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4198620762000left444500THE LIFE & WORK OF WILLIAM McGONAGALLAn Online Talk by the Theatre Royal Nottingham for Nottingham Poetry FestivalTalk by David Longford, with Robbie Robb as William McGonagallMay 2020My Dear Readers of this autobiography, which I am the author of, I beg leave to inform you that I was born in Edinburgh. My father was a handloom weaver, and he learned me the handloom weaving while in Dundee, and I followed it for many years, until it began to fail owing to machinery doing the weaving instead of the handloom. So much so as I couldn’t make a living from it. But I may say Dame Fortune has been very kind to me by endowing me with the genius of poetry. And so commenced the autobiography of William Topaz McGonagall, born 1825, died 1902, poet, actor and former handloom weaverI remember how I felt when I received the spirit of poetry. It was in the year of 1877, and in the month of June, when trees and flowers were in full bloom. McGonagall is at this point 52 years of age, proving to us all that it is never too late to receive your true calling in lifeWell, it being the holiday week in Dundee, I was sitting in my back room in Paton’s Lane, Dundee, lamenting to myself because I couldn’t get to the Highlands on holiday to see the beautiful scenery, when all of a sudden my body got inflamed, and instantly I was seized with a strong desire to write poetry, so strong, in fact, that in imagination I thought I heard a voice crying in my ears-“Write! Write” I wondered what could be the matter with me, and I began to walk backwards and forwards in a great fit of excitement, saying to myself– “I know nothing about poetry.” But still the voice kept ringing in my ears – “Write, write,” Until at last, being overcome with a desire to write poetry, I found paper, pen, and ink, and in a state of frenzy, sat me down to think what would be my first subject for a, poem. All at once I thought of the late Rev. George Gilfillan, and composed a poem of four stanzas in his praise as a preacher, and orator, and poet. Then I sent it to the “Weekly News” for publication, not sending my name with it, only my initials – W. McG., Dundee. And so here are those very words that started the strange poetic career of Mr William McGonagallRev. George Gilfillan of DundeeThere is none can you excel.You have boldly rejected the Confession of Faith,And defended your cause right well.The first time I heard him speak,’Twas in the Kinnaird Hall,Lecturing on the Garibaldi movement,As loud as he could bawl.He is a liberal gentleman,To the poor while in distress;And for his kindness to them,The lord will surely bless.My blessing on his noble form,And on his lofty head;May all good angels guard him while living,And hereafter when he’s dead.Hello everyone, welcome to this short talk about the life and works of William McGonagall. I am David Longford, Creative Learning Manager for the Theatre Royal and Royal Concert Hall Nottingham. Joining me to read the words of the great poet McGonagall is my friend and actor Mr Robbie Robb.HelloThis has been all recorded in our homes between the two of us during the UK’s 2020 coronavirus lockdown. We’ve observed the proper social distancing rules, with 8 miles between us, with Robbie in West Bridgford and me in Lambley.So, this talk was originally scheduled to take place on Tuesday 12 May 2020 on the Theatre Royal Dress Circle, as part of Nottingham Poetry Festival. However, due to the coronavirus pandemic, events up and down the country have been cancelled. Even the words of William McGonagall could not escape. However, he may have had an answer to the problem of Covid-19 in his later poem Beecham’s Pills.What ho! sickly people of high and low degreeI pray ye all be warned by me;No matter what may be your bodily illsThe safest and quickest cure is Beecham’s Pills.So why this online talk about McGonagall? Well, Nottingham Poetry Festival, is a time when many venues and organisations across the city celebrate the poetic word. In the past the festival has brought to Nottingham such great poetic household names as Carol Ann Duffy, Ian McMillan, Roger McGough, John Hegley, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Jackie Kay, Wendy Cope, Simon Armitage and many others.In the same way as McGonagall had that inner voice telling him to ‘WRITE, WRITE’, my inner voice said, with Nottingham Poetry Festival celebrating the best that poetry has to offer, why don’t we celebrate the very worst. And that can only mean McGonagall.The Times Literary Supplement described him as …“The only truly memorable bad poet in our language”Eddie Small, historian