Cautionary Tales Reimagined
A Create Lab Production
Cautionary Tales Reimagined
Cautionary Tales Reimagined Year 1 Publishing students Create Lab
Contents Contributors 10 Introduction 13
Cautionary Tales *a newly-created tale Jim, Who ran away from his Nurse, and was eaten by a Lion
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Rebecca, Who slammed Doors for Fun and Perished Miserably
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Matilda, Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death
27
Jack and his Pony
31
Tom and his Pony
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Jack and his Pony, Tom
43
Chloe Delevar with hair as Blonde as Gold*
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Godolphin Home, Who was cursed with the Sin of Pride, and Became a Boot –Black
51
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Charles Augustus Fortescue, Who always Did what was Right, and so accumulated an Immense Fortune
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About John, Who lost a Fortune by Throwing Stones
63
Henry King, Who chewed bits of String, and was early cut off in Dreadful Agonies
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Lord Trump*
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Algernon, Who played with a Loaded Gun, and, on missing his Sister, was reprimanded by his Father
79
Aunt Jane
83
Franklin Hyde, Who caroused in the Dirt and was corrected by His Uncle
89
Hildebrand, Who was frightened by a Passing Motor, and was brought to Reason
93
Olivia, Where’s the Cake?*
97
Maria, Who made Faces and a Deplorable Marriage
101
Georgie, Whose Screen time caused a Catastrophe of considerable Damage*
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Sarah Byng, Who could not read and was tossed into a thorny hedge by a Bull
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The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts The Dromedary
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The Yak
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The Polar Bear
121
The Hippopotamus
122
The Lion
123
The Camel
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The Tiger
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The Whale
126
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Contributors JoshuaAdams
Natalie Fabian
Aida Alvarez Peinado
Hanna Glover
Emma Atkins
Natasha Greenslade
Jennifer Bailey
Andie Griffin
Georgia Beaumont
Faye Griffiths
Charlotte Bessant
Lucy Guinea
Lauren Clark
Connor Hale
George-Rose Cox
Megan Harrington
Helen Dicker
Heather Hitchings
Savannah Dowling
Paulina Horvathova
Heather Dunn
Amelia Hunt
Ryan Elliott
Nicole Jarram
Ella Elliott
Shania Jones
Lucy Ellis
Jonah Kensett
Georgia Ellis
Victoria Knight
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Jessica Lazenby-Murphy
Charlee Rowe
Katherine Marshall
Benjamin Sanders
Megan Miller
Brittany Schofield
Holly Moberley
Hannah Shilling
Sarah Morey
Jessica Silvester-Yeo
Finlay Naylor
Robyn Smith
Lilian O’Gorman
Cerys Smith
Emmony Pearce
Emma Stewart-Oram
Sophie Percival
Gabrielle Stocker
Emily Pinfold
Daniel Sturgeon
Everita Praskevica
Isobel Tupman
Naomi Reed
Megan Turner
Phoebe Ridgway
Emily Whitehead
Tesni Roberts
Abigail Wilson
Billy Ross
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Introduction Hilaire Belloc’s bestselling Cautionary Tales: Designed for the Admonition of Children between the ages of eight and fourteen years was first published in 1907 by Eveleigh Nash with illustrations by Belloc’s friend, Basil Blackwood. The book became a fixture of many 20th-century English childhoods – designed to be read aloud with both gusto and menace – and it has never been out of print. These lighthearted verses warned misbehaving children of the sticky end that awaited them if they didn’t change their terrible ways. Belloc parodied the many Victorian advice books aimed at the upper classes and the upwardly-mobile. Once resonant with the hands-off parenting culture of the time, they are now rather dated and we were not sure how they would be received by sixty 18-20 year-old first-year Publishing students. In the event, their appeal has endured. Students were curious and intrigued by these illustrated, blunt warnings about moral and behavioural misdemeanours and their, often grisly, consequences. Cautionary Tales (with Belloc’s other classic, The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts) was set as a one-day challenge for first years taking our Create Lab module. I developed this module, with the input of third-year students, four year’s ago to encourage different behaviours and approaches to learning and creative practice, such as taking responsibility for your own work and understanding your role in a collaborative working. It has proved to be very successful in encouraging experimentation and creative risk-taking – and in building the confidence of students transitioning from the prescriptive exam work in schools to independent, selfdirected work expected at university. Careful planning and preparation ensures a smooth-running day and concise but
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informative materials are available for all students. This is collaboratively taught by all Publishing lecturers along with specialist technical staff. From Jane Austen and Famous Five novels to the iconic 1960’s