©words Ed Pickford

               If you turn second left at the High Street

Passed an old pub called ‘The Swan’

There’s a monument to my Uncle Albert

And though we’ve not many heroes – he was one

He wasn’t a chap prone to boasting

And he stood I’ll bet only five feet

But those five feet he covered in glory

As you’ll hear when his old comrades meet.

 

Chorus:

 There’s a stain on the floor of the barroom

 There’s a cap in a case by the door

 There’s a verse on a stone in a churchyard

 In memory of one who’s no more.

 

It was the time of the first Yankee moon man

I remember because there was racing from Catterick as well

And I’d backed the 6/4 favourite

And he led ‘til the moment he fell

That night was the championship darts match

The bar of the club was jammed full

We were playing at home in the final

And we started – being nearest the bull

The “Oo’s” and the “Ah’s” broke the silence

As both teams wrestled with might

A game to remember forever

By all – even those that were “tight”

Some favoured cardboard – some feathers

Some favoured heavy – some light

But all were experienced past masters

Of split second reckoning and flight

Then the nail that was holding the dartboard

Bent with a fearful creak

And there wasn’t another to replace it

Least not straight to hand so to speak

At last the club’s concert chairman

Renowned for his improvised wit

Says, “Put old Albert beneath it

With his height he’ll just about fit”

The company looked round at poor Albert

Then the secretary got right to the nub

Saying, “If he doesn’t the match with be forfeit

Come on Albert – for the honour of the club!”

Albert had no need of thinking

His blood rose to answer the call

As he jammed his head under the dart board

Crying, “For Queen, country and all!”

 

Chorus:

 

Not flinching, not moving, he stood there

Except once when he went “out the back”

The game flowed in our favour

The opposition was beginning to crack

All that was needed for victory

Was 5 and double 16

The 5 was obtained very easy

Then silence fell on the scene

The player squared up with his arrows

It was Sidney – Albert’s own son

Who’d played very well the whole evening

Until now – when something went wrong

Now it could have been all the excitement

Or some smoke that got in his eye

Or it could have been his new “wellies”

But he slipped just before he let fly

Albert stood stricken with horror

As he watched the on-coming dart

Then his teeth gnashed in pain

As it hit his gold chain

And ricocheted up through his heart.

 

Chorus:

 

Did he fall like a bird when it’s wounded?

 Did he cry out in the midst of his pain?

No! He spoke up in a whisper

“Come on son – finish the game”.

Albert’s blood dripped down his waistcoat

As Sidney took aim and then threw

Hitting double 16

Sweet, neat and clean

Though how he felt nobody knew

“Someone grab Albert,” cried the steward

“Keep him upright,” they all roared

“Hold him up by his armpits

If he falls he might damage the board!”

 

Chorus:

There’s a stain on the floor of the barroom

 There’s a cap in a case by the door

 There’s a verse on a stone in a churchyard

 In memory of one who’s no more.