By  Exile


,Now ye’ couldnae tell a tale about Stanley,

And no mention the eleven o’clock bus,

And the potential there was for trouble,

Once it had arrived at  ‘The Cross’


At ten past eleven on a Saturday night,

The last bus from Perth would appear,

With a cargo o’ passengers rich in character,

Wha’ invariably had far too much beer,


You could imagine the state o’ their bladders,

As they piled through the Fish ‘n Chip door,

Anxious faces confronted the Curas,

Who’d been quiet for an hour or more,


It was part of the routine of Stanley,

The highlight of Angelo’s week,

For without the eleven o’clock bus folk,

The prospect for the weekend was bleak,


It was important that this went like clockwork,

The customers were on their way hame,

If it wasnae a slick operation,

Angelo Cura would get a’ the blame,


So, old Margaret would take a’ the orders,

Young Mary would portion and wrap,

While Angelo would fry at the chip pan,

And listen to everyones’ crap,


This night Tot Smith was there queueing,

Clutching ‘Allsorts’ he’d bought for his Mum,

When he took a dislike to the Curas,

Rumour had it ‘he’d far too much rum’,


He shouldnae really have done it,

Angelo wasnae that bad an auld soul,

When the liquorice allsorts hit the chip pan,

The fat turned  blacker than coal,


No he shouldnae’ really have done it,

Angelo Cura was a respected, kind man,

But I can see it as if in slow motion,

Liquorice Allsorts heading straight for the pan,


You couldnae’ imagine what followed,

Young Tot ran like Hell for his life,

A riot ensued in the chip shop,

Poor Angelo was consoled by his wife,


Auld Margaret, she got on her high horse,

said “Whatever’s got into that man?”

And she couldnae believe her own eyesight,

As their ‘Sputnik’ was thrown in the pan


Young Mary, she went off her rocker,

“Whatever got into that prat”,

And the chip pan was bubbling and spitting,

As it signalled the end of their cat,


Angelo Cura then called them all “Bastards”,

“That cat never did any harm,

It just sat up there on the counter,

And even farted to keep your chips warm”,


They nodded each one in agreement,

They knew the cat did them a favour,

Not only did it keep all the chips warm,

It imparted a wonderful flavour,


Angry men, now who couldnae get supper,

Were beginning to talk of a fight,

What was wrong wae’ that stupid auld ‘Tally’,

Was there nae maer frying tonight?


Could they no just put some more chips on?

The liquorice might flavour the fat,

“Can ye no just sell me a bobs worth o’ chips?

And wrap them up wae the cat”,


Well that was the last straw for Margaret,           

 It just seemed as though nothing else mattered,

When a voice said to Mary”Don’t wrap up the cat, 

for I see that it hasnae been battered”,


Now Angelo turned fair ashen,

Looked as though he was going to expire,

When ‘Plewshong’ shot past at a hell o’ a rate,

And wae a splash landed up in the fryer,


Well this may have silenced the Curas,

But it only encouraged the ‘Voice’,

“If you’ve got nae cod or black puddings,

I’d better have cat and chips twice’,


“I’m closing the chip shop this second,

I want you all out of my sight,

I’m going to move out of the village,

I can’t take any more of your shite”,


And that’s how it was with the Curas,

The last words they spoke were as thus,

 And one thing’s for sure, it’s not the same anymore,

 when you get off the eleven o’clock bus.


The lads thought that this was terrific,

It was much better fun than a fight,

To a man, one thing you could bet on,

 they would be there next Saturday night,


Now it couldnae at all have been Tot’s fault,

He was after all one of us,

“There was never a more sober person,

Got off the eleven o’clock bus”,


COPYRIGHT – Calluna Publishing