and lecturer at Dundee University said“He’s a lazy poet. He doesn’t try to find the right word, he just tries to find something that will rhyme”And yet, McGonagall is still widely celebrated. Our planned lunchtime event on the Theatre Royal’s Dress Circle had completely sold out. All the seats went weeks before the event. I even added extra seats to the booking plan to cope with the demand. Why was this? I’m sure there were plenty of other things that people could be doing with their lunchtimes. Yet people wanted to come along and listen to some awful poetry. Which I guess is why you are listening to thisPerhaps you are listening for the sheer love and admiration for a heroic failure. In fact McGonagall features twice in Stephen Pile’s 1979 Book of Heroic Failures: The Official Handbook of the Not Terribly Good Club of Great Britain.And I think that’s my attraction to McGonagall. I admire him in the same way I admire the American low-budget film director Ed Wood, creator of classic films in the 1950s, including Bride of the Monster, the cross-dressing semi-documentary Glen or Glenda and of course Plan 9 from Outer Space, often deemed the worst film in the history of cinema. For those who haven’t seen it, this is the film where the movie’s star Bela Lugosi dies shortly after filming started, but undeterred Wood replaces him with his wife’s chiropractor, who wafts around for the rest of the shoot with a Dracula type cape covering his clearly non-Lugosi like features.Like McGonagall, Ed Wood believed he was a true artistic genius and that dedication to their respective crafts and sheer and utter belief in their own talent can only be admired.Another keen admirer of McGonagall was comedian and writer Spike Milligan. In 1975 he played the poet in the film The Great McGonagall, alongside Peter Sellers as Queen Victoria.In 1985 Milligan penned his introduction to the Folio Society’s collection of McGonagall’s verse in the style of his heroThere is much about him I would like to say:First, that he is dead and remained that way;He was the world’s finest poet and wit.It’s just that he had a hard time proving it.But all great artists go unrecognised like Van Gogh,But, sensibly, McGonagall did not chop his ear off;He wrote hundreds of fine poems in his day,And several hundred more at night they say.But back to the man himself. As McGonagall states he came from a family of weavers, who moved several times looking for work, but eventually settled in Dundee in 1840.In 1846, aged 21, he married fellow mill-worker Jean King and together they had seven children. McGonagall was therefore prolific not just with his poetry output.However, as we heard the major turning point in his life came in 1877 when he received the muse and without having written a single line of verse in his entire life, he decided to become a poet.He was dogged in his chosen career, often doing recitations in full Highland costume, whilst being pelted with eggs, stale bread, flour and herrings. In fact, his public appearances often invoked riotous behaviour from his audience. Just one example was his performance at Lochee in September 1881. It was reported thus:The house relapsed into immense disorder, the poor Poet being most severely treated, rotten eggs, peas, and flour flying like hail, and all directed at him. The most abominable part of the gross ill-usage was reached when an individual stepped forward with a paper bag in his hand containing treacle, and let fly with all too sure aim at poor McGonagall’s face. The horrible shot reached its mark, literally covering his face almost beyond recognition, and the semi-liquid substance continuing to flow down upon the gay garments of the bard. This was received with convulsive cheers and shrieks, the bespattered creature standing meekly in front of the platform, the foolish and pitiable butt of thousand jokes and tricks. His comparative imperturbability under all this was most astonishing. About half-past nine o’clock they closed completely around the sorely-tried Poet, and he then made a rush for the door. Like some frightened and bewildered creature, he flew with bounds from his tormentors. He soon reached the street. Again he was surrounded by the crowd waiting there for him, and, after vainly seeking shelter in public house, he was taken hold of by four constables and led down to the Police Station. Thus ended one of the most exciting scenes there has been in Lochee for many a day, the whole place being almost thrown into uproar by it.McGonagall was vehemently anti-drink. For reasons, as he stated in his reminiscencesMy dear friends, I entreat of you all, for God’s sake and for the