wordsout by Godfrey Rust                                       Occasional pieces for St Johns  HOME   


Men of Ealing

Wimpishly, to the tune of "Men of Harlech"

Men of Ealing hear our pleading, how our gentle hearts are bleeding—
we don't know where things are leading in these troubled days.
All our lives were nicely shallow, all our pastures lying fallow
till there came the Rev Gill Dallow changing all our ways.
Though we all befriend her (and we daren’t offend her),
how we quake when bread we break with someone of a very different gender!
It’s a man’s life in the modern clergy
(you get to make up all your own lit-urgy)
and the music’s never dirge-y when it’s from Youth Praise! 

Chaps are jolly good at scheming, chatting while the dinner’s steaming,
making plans and always dreaming—isn’t preaching fun?
Girls are always organising, up before the sun is rising,
planning things that are surprising—getting something done!
O you should have seen her—no-one could be keener,
whizzing through a creed or two and dishing out the Hovis and Ribena.
She won’t falter at the altar
(got a constitution like Gibraltar)
we just hide behind a psalter soon as she’s begun. 

One day she will be at college filling heads with Bible knowledge
[line missing here…]  you know never fails.
Next day she will be a deacon, lots of home groups, lots of speaking,
funerals most every week in winter when it hails.
Which is more appealing—Northwood Hills or Ealing?
LBC theology or singing Graham Kendrick songs with feeling?
Our theology’s erratic 
and we’re only mildly charismatic
but our church is never static since she came from Wales. 

She’s always turned out well God bless her
(stylish clothes for a Welsh dresser)
[lines missing here…]
Though her work’s exciting, and her critiques are biting,
she won’t see a PhD cos nobody can ever read her writing.
O those driving skills she’s shown us
(what shame about her no claim’s bonus)
Damon Hill is not alone as Gill’s in second gear! 

Every life must have a pattern—something you can hang your hat on—
clearing up after Mark Bratton’s not her only hope.
So the plot may get much thicker as her sermons get much slicker
till one day to be a vicar lies within her scope.
She’ll be curing ills den all the way to Willesden
to no surprise one day we’ll rise and find out that the diocese is Gill’s den
making merry with the sherry,
heading down the road to Canterbury—
take us to a monastery—at least she can’t be Pope!


Performed in 1997 by a small male voice “choir”. The final version has gone AWOL so there are a couple of gaps.