If you turn second left at the High Street
Passed an old pub called ‘The Swan’
There’s a monument to my Uncle Albert
And though we’ve not many heroes – he was one
He wasn’t a chap prone to boasting
And he stood I’ll bet only five feet
But those five feet he covered in glory
As you’ll hear when his old comrades meet.
Chorus:
There’s a stain on the floor of the barroom
There’s a cap in a case by the door
There’s a verse on a stone in a churchyard
In memory of one who’s no more.
It was the time of the first Yankee moon man
I remember because there was racing from Catterick as well
And I’d backed the 6/4 favourite
And he led ‘til the moment he fell
That night was the championship darts match
The bar of the club was jammed full
We were playing at home in the final
And we started – being nearest the bull
The “Oo’s” and the “Ah’s” broke the silence
As both teams wrestled with might
A game to remember forever
By all – even those that were “tight”
Some favoured cardboard – some feathers
Some favoured heavy – some light
But all were experienced past masters
Of split second reckoning and flight
Then the nail that was holding the dartboard
Bent with a fearful creak
And there wasn’t another to replace it
Least not straight to hand so to speak
At last the club’s concert chairman
Renowned for his improvised wit
Says, “Put old Albert beneath it
With his height he’ll just about fit”
The company looked round at poor Albert
Then the secretary got right to the nub
Saying, “If he doesn’t the match with be forfeit
Come on Albert – for the honour of the club!”
Albert had no need of thinking
His blood rose to answer the call
As he jammed his head under the dart board
Crying, “For Queen, country and all!”
Chorus:
Not flinching, not moving, he stood there
Except once when he went “out the back”
The game flowed in our favour
The opposition was beginning to crack
All that was needed for victory
Was 5 and double 16
The 5 was obtained very easy
Then silence fell on the scene
The player squared up with his arrows
It was Sidney – Albert’s own son
Who’d played very well the whole evening
Until now – when something went wrong
Now it could have been all the excitement
Or some smoke that got in his eye
Or it could have been his new “wellies”
But he slipped just before he let fly
Albert stood stricken with horror
As he watched the on-coming dart
Then his teeth gnashed in pain
As it hit his gold chain
And ricocheted up through his heart.
Chorus:
Did he fall like a bird when it’s wounded?
Did he cry out in the midst of his pain?
No! He spoke up in a whisper
“Come on son – finish the game”.
Albert’s blood dripped down his waistcoat
As Sidney took aim and then threw
Hitting double 16
Sweet, neat and clean
Though how he felt nobody knew
“Someone grab Albert,” cried the steward
“Keep him upright,” they all roared
“Hold him up by his armpits
If he falls he might damage the board!”
Chorus:
There’s a stain on the floor of the barroom
There’s a cap in a case by the door
There’s a verse on a stone in a churchyard
In memory of one who’s no more.
Louisa Killen’ last verse**:
The whole club turned out for the funeral
Over the grave darts were thrown in salute
And they laid him to rest with the board on his chest
And dressed in his best Sunday suit