furtherance of Christ’s kingdom, to abstain from all kinds of intoxicating liquor, because seldom any good emanates from it. In the first place, if it was abolished, there would not be so much housebreaking, for this reason: When the burglar wants to break into a house, if he thinks he hasn’t got enough courage to do so, he knows that if he takes a few glasses of either rum, whisky, or brandy, it will give him the courage to rob and kill honest disposed people.This philosophy resulted in a famous incident during a performance causing another food-based missile to be launched at McGonagallWell, I must say that the first man who threw peas at me was a publican, while I was giving an entertainment to a few of my admirers in a public-house in a certain little village not far from Dundee but, my dear friends, I wish it to be understood that the publican who threw the peas at me was not the landlord of the public-house, he was one of the party who came to hear me give my entertainment. Well, my dear readers, it was while I was singing my own song, ‘The Rattling Boy from Dublin Town’, that he threw the peas at me. The reason, I think, for the publican throwing the peas at me is because I say, to the devil with your glass, in my song, ‘The Rattling Boy from Dublin Town,’ and he, no doubt, considered it had a teetotal tendency about it, and, for that reason, he had felt angry, and had thrown the peas at me.By 1890, McGonagall was financially destitute, though received some support from friends who funded the publication of his collection of Poetic Gems.By the end of the 19th century McGonagall and his wife settled in Edinburgh. He died penniless in 1902 and was buried in an unmarked grave in Greyfriars in his adopted town.It took until 1999 before his life was publicly acknowledged with a slab at Greyfriars inscribed:William McGonagallPoet and Tragedian“I am your gracious MajestyEver faithful to TheeWilliam McGonagall, the Poor PoetThat lives in Dundee.”So, let us now celebrate this incredible life, as we concentrate on the very words that McGonagall wrote. As we said his first poem is published in the Dundee Weekly News. The editor wrote in the paper“W. McG., Dundee, has sent us a poem in praise of the Rev. George Gilfillan, and he sung his praises truly and well, but he modestly seeks to hide his light under a bushel”McGonagall continues in his autobiography …So when I read the poem in the “Weekly News” I was highly pleased no doubt to see such a favourable comment regarding it. Then my next poem, or second, was the “Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay” , which caused a great sensation in Dundee and far away. In fact, gentle readers, it was the only poem that made me famous universally. The reading of the poem abroad caused the Emperor of Brazil to leave his home far away incognito and view the bridge as he passed along en route to Inverness. Now, I could have fact-checked that information but I haven’t, simply because I want to believe that the Emperor of Brazil was a McGonagall fan and made a pilgrimage to the site of one of his favourite poems. Here is that second poem in full.Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!With your numerous arches and pillars in so grand arrayAnd your central girders, which seem to the eyeTo be almost towering to the sky.The greatest wonder of the day,And a great beautification to the River Tay,Most beautiful to be seen,Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!That has caused the Emperor of Brazil to leaveHis home far away, incognito in his dress,And view thee ere he passed along en route to Inverness.Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay!The longest of the present dayThat has ever crossed o’er a tidal river stream,Most gigantic to be seen,Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.Now if there’s one thing that people know about William McGonagall it’s his association with the River Tay and its railway bridge, or rather it’s lack of it and we’ll come on to that shortly.McGonagall as a poet hits his stride very quickly. He actually published over 20O poems in his lifetime. The excellent website mcgonagall-.uk, which has been a valuable resource for this talk, has 258 of his poems for you to enjoy in all their glory.Therefore, it’s very difficult to try and summarise this vast body of work in this short talk. To give you the essence of McGonagall I have tried to break his work down into common themes. And with his second poem ‘Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay’ we begin to see the recurring McGonagall subject-matter, which I simply call ‘Scottish Tourist Board’ McGonagall wrote in