Though both England and Australia are eager to see the very last appearance of the Bodyline controversy, the bogey persists in bobbing up periodically in cables, in the press, in books, on the films with all the eerie restlessness of an uneasy and unshriven spook.
Once have we bashed him on the head; Twice have we stabbed him deep; Thrice have we left him there for dead And yet he will not sleep; But rise up from out his grave To gibber and repine And generally misbehave By raving as lost spirits rave: "Oh, Body-Bodyline!" We've sneaked on him at dead of night And bashed his grinning face And flung him down and rammed him tight Into his resting place. We've tied a weight about his neck And cast him to the brine; But, lo, next day, he's back on deck, Like some damp victim of a wreck, To babble, "Bodyline!" We've exorcised him with due rite Of candle, book and bell; But back he toddled in the night His sad tale to re-tell. His grizly mien, when he appears, Sends shivers down our spine And wakes our superstitious fears What time he blubbers thro' his tears, "Pity poor Bodyline!" Alas! he can not die, poor bloke, And cease from haunting us Les England, with a single stroke, Gives him his quietus. Then at the bleak crossroads shall we, When ne'er a moon doth shine, Inter his bones triumphantly And write above, with savage glee: "Hic jacet Bodyline."
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|