why she wasn't load,
I looked to see why there wasn't a word,
And then a strange noise I heard.

She had been eating toffees on our way,
Her false teeth were stuck, not a word could she say,
So out they came, to tell this man off,
Then he knew he had felt her wrath.

Our permission, she had written down in her pocket,
But she wouldn't show him, he went off like a rocket,
To prove us wrong he hoped to achieve,
Thinking Gypsies would only lie and thieve.

But he never came back, which was a shame,
He couldn't face those Gypsy woman again,
If he was polite and smiled, without the cuss,
Then we could have continued without any fuss.

The Old Ways.

The Old way's have gone, been taken away,
Christmas trees and wreaths, gone astray,
By the supermarkets, and land workers,
Picking up potatoes, and fruit, gone to shirkers.

Calling a house, we can't do anymore,
They say it's over now; it's against the law,
Or travelling the road, with a trailer and drag,
So how can we fill that old vonger bag ?

A race of people, condemned before birth,
Not given a chance, to prove their worth,
Moved on, everywhere they went,
They earned every penny they spent.

The food on the jog, by a policemen kicked out,
Then moved on, there could be no dought,
Maybe only to the other side of the road,
Packing everything up , their entire load.

Gone are the old way's, but in with the new,
Not that they're any better , for me or for you,
But making the best of what we have got,
That's what we are kushti at, us Romany lot.
Bokt to all, Chris.

There was a Man.

There was a man who lived in a kushti tan, as kushti as could be,
She said to the man, in his kushti tan, Would you marry me?
Oh! Yes; said the man in his kushti tan, but how ever can that be ?
For I'm a man in a big fine house, and your but a gypsy;

You'll never stay and I wont have my way, said the man to the Gypsy gal,
Not even if my worldly goods you would have me sell,
But sell them not, and stay with me, and stories you can tell,
Of the day when a man like you, married a Gypsy gal.

Should I trust you, because your beauty is so rare ?
For beauty is only skin deep, and other men will stare,
I have trust in my mare, she's beautiful too,
Far more trust in her, then I'll ever have in you;.

If only you could love me, as I know I could love you,
And in your heart, I could be sure, that it would be true,
But I know you would go, back to where you belong,
Your sprit is too free, full with music, dance and song;.

But stories I WILL tell, every word with a sigh,
How I nearly lost my heart, but the price was far to high,
So go now with my blessing, back to your people proud,
And think of me, now and then, when you're singing good and loud.








This poem was based on a true story, that happened over 40 years ago, we were working in the grounds of a Lord, it was winter time and very cold, frost every morning, the lord's name was George, he would get his cook to make us soup each day we were there, and after a week or so of him stopping to talk to us, my Dad said to me, Chris this mush has taken a shine to you, I was shoocked, No Dad dordi the man's so old ! he was in his early 30 s, but at the age of 16 it is old , he played the violin, and had a fasciation with Gypsy's, loved everything about our culture.
He started to come to our trailer to play his violin and have a drink with us, after Dad saying ;you mark my words Chris; I did and sure enough he was right ! one night he brought his wife with him, and my Mother had had a few drinks and offered her a drink from her glass, the lady looked at her real strange and refused, MISTAKE ! I had to think fast, and try and get this lady out the way of my Mother's fierce tongue ! lady or not, she didn't care for unfriendlyness, the lord asked me to order a taxi, and when it came I saw the two of them out into the road, but instead of getting into the car, he just paid the driver with his wife in the back, as it drove off, he looked at me and said -- ; now lets continue; and we did, but I had to let him know that I would reject any feelings he might have for me, and that was the end of it. there is a funny ending to my story, last year we were on my daughter's lap top, and I was talking about this Lord, and asked her to put in his name, Lord George Sirsoon ( cant spell the sir name though ) but its like the famous hair dresser's, and there he was in black and white, turned out he had got married a few time's before and after we knew him ! no surprise there then lol.
bokt to all Chris.