IN HIS OWN WRITE
Greetings! You have entered the IN HIS OWN WRITE page. This page contains
excerpts from IN HIS OWN WRITE, published in 1964 by Simon and Schuster. The
book also contains some wonderful drawings. Any "grammatical liberties" misspellings, etc, are John's. I have copied the text here exactly as it appears in the book.
If you have not yet read it, I hope the excerpts provided here convince you to
try and dig it up. Happy reading!
Good Dog Nigel
Arf, Arf, he goes, a merry sight
Our little hairy friend
Arf, Arf, upon the lampost bright
Arfing round the bend.
Nice dog! Goo boy,
Waggie tail and beg,
Clever Nigel, jump for joy
Because we are putting you to sleep at three of the clock, Nigel.
"There was no reason for Michael to be sad that morning, (the little
wretch): everyone liked him, (the scab). He'd had a hard day's night that day,
for Michael was a Cocky Watchtower. His wife Bernie, who was well controlled,
had wrabbed his norman lunch but he was still sad. It was strange for a man who
have everything and a wife to boot. At 4 o'clock whne his fire was burking
bridelly a Poleaseman had clubbed in to parse the time around. 'Goddeven
Michael,' the Poleaseman speeg, but Michael did not answer for he was debb and
duff and could not speeg . . ."
No Flies On Frank
There were no flies on Frank that morning - after all why not? He was a
responsible citizen with a wife and child, waasn't he? It was a typical Frank
morning and with an agility that defies description he leapt into the bathroom
onto the scales. To his great harold he discovered he was twelve inches more
tall heavy! He couldn't believe it and his blood raised to his head, causing a
mighty red colouring.
'I carn't not believe this incredible fact of truth about my very body
which has not gained fat since mother begat me at childburn. Yea, though I wart
through the valet of thy shadowy hut I will feed no norman. What grate qualmsy
hath taken me thus into such a fatty hardbuckle.'
Nicely Nicely Clive
To CLive Barrow it was just an ordinary day nothing unusual or strange
about it, everything quite navel, nothing outstandley, just another day but to
Roger it was something special, a day amongst days ... a red lettuce day
I Sat Belonely
I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.
I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such wonderous voice.
Puzzly, puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but I have no choice.
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.
Such sofly singing lulled me sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.
Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might
'I thought you were a lady',
I giggle, - well I may,
To my surprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.
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