Written by Erskin Quint
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Tags: Mail, post, singing

Wednesday, 24 February 2010

image for Singing Postman "Wasn't a Real Mail Man" Jed Thuckle yesterday: Rolf Harris "didn't have three legs"

Norfolk Novelty Singer Allan Smethurst - whose 1965 novelty hit Hev Yew Gotta Loight Boy? briefly outsold both the Beatles and The Rolling Stones - was a fake, it was claimed yesterday.

"Not many realise he'd given up his job by the time he got famous", Jed Thuckle, a retired rook-slaughterer from Diss, told me.

This shock revelation - made at Diss watering-hole The Scold's Bridle and Ducking-Stool yesterday lunchtime - was in itself a shattering blow to fans of 60s novelty acts. But Thuckle, 66, had more devastating secrets to vouchsafe.

"That Singing Nun - she were no proper Catholic. She believed in birth control and thought the Beatles was bigger than Jesus. Singing Groupie more like.

"An' yon Whistlin' Jack Smith, wi' his I Was Kaiser Bill's Batman record - do you know he worked on the Black and White Minstrel Show? So he can't have been the Kaiser's batman. Them Huns couldn't abide that kind o' carry-on - look at old Hitler.

"They's been takin' us all for fools, boy", Thuckle mused, and that seemed to be all he had to offer, for he lapsed into a morose silence for a long interval, staring at his empty glass and the stuffed badger above the ancient inglenook with its caudron of still-live simmering eels.

All I could hear for an eerie couple of minutes was Thuckle's laboured breathing and the low murmur of discontented farmers. But Thuckle perked up when I bought him another gallon of rough Norfolk ale, and he soon had me agog with further myth-busting outbursts.

"Tiny Tim we all know about - he were a right big fat bugger, an' his name were bleedin' Herbert fer bugger's sake. An' I always hated bloody skiffle - a's not real music, is 'a? This little cunt Lonnie Donegan. Why, 'is old Dad were no dustman, for all 'e may sing My Old Man's a Dustman. Bollocks to yon. Old Donegan never lifted a bin in 'is life, an' I should know, wi' thirty year on the muck carts down Pimstead way."

And I was sent reeling by the next bombshell. "This Cher baggage. Filthy piece. Now 'er old man was a kind of Turk what was a truck driver, an' her ma was a Red Indian. So all this Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves shenanigans is just pig-swill.

"An' they black fellers that sang Papa Was a Rollin' Stone. Who they tryin' to con, eh? They never was no black man in the Rollin' Stones. Any cunt can see that, eh?

"Them Rollin' Stones was just a load of white fucken poncey arse cockneys pretendin' ter be black anyways.

"Rolf fuckern Harris - 'e didn't never 'ave any three legs neither. It's all soddern lies it is", yelled my friend, as he fell off his bar stool into the cauldron of now mostly-dead eels furiously boiling by the ancient inglenook.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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