deep admiration of his homeland. Scotland’s landscape is dramatic and spectacular and McGonagall through his verse certainly wanted to illustrate this, as well as providing an effective geographical A to Z of the country. As a working poet he travelled often and so a poem about a local place could earn him a few bob. This from the poem The City of Perth …Beautiful Ancient City of Perth,One of the fairest on the earth,With your stately mansions and scenery most fine,Which seems very beautiful in the summer time;From the poem Bonnie KilmanyBonnie Kilmany, in the County of Fife,Is a healthy spot to reside in to lengthen one’s life.The scenery there in the summer time is truly grand,Especially the beautiful hills and the woodland.GlasgowBeautiful city of Glasgow, with your streets so neat and clean,Your stateley mansions, and beautiful Green!Likewise your beautiful bridges across the River Clyde,And on your bonnie banks I would like to reside.MontroseBeautiful town of Montrose, I will now commence my lay,And I will write in praise of thee without dismay,And in spite of all your foes,I will venture to call thee Bonnie Montrose.Your beautiful Chain Bridge is magnificent to be seen,Spanning the river Esk, a beautiful tidal stream,Which abounds with trout and salmon,Which can be had for the catching without any gammon.Beautiful NairnAll ye tourists who wish to be awayFrom the crowded city for a brief holiday;The town of Nairn is worth a visit, I do confess,And it’s only about fifteen miles from Inverness. Beautiful MonikieMonikie is as bonnie a place as ye could wish to see,And about eleven or twelve miles from bonnie Dundee;It’s the only place I know of to enjoy a holiday,Because there’s a hall of shelter there to keep the rain awayBeautiful CrieffYe lovers of the picturesque, if ye wish to drown your grief,Take my advice, and visit the ancient town of Crieff;The climate is bracing, and the walks lovely to see.Besides, ye can ramble over the district, and view the beautiful sceneryPerhaps, Eddie Small’s earlier comment about McGonagall’s apparent laziness and only trying to find something that will rhyme is worth re-visiting here, as perhaps the town of Crieff posed McGonagall a few rhyming problems, that only the word ‘grief’ could solve. Is this laziness or just an economy of language?Let’s just stop for a moment and check that you’re alright. All of you suddenly had a deep dive into McGonagall with seven poems on the trot. Recovering from that lot can be the poetic version of ‘the bends’, so as we continue please remember to take deep breaths when necessary, have regular breaks or perhaps pour yourself something strong to get you through all this. However, please note that McGonagall’s poems are long. Many of them go on for several verses. We’re giving you the edited highlights, otherwise this talk would last several hours. Please visit McGonagall-online for the full unexpurgated versions.And so we come to our second theme of McGonagall’s work, which is quite apt for where this talk was originally going to take place … the theatre.In my introduction I described McGonagall as a poet and an actor. McGonagall was passionate about the theatre. This from his poem Lines in Defence of the StageGood people of high and low degree,I pray ye all be advised by me,And don’t believe what the clergy doth say,That by going to the theatre you will be led astray.No, in the theatre we see vice punished and virtue rewarded,The villain either hanged or shot, and his career retarded;Therefore the theatre is useful in every way,And has no inducement to lead the people astray.McGonagall’s life was filled with incident. In his autobiography he talks about his first appearance on stage around 1858, twenty years before the poetic muse had landed. This was …In the character of Macbeth in Mr Giles’ Penny Theatre, Lindsay Street, Dundee, to an overflowing end crowded audience, and I received unbounded applause.This “unbounded applause” was in fact McGonagall’s fellow handloom workers who had in fact had a whip round and paid for McGonagall’s stage debut, having heard him recite Shakespeare at work in his very special way and so with their own hard-earned let loose McGonagall’s acting talent. As he later wroteWhen the great night arrived, my shopmates were in high glee with the hope of getting a Shakespearian treat from your humble servant. And I can assure you, without boasting, they were not disappointed.McGonagall received deafening applause whenever he appeared in the play, with the high spot coming in the final scene, when Macduff is supposed to kill Macbeth in a sword fight. Unwisely, the actor playing Macduff told McGonagall