While The Billy BoilsSearchI am sitting in the stalls —Evening dress and all the rest —Where the scented knutlet sprawlsWith the flapper faintly drest,Swishing skirts and billowy blouse,Figures fat and figures lean,Powdered necks and pencilled brows,Smart coiffures and brilliantine.Yet, amid this modern joy,Where the stars in splendour spin,I am once again a boy —Nickin’ in!
In our mellow middle-ageOn the years propelling pow’rs,Swing we back unto the stageOf our happy boyhood’s hours.We are staring, eager-eyedAt the placards of the past —“The Bandit and His Bride,”“The Murder on the Mast.”Thou a whip-stick they’d employAnd our knicker-seats were thin,There was double-barrelled joy —Nickin’ in!
“Peanuts, apples, lemonade!”Yelled the gallery man of oldWhile his aitches round were sprayedAs the bob-a-nob he strolled.Pelting patrons in the stallsWith a nut we couldn’t crack,Swopping cheeky catawaulsWith the urchin round the back;Spiking many a pig-tailed ChowWith a programme and a pin,It was better then than now —Nickin’ in!
Byways dark in little BourkeLanes familiar to a few;Every dodge and every lurkIn our urchinhood we knew:Portals where we’d cautious creepAs a printer’s boy or page;Past the Cer’brus half asleepTo the splendourland of Stage.Unmolested in the mazeOf the play’s dramatic din,They were happy, halcyon days —Nickin’ in!
Come we now in motor cars.When the overture begins.A jazz-band’s broken bars,Assaulted drums and tins.But the playhouse holds no joy.The circus has no tricksThat brightened up the boyWho nutted in for nix.It was dash between his legs,And the speediest would win!Existence had no dregs —Nickin’ in!
Operas come and operas go;Concerts, comedies, revues;Farces ebb and farces flow,Pantos score and pantos lose;But our half-a-guinea seat,Or whatever funds afford,Isn’t half as snug and sweet,As our boyhood gall’ry board;And when someone threw a smile,When we gave a sprat a spin,Life was really worth the while —Nickin’ in!