red faces in the park

Finchley Fair had asked
for a contribution from the circus
so a bunch of us piled in a van
we were only down the road

that morning a Minister
after an anti-German rant
had been forced to resign

guessing the iron lady
might put in an appearance
Finchley being Thatcher’s constituency
we learned the tune
to the beautiful old hymn
“Deutschland Deutschland
uber alles”
they changed the words now

I was on trumpet
and could only just about
hold the tune
the sax and trombone
were real proper pros
and did all the glorious harmonies

when we got there
dotted about
were heavy set guys in suits
with earpieces
sharp haircuts
and bulges under their arms
“Thatcher’s coming isn’t she?”
but they wouldn’t answer

ten minutes later
suddenly there she was
a surreal pantomime dame
she rocketed around in a circuit
surrounded by heavies
so
1, 2, 3, 4
we played the tune

a local guy leaned over
and bonked the end of my trumpet
loosening my front teeth
moments later she was gone

the Sun reporter was beside himself
delirious with joy
hopping from foot to foot
he took our details
and sure enough
the next day
in that apalling rag
“Red Faces in the Park”
a tiny article appeared
“Cheeky clowns
embarrassed the premier
after Ridley’s resignation”

a bruised lip
was a very small price
for such a deep satisfaction