to “cut it short”.Suspecting that the actor was jealous of the acclaim McGonagall was receiving, this Macbeth refused to die. I continued the combat until he was fairly exhausted, and there was one old gentleman in the audience cried out: “Well done, McGonagall! Walk into him!” And so I did until he (Macduff) was in great rage, and stamped his foot, and cried out “Fool! why don’t you fall?” And when I did fall, the cry was “McGonagall! McGonagall! Bring him out! Bring him out!” Until I had to come out and receive an ovation from the audience.According to his autobiography, McGonagall read Shakespeare from an early age and so of course he had to write about the Bard in verse. An Address to ShakespeareImmortal! William Shakespeare, there’s none can you excel,You have drawn out your characters remarkably well,Which is delightful for to see enacted upon the stageFor instance, the love-sick Romeo, or Othello, in a rage;His writings are a treasure, which the world cannot repay,He was the greatest poet of the past or of the present dayAlso the greatest dramatist, and is worthy of the name,I’m afraid the world shall never look upon his like again.He then proceeds to extols the virtues of Hamlet, As You Like It, Richard III and Othello. As I say his poetry is long.Finally, when talking about the stage, my work-place and original location for this talk, the Theatre Royal Nottingham, does have a slight connection to McGonagall. The Theatre Royal was built in 1865 by architect Charles J Phipps. This was his first full build and it was so successful that he went on to build many other theatres around the UK, including the Theatre Royal Exeter in 1886. In the following year a great fire took place at that theatre, due to the lethal combination of gas lighting and naked flame, 186 people lost their lives that night.McGonagall is often known as a disaster poet and here was an opportunity for him to combine that morbid curiosity with a stage disaster. His poem The Burning of the Exeter Theatre …’Twas in the year of 1887, which many people will long remember,The burning of the Theatre at Exeter on the 5th of September,Alas! that ever-to-be-remembered and unlucky night,When one hundred and fifty lost their lives, a most agonising sight.The play on this night was called “Romany Rye,”And at act four, scene third, Fire! Fire! was the cry;And all in a moment flames were seen issuing from the stage,Then the women screamed frantically, like wild beasts in a cage.Then a panic ensued, and each one felt dismayed,And from the burning building a rush was made;And soon the theatre was filled with a blinding smoke,So that the people their way out had to grope.The shrieks of those trying to escape were fearful to hear,Especially the cries of those who had lost their friends most dear;Oh, the scene was most painful in the London Inn Square,To see them wringing their hands and tearing their hair!McGonagall then goes on to sayAlas! Words fail to describe the desolationBut in fact he continues for another eight verses describing charred and crushed bodies, andhuman remains, beyond recognition(twice), plusa maimed hand All resulting in the descriptionIt was the most sickening sight that ever anybody sawI don’t believe that McGonagall in a poem like this is deliberately being distasteful in his verse, but his verbosity and bad rhyming does not provide any poetic succour. However, the detail he provides in its total of 64 lines, despite getting the number of deaths wrong, is a useful account of this incident.In fact his poetry as a whole is part of a long tradition of narrative ballads and verse about great events and tragedies, often circulated via handbills, which McGonagall did of course to try and sell his work.According to mcgonagall-online, he wrote around 78 poems on the subject of warfare and disaster. This subject also clearly appealed to his flag-wielding patriotism. His epic 92-line poem The Battle of the Nile was inspired by the Napoleonic Wars of the late eighteenth-century. It begins’Twas on the 18th of August in the year of 1798,That Nelson saw with inexpressible delightThe City of Alexandria crowded with the ships of France,So he ordered all sail to be set, and immediately advance.And upon the deck, in deep anxiety he stood,And from anxiety of mind he took but little food;But now he ordered dinner and prepared without delay,Saying, I shall gain a peerage to-morrow, or Westminster Abbey.Further on in the piece McGonagall unleashes his poetic big gunsThe French force consisted of thirteen ships of the line,As fine as ever sailed on the salt sea brine;Besides four Frigates carrying 1,196 guns in all,Also 11,230 men as good as ever fired a cannon ball.The number of the English ships were thirteen in all,And carrying 1,012 guns, including great and small;And the number of men were 8,068,All jolly British tars and eager for to fight.His exact listing of numbers is both hilarious and exasperating. It feels as if he has to give the correct numbers of guns, sailors and so on and therefore press-gangs them into his poetic structure, if you could call it that.But of course it is the poem The Tay Bridge Disaster that McGonagall is most famous for. For reasons that many people are unsure of. It clearly seemed to capture something in people’s imagination both then and now. In December 1879, a terrific storm that had wreaked havoc all across Scotland caused the Tay Bridge, which had only opened the year before and had been called an engineering marvel, to collapse whilst a passenger train was on it. All 75 people on board died. A subsequent enquiry found that the structure of the bridge was inferior, with the fault laid at the door of designer of Sir Thomas Bouch, a charge he continuously denied.The Tay Bridge disaster remains one of Britain’s worst ever railway accidents, however as mcgonagall-online states it is perhaps thanks to McGonagall’s poem that it is remembered outside the ranks of civil engineers. They go on to say in relation to McGonagall and the collapsed bridge “Perhaps, since it deals with visionary ideals plunged into total disaster, it’s a fitting commemoration of his career.”If you remember from the start of this talk, the River Tay was in fact the subject matter of McGonagall’s second poem. The one that forced the Emperor of Brazil to make detour on his travels. I think McGongall was attracted to the River Tay, not just for its size and beauty, but also the word Tay is very easy to rhyme with. The Tay Bridge DisasterBeautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!Alas! I am very sorry to sayThat ninety lives have been taken awayOn the last Sabbath day of 1879,Which will be remember’d for a very long time.’Twas about seven o’clock at night,And the wind it blew with all its might,And the rain came pouring down,And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”When the train left EdinburghThe passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,But Boreas blew a terrific gale,Which made their hearts for to quail,And many of the passengers with fear did say-“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,Boreas he did loud and angry bray,And shook the central girders of the Bridge of TayOn the last Sabbath day of 1879,Which will be remember’d for a very long time.So the train sped on with all its might,And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,And the passengers’ hearts felt light,Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,And wish them all a happy New Year.So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,Until it was about midway,Then the central girders with a crash gave way,And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,Because ninety lives had been taken away,On the last Sabbath day of 1879,Which will be remember’d for a very long time.As soon as the catastrophe came to be knownThe alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,And the cry rang out all o’er the town,Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,And a passenger train from Edinburgh,Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,And made them for to turn pale,Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the taleHow the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,Which will be remember’d for a very long time.It must have been an awful sight,To witness in the dusky moonlight,While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,I must now conclude my layBy telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,That your central girders would not have given way,At least many sensible men do say,Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,At least many sensible men confesses,For the stronger we our houses do build,The less chance we have of being killed.A new Tay Bridge opened on 1887. McGonagall was quick to pick up his pen with his poem An Address to the New Tay BridgeBeautiful new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay,With your strong brick piers and buttresses in so grand array,And your thirteen central girders, which seem to my eyeStrong enough all windy storms to defy.The New Yorkers boast about their Brooklyn Bridge,But in comparison to thee it seems like a midge,The final theme to briefly explore in relation to McGonagall was the monarch herself, Queen Victoria. McGonagall was a devoted servant and he expressed this admiration to her a number of times through his special verse. This from 1897. An Ode to the Queen on Her Jubilee YearSound drums and trumpets, far and near!And Let all Queen Victoria’s subjects loudly cheer!And show by their actions that they revere,Because she’s served them faithfully fifty long year!All hail to the Empress of India and Great Britain’s Queen!Long may she live happy and serene!And as this is now her Jubilee year,I hope her subjects will show their loyalty without fear.Therefore let all her subjects rejoice and sing,Until they make the welkin ring;And let young and old on this her Jubilee be glad,And cry, “Long Live our Queen!” and don’t be sad.In a legendary incident in McGonagall’s life, in 1878 McGonagall set out by foot from Dundee to visit the Queen at Balmoral. A distance of approximately 60 miles.He did this having written to the Queen, requesting her to be a patron of his work. He received a rejection letter by return from a royal functionary, which thanked McGonagall for his interest.McGonagall took this ‘thanks’ as praise and so set out to meet her Majesty and provide her with a live performance. His journey was arduous, which he recounts in detail in his memoirs and eventually he arrived at Balmoral.It was about ten o’clock in the morning when I left the shepherd’s house at the Spittal of Glenshee on my journey to Balmoral. I expected to be there about three o’clock in the afternoon. Well, I travelled on courageously, and, when Balmoral Castle hove in sight, I saw the Union Jack unfurled to the breeze. Well, I arrived at the Castle just as the tower clock was chiming the hour of three. But my heart wasn’t full of glee, because I had a presentiment that I wouldn’t succeed. When I arrived at the lodge gate, I knocked loudly at the door of the lodge, and it was answered by a big, burly-looking man, dressed in a suit of pilot cloth. He boldly asked me what I wanted and where I had come from. I told him I had travelled all the way from Dundee expecting to see Her Majesty, and to be permitted to give an entertainment before her in the Castle from my own works and from the works of Shakespeare. Further, I informed him that I was the Poet McGonagall, and how I had been patronised by Her Majesty. I showed him Her Majesty’s letter of patronage, which he read, and said it was a forgery. I said, if he thought so, he could have me arrested. He said this thinking to frighten me, but, when he saw he couldn’t, he asked me if I would give him a recital in front of the Lodge as a specimen of my abilities. “No, sir,” I said; “nothing so low in my line of business. I am not a strolling mountebankThis comic/tragic incident seems to sum up everything about McGonagall. Dogged persistence, devotion to a cause, complete and utter belief in his own talents and the unyielding embodiment of the spirit of the British Empire. It is these qualities that have ultimately provided McGonagall with the career he craved for and which is why he will always be, as he states at the end of his most famous poem,Remember’d for a very long timeAnd finally this poem. In 1894 McGonagall was again virtually destitute. He was unable to perform in Dundee as the city’s fathers decreed that his shows were becoming too rowdy and so McGonagall had to look elsewhere for financial support. Using his poetry as an advertising tool, McGonagall received two guineas for this poem for Sunlight Soap and with his personal sign-off it is perhaps a fine way to end this tribute to this great poet.We hope you have enjoyed this talk.Ye charwomen, where’er ye be,I pray ye all be advised by me,Nay, do not think that I do joke,When I advise ye to wash with Sunlight Soap.In my time I’ve tried many kinds of soap,But no other soap can with it cope,Because it makes the clothes look nice and clean,That they are most beautiful to be seen.Ye can use it, with great pleasure and ease,Without wasting any elbow grease,And, while washing the most dirty clothes,The sweat won’t be dripping off your nose.Therefore think of it, charwomen, one and all,And, when at any shop ye chance to call,Be sure and ask for Sunlight Soap,For, believe me, no other soap can with it cope.You can wash your clothes with little rubbing,And without scarcely any scrubbing,And I tell you once again without any joke,There’s no soap can surpass Sunlight Soap;And believe me, charwomen, one and all,I remain, yours truly, the Poet McGonagall.Sources:mcgonagall-.ukPoetic Gems and More Poetic Gems by William McGonagallWilliam McGonagall – Poetic Gems, The Folio Society Edition, 1985 ................
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