Worzel writes, He was an odd young man who disliked beets, but my how did Godfrey love to pick apples. An apple picking job to him was a joy, never a chore. He sang as he picked, pop tunes and his own works, he “sounded like a kettle boiling dry”, it was reported. His singing, and chatty ways oft had Godfrey working alone in remote parts of the orchard. He was once cruelly pelted with boysenberries. Here are a few of the songs he would sing.
Fear of Figs- The fear of figs is a dreadful thing. I picked a plump fig fruit, it buzzed to my shock! I yelped when the dirty old wasp I disturbed in it stung my tender buttock. I leaped from my ladder, snagged kilt on the fig tree, it waved in the breeze high above me. High above!, it hung high above!, Would you be so kind? and climb up there? Be kind, fetch it down as my stinging’ poor behind is bare. Eucalyptus, Eucalyptus he cried! It were beets within it, the fair maiden lied. They grow in great swaths of land, beets grow deep and wide. What cruelty, fair maiden to the innocent gypsy? serve him hot haggis, with beets baked inside. Oh, Eucalyptus mouthwash he cried.
The Sad Song Of Barbara and Nicholas- A lamb was born on a cool spring dawn, out on the high meadow, the moon looking on, her twin brother Nicholas born soon to, they stuck close by their Ma, a Corridale ewe. Oh to live in the foothills of the Seaward Kaikoura, a rumpled green carpet, sweet clean, flowing water, verdant sheep country for Nicholas and Barbara . This song is not sad, for they lived as lambs do, ate and played as they grew to bold ram and fine ewe.” Who named these two pets? creatures normally shy? “It was I , sang the vagabond- Godfrey….In the foothills of the seaward Kaikouras so high, “I helped them when born, caught the pair gently, when first they were first shorn”….The sad song of Barbara and Nicholas is mine to tell…when at the end of my years labor with sheep, I bid them farewell” Oh the narrow roads winding, from Grassmere to Cheviot, the words I sing lost to the headwind, I pedal into the Southerly’s chill It’s a long way by bike, but ride I must, keep a song in my heart, for get there I will
.Pumpkin Harvest on Wilderland- It is not an easy thing, to run behind the wagon, to pickup pumpkins while you sing….or sing as you pick pumpkins. Run behind the wagon, gently place them in. Shoulders strong in ragged shirt, feet bare in sun warmed dirt. twist and lift and place and stack, ride the wagon’s tailgate when loaded, heading back. rest in the shade, pass a sweet, warm melon hand to hand, lunch break at pumpkin harvest, down on Wilderland..
The Neighbors Are Nudists- A Nudist camp sits at the head of a big bay, it borders an orchard of apple trees tall, a fine fence surrounds it for privacy, but on his ladder picking apples, Godfrey this fine summer day, could not help but see. He sang- oh I pick the Jazz, pick the Pippins bold, pick the Ambrosia, the Jonagold, and the neighbors are nudists, so I was told. Godfrey sang as he worked, oer the fence he saw, cheerful folks a camp in the raw. “They smile up and wave to me, I toss them spare apples down from my tree, if there’s no boss about to shout or get angry” “Toss apples, not stones, long live freedom to be”. “I am personally modest, only alone I cavort in my pelt” But understand the feelings, that the nudists feel and felt. “Warm breeze on sweaty skin so cool, no clammy swimsuit on, when lying by the pool…..Tea break at the apple packing shed, co-workers talk. “It’s a Nudist Camp down beyond the pie-apple block”. Laughter from the nudist Bar-B-Que, hear the odd extended guffaw, chatting just like me and you. Volleyball and Croquet, played out on the lawn with nothing on. And singing, voices round the fire late at night, raised in song….”I too was raised in song, wrote Godfrey. Always music, echoed. echoed, around my Welsh valley home. It lives in the wisdom I seek from within, when alone…The 49th Wisdom of Godfrey States- It is better if need raise your voice- raise it in song. It is better to toss apples, than toss bricks or stone..toss apples before hard words, bricks or stone…