The Doctor and the Match Girl

This was written with a typical East-End Cockney in mind, and so the poem-cum-song is meant be H-dropped with great abandon and sung / recited (whatever suits) in an over dramatic style. This is particularly so at the end of each verse in that knowing Cockney style of delivery last seen by us Brits on the ‘Good Old Days’ on BBC 1, when the likes of Billy Dainty and Roy Hudd would don the persona of some famed East-End Music Hall legend; although after saying that, there's a more direct comparison with a down at heel busker featured in one of Basil Rathbone's outings as Sherlock Holmes.


The Doctor and the Match Girl

Now I’ll tell you all a story,
With a twist that’s in its tail;
Or maybe with a moral if you will.
For to ignore such sad advice,
Of dishonest avarice,
Will result in getting dead or very ill.

Now each day upon the corner,
Stood a girl called Annie Horner,
Who would sell her penny matches all day long.
She never got to wishin’,
For to end her disposition,
And she bore it all with fortitude and song.

‘Now come and get your matches, Gents!
Come and get your lights!
They only cost a penny – that ain't bad!
For I’se only Annie Horner,
And I stands upon this corner,
For to get some coppers for my sick old dad.’

Now one early winter’s morning,
Annie’s dad he had a warning;
‘Get the doctor in or you will surely croak.’
But poor Annie she was cryin’,
For her dad who’s in bed dyin’,
For poor Annie had no money for the bloke.

With her eyes all full of tears,
And despite of all her fears,
She went out to earn herself an honest bob.
Who then came out walking,
With a lady friend a-talking,
But the doctor who wants paying for the job.

‘Come and buy my matches, Sir!
Come and buy my lights!
They only cost a penny – that ain't bad;
For if you buy my matches, Sir,
For if you buy my lights,
I can pay for you to cure my sick old dad.’

The lady friend did lift her face, 
Her nose up in the air,
The doctor gave a sickly smile,
To cross her he’ll not dare.
‘I do not need your matches, lass – 
No, not a single one;
Now run along back to your home,
Your father may be gone.’

Her tears fell right down to the ground,
She wondered what life’s for;
She climbed up high on to the bridge,
She couldn’t take no more.
‘Now don’t do that young lady’,
Said a gentle voice it spoke;
‘Now come and tell me of your woes, 
And wear my nice warm cloak.’

Now Annie told the kindly gent
 Of why such desperation,
But very soon her heart had leapt
 In glorious elation.
The kindly gent he bought her wares,
And cured her father’s bones;
The man who’d given Annie hope,
Was kindly Doctor Jones

Now on a stormy evening, 
The old doctor he was leaving,
After dining with his lady, Maddy Bright.
In his jacket were no matches,
That were needed for the candles,
For to fill his gloomy house 
With warmth and light.

He went over to the corner, 
For to look for Annie Horner,
She was simply not around, no not at all.
He fumbled at the doorway
And he fiddled for his keys,
And he stumbled on the step into the hall.

The house was all in darkness
 As he climbed upon the stairs,
But he fell and broke his neck
 And then he groaned.
But then who should come a-running
With a light to see their way,
Twas young Annie and her husband,
 Doctor Jones.

Doctor Jones he scratched his chin,
And to his colleague tended;
But so severe had been the fall
His useful life now ended.
Annie went and fetched more help,
From those with hats and habits;
The ailing bones soon on their way
To good Saint Mary Abbot’s.

The old doctor’s in a wheelchair, 
As he’s pushed along the road,
And he hears a sad old song down by the docks;
‘Who will buy my matches, Sir?! 
Who will buy my lights?!’

‘I will lass – please sell me every box.’

Tags: humor, rhyme, inspirational, hope,