Duddleston Cup

Ho! Listen gallant gentlemen,
Ho! Lend a kindly ear;
To how a gallant race was run
Full early in the year
To how the Cup of Duddleston
Was fought for and was won,
And how the people raised a roar
To see the way they scratched and tore
Before the deed was done!

Oh, every Fenman far and near
To see that race was fain:
And crowds that day to Littleport
Kept pouring in by train
From London town and country-side,
From Cambridge and from Lynn;
From Spalding, March and all the Fen
In hundreds-women-children-men-
That day were pouring in!

There, fathers with their children,
And husbands with their wives,
And lovers with their sweethearts gay
were skating for their lives.
And greybeards from the Fenland
The deeds of heroes sung,
And told how they had done the mile
In record time - without a smile
They told it to the young.

Big was the race of Duddleston,
A trophy rare to win;
And fourteen names were handled in-
One Palmer, of Prickwillow,
And Aveling, the fast;
That Aveling who held the cup,
Nor thought that day to give it up-
Though destined to be past!

And Tebbit came from Milton,
A 'skating' name he bore;
And Little hailed from Littleport
(A port without a shore!)
And Flanders, known throughout the Fen
A skater fast and strong;
And Ward, and Crisp, and other men,
E. Shepperton and speedy 'Ben',
that day had 'come along'!

And now against each other
With might and main they vie;
And Palmer soon had shot his belt
And anderson his die;
And than, alas, did Aveling,
Not fit to run the race,
Right manfully essay to run
To keep the 'Cup' that he had won,
And hold the premier place

And thousands watched the contest,
and thousands raised a cheer,
To see how pluckily he stuck
The hero of last year.
And thousands yelled for Tebbit,
Right glad to see him first;
And round the winning post and course
His friends had cheered till they were hoarse,
To see his final 'burst'!

Bu still the Cup of Duddleston
No man might call his own,
For Flanders, Tebbit, Ward, and Thorpe
All had their eyes on home!
And men sais to each other
How everyone had heard:
How Ward and Thorpe had showed their speed,
How Tebbit almost flew - at need,
And Flanders - like a bird.

And Ward ran hard his rival
The envied prize to earn,
And pressing on him all the way
He beat him at the turn.
And none were left but Tebbit,
And Thorpe by Brempton sent,
And what a cheer ran round the ring
To see them fly as on the wing,
Their high ambition lent.

Like arrow from the bow-string,
Like lightning from the cloud,
When Heaven's artillery flashes far,
And thunder crashed loud!
They speed them on their way,
And side by side and stride by stride,
Like phantoms of the night they glide,
Or heralds of the day!

From all that eager multitude
Scarce did a sound arise,
They watched the fortunes of the race
With all devouring eyes:
But in the straight for victory
They shouted with one mind;
When Tebbit came down like a flash,
With endless pluck and endless dash -
And Ben was just behind!

And so the Cup of Duddleston
And medal all of gold,
The honour and the premier place
This year shall Tebbit hold!
And Duddleston - Chicago -
Will hear the news with joy,
To see his trophy won by men
Who lived and skated on the Fen,
Where he was man and boy!