Light-Hearted Verses
for Grandchild No. 10, Master Rafe James Haslehurst Esq.
Born 1.34 p.m.
7/10/03, a little late for luncheon.
I.
When helpless, hapless, baby Eskimos
Are born amid icebergs and Arctic snows,
And utter their first anguished howls and squeals
To startled polar bears and curious seals,
They’re given uncouth names like Ugh and Glugg,
Yuk, Zik and Kak, Kerplop, Yowee and Mugg,
Yuk, Zik and Kak, Kerplop, Yowee and Mugg,
Such sobriquets may cast a serious blight
On young lives spent ensconced in polar night.
No doubt, dear Rafe, you’re quite relieved to know
You were not born a little Eskimo.
II.
Though his mama, the gracious Julia,
Still thinks His Highness quite peculiar,
(She’ll find it takes a moment to adjust
To new arrivals yelling fit to bust)
Our noisy new-born babe, the regal Rafe,
Is happy, hungry, healthy, snug and safe.
‘Quite soon, he’ll learn to sit, and then start crawling…’
But first must pass his Elementary Bawling.
Just pass? His lusty screams and furious yells
Even now surpass one hundred decibels.
III.
His intellectual diversity
Will take him to an ancient university,
Where, hailing from the house of Haslehurst,
He’s bound to earn himself a dazzling First.
Crowned with the secondary name of James
He will achieve at length his highest aims.
And yet I feel had we not dubbed him Rafe
He might one day have ended up in TAFE.
Such is the power of an auspicious name,
To bring a child wealth, happiness and fame.
IV.
No child rejoicing in the name of Rafe
Would ever call a decent café, ‘cafe’.
Or utter words like ‘toilet’, ‘kids’ and such,
Say, ‘Not a problem’ or ‘Ta very much’,
Or dub a table napkin, ‘serviette’.
Or bawl, ‘No worries, mate!’ But Lee and Bret,
Keanu, Kevin, Rocky, Hank or Shane,
Consider such refinements quite insane.
Uncultured louts, plebeian names condemn them
To language that makes gentlemen contemn them.
PS.
Though this remark might make
some people pale,
I trust he’ll go to Scotch,
and not to Hale.
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