SONG OF THE FLETCHERS
by
Cyril Fletcher (1940)

We are very select in this studio
And our blood is as blue as the sea
Each noddle contains its full quota of brains
There's no sap in our family tree.

Yes, I'm one of the Fletchers of Frinton
And I'm terribly proud of the fact,
For the Fletchers elsewhere make our family despair
For their lack of discretion and tact.

After having some port, they will lick at the cork
And make scrunchy noises with their pickled pork
And stab stout-hearted waitresses' rears with a fork
I'm glad I'm a Fletcher of Frinton.

Oh! I'm one of the Fletchers of Frinton,
We've no use for the Fletchers of Fife,
They remove chewing gum with their fingers and thumb
And eat garden peas with a knife.

The Fletchers of Folkestone are never at ease
They wipe sticky hands on their elbows and knees
And knock out their pipes on the side of the cheese.
So, I'm glad I'm a Fletcher of Frinton.

The Fletchers of Finchley are fearless,
As into a battle they fling
But when one removes his waistcoat it proves
That his trousers are kept up with string.

Oh! I'm one of the Fletchers of Frinton
Not one of the Fletchers of Fleet
Who sit on the stairs, at social affairs
Discussing the corns on their feet.

On the river at Henley - Great Scott! What a crew
Not blazers and straw hats like other folks do,
They turn up in bowlers and body belts too.
I'm glad I'm a Fletcher of Frinton.

Then just look at the Fletchers of Feltham
When the siren commences to wail,
There's no breeding at all, they just squat in the hall,
Eating winkles and shrimps from a pail - so low!

We stay in our shelters with wine ruby red,
But the Fletchers of Feltham, you'll find them instead
With a barrel of beer underneath Grandma's bed.
So, I'm glad I'm a Fletcher,
Yes frightfully Fletcher,
I'm glad I'm a Fletcher of Frinton.