Grumpy's Grotto
  This page is set aside for the occasional verbal meanderings and regular player chastisements of our long-suffering
and long-rollering groundsman, Grumpy.

Polite note: the webmaster will not be held responsible for the tone of the material it contains !

Eulogy for Grumpy (The Finest Village Groundsman in the West)

You can hear the engine pound as he chugs along the ground
And the clanking of the rollers, turning slowly round and round
With the badge of Stonor Cricket Club worn proudly on his chest
His name is Grumpy and he's the finest village groundsman in the West

His helper's name is Browny, he turns up now and again
Unless of course his shoulder hurts or some or other pain
But most of the time, he works alone, plodding up and down
His baseball hat cocked to one side and that old familiar frown

His name is Grumpy (Grumpy) and he's the finest village groundsman in the West

His tractor has seen better days and his roller doesn't start
But Grumpy seldom bats an eye and never loses heart
They even nicked his mower and still they're nowhere to be seen
But now he's got a brand new one in forty shades of green

He keeps all his equipment in a grotto cold and damp
But few are those who dare to venture up that wooden ramp
Who knows what wondrous creatures lurk within its Stygian gloom
Some say fairies, elves and goblins have been seen inside that room

For Grumpy is a friend of theirs, or so the story goes
They touch him with their magic powers when e'er the grass he mows
Look hard in there and you will see a familiar bearded bloke
Crawling round upon the floor to find the little folk

His name is Grumpy (Grumpy) and he's the finest village groundsman in the West

Now a groundsman's skills are not a matter of minutes, hours or days
It's more a case of understanding how the wicket plays
Yet from little more than pasture grazed by cows in days of yore
He's honed it to perfection for 30 years or more

He's had snide remarks from batsmen, suspicious of its bounce
And bowlers too "This track's too true" they've been heard to pronounce
But Grumpy always makes his pitches interesting and flat
"For bowlers who can bowl and batsmen who can bat"!!

His team is full of Yorkshiremen whose tastes are quite demanding
They're not best known for mincing words or showing understanding
To shut the buggers up he says "I try and make my swards
A little bit like Headingley and a little bit like Lord's"!

His name is Grumpy (Grumpy) and he's the finest village groundsman in the West

When Grumpy was a youngster, he had loads of hair on top
But too much hair's like too much grass and so it had to stop
Now Grumpy's pate's just like his pitches, shiny, hard and brown
And with his beard, it looks as if his head's on upside down

Now the 3 wise monkeys perch up there on Maurice Wiles's seat
Holding court on days gone by, sit Grumpy, Neil and Pete
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil too
Everything's so easy when you've got nowt else to do!

But there's one thing 'bout old Grumpy I find hard to understand
Why he prowls around the outfield with a golf club in his hand
A 9-iron or a pitching wedge but ne'er a wood is seen
So he's not so handy off the tee but he's lethal round the green

His name is Grumpy (Grumpy) and he's the finest village groundsman in the West

But now Grumpy's hanging up his tools and getting' off his roller
Our finest ever groundsman and greatest offspin bowler
I asked him if the thought of staying away would get him down
He said "'Course not, I'll still come up and have one at The Crown"

"See I've never been one for sitting around and watching people play
I'd rather be at home with Joy than getting in the way
I'm coaching Stonor's future star if you want to know the truth
She's my pride and joy, my grandchild and her name is Martha Ruth"

She calls him Grumpy (Grumpy) 'cos he's the finest old Grandaddy in the West!

And we call him Grumpy (Grumpy) 'cos he's the finest village groundsman, finest village groundsman, The finest village groundsman in the West!

(Performed by DD and the Dooj at the 2008 Awards Night, 01 November 2008)


The Groundsman's Lament

Chairs are pushed back, the meeting is closed.
In numbed fingers now frost-bitten blue,
The new season's fixtures all pristine and new.
It's now to The Crown for the grape and the grain.
With officials returned en bloc yet again.
One studies one's list with growing dismay;
Why, why, oh why not more games away?

Soon will be time for pre-season rolling;
Soul-deadening endeavour in an easterly blow.
On which all too soon some fools will be bowling;
Prima donna batsmen declaring the track is too slow.

Comes the first match on a pitch coloured straw.
Will Martin play on to a tedious draw,

Or will leaden skies over, let the rain down?
The game's off men, tally-ho! to The Crown.

Light starts to shorten as in day's of yore.
Sisyphus-condemned, you mow till foot sore.
The fixtures you study - ten yet to prepare!!!
Nigel's adding in more while I'm unaware.

How is it they manage to dig such large holes?
Try, if you dare, to spoilt this, you proles:
This time cement shall be my salvation,
While I sit and smile in smug contemplation.

Players aside, other pests will appear
In the form of dogs, rabbits and deer.
Who will rid me of these callers from hell
And allow me some peace for a long, lengthy spell?

Thank God! It's September - some respite, hard-earned.
Tired, aching limbs for the radox have yearned.
The Committee say the place needs redecorating;
"Whoopee!" you exclaim, how bloody invigorating.

When finally I exit this earthly strife;
Soar into heaven to start a new life.
St Peter will stand, as some spiritual controller:
"Hi! Come on in. Here's a ride-on roller."

(Penned and recited by
Grumpy at the Burn's Night Dinner, 27 January 2007)

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