Day One
Dear Nuala,
Thank you very much for your lovely present of a partridge in a pear-tree
We’re getting the hang of feeding the partridge now,
Although it was difficult at first to win its confidence
It bit the mother rather badly on the hand
But they’re good friends now and we’re keeping the pear-tree indoors in a bucket
Thank you again
Yours affectionately, Gobnait O’Lúnasa
Day Two
Dear Nuala,
I cannot tell you how surprised we were to hear from you so soon again and to receive your lovely present of two turtle doves
You really are too kind
At first the partridge was very jealous
And suspicious of the doves and they had a terrible row the night the doves arrived
We had to send for the vet but the birds are okay again
And the stitches are due to some out in a week or two
The vet’s bill was 8 but the mother is over her annoyance now
And the doves and the partridge are watching the telly from the pear-tree as I write Yours ever, Gobnait
Day Three
Dear Nuala,
We must be foremost in your thoughts
I had only posted my letter when the three French hens arrived
There was another sort-out between the hens and the doves,
Who sided with the partridge, and the vet had to be sent for again
The mother was raging because the bill was 16 this time
But she has almost cooled down
However, the fact that the birds’ droppings keep falling down
On her hair whilen she’s watching the telly, doesn’t help matters
Thanking you for your kindness
I remain, your Gobnait
Day Four
Dear Nuala,
You mustn’t have received my last letter when you were sending us the four calling birds There was pandemonium in the pear-tree again last night and the vet’s bill was 32
The mother is on sedation as I write
I know you meant no harm and remain your close friend
Gobnauit
Day Five
Nuala,
Your generosity knows no bounds
Five gold rings! When the parcel arrived I was scared stiff that it might be more birds, because the smell in the living-room is atrocious
However, I don’t want to seem ungrateful for the beautiful rings
Your affectionate friend, Gobnait
Day Six
Nuala,
What are you trying to do to us? It isn’t that we don’t appreciate your generosity
But the six geese have not alone nearly murdered the calling birds
But they laid their eggs on top of the vet’s head
From the pear-tree and his bill was 68 in cash !
My mother is munching 60 grains of Valium a day
And talking to herself in a most alarming way
You must keep your feelings for me in check
Gobnait
Day Seven
Nuala,
We are not amused by your little joke
Seven swans-a-swimming is a most romantic idea but not in the bath of a private house
We cannot use the bathroom now because they’ve gone completely savage
And rush the door every time we try to enter
If things go on this way, the mother and I will smell as bad as the living-room carpet Please lay off It is not fair
Gobnait
Day Eight
Nuala,
Who the hell do you think gave you the right to send eight,
Hefty maids-a-milking here, to eat us out of house and home?
Their cattle are all over the front lawn
And have trampled the hell out of the mother’s rose-beds
The swans invaded the living-room in a sneak attack
And the ensuing battle between them and the calling birds,
Turtle doves, French hens and partridge make the battle
Of the Somme seem like Wanderly Wagon
The mother is on a bottle of whiskey a day, as well as the sixty grains of Valium
I’m very annoyed with you
Gobnait
Day Nine
Listen you looser!
There’s enough pandemonium in this place night and day without nine drummers drumming, while the eight flaming maids-a-milking are beating my poor, old alcoholic mother out of her own kitchen and gobbling everything in sight
I’m warning you, you’re making an enemy of me
Gobnait
Day Ten
Listen manure-face,
I hope you’ll be haunted by the strains of ten pipers piping
Which you sent to torment us last night
They were aided in their evil work by those maniac drummers
And it wasn’t a pleasant sight to look out the window
And see eight hefty maids-a-milking pogo-ing around with the ensuing punk-rock uproar
My mother has just finished her third bottle of whiskey,
On top of a hundred and twenty four grains of Valium
You’ll get yours!
Gobnait O’Lúnasa
Day Eleven
You have scandalized my mother, you dirty Jezebel,
It was bad enough to have eight maids-a-milking dancing to punk music on the front lawn but they’ve now been joined by your friends the eleven Lords-a-leaping
And the antics of the whole lot of them would leave
The most decadent days of the Roman Empire looking like Outlook
I’ll get you yet, you loud bag!
Day Twelve
Listen slurry head,
You have ruined our lives
The twelve maidens dancing turned up last night
And beat the living daylights out of the eight maids-a-milking,
‘Cause they found them carrying on with the eleven Lords-a-leaping
Meanwhile, the swans got out of the living-room,
Where they’d been hiding since the big battle,
And savaged hell out of the Lords and all the Maids
There were eight ambulances here last night, and the local Civil Defence as well
The mother is in a home for the bewildered
And I’m sitting here, up to my neck in birds’ droppings, empty whiskey
And Valium bottles, birds’ blood and feathers,
While the flaming cows eat the leaves off the pear-tree
I’m a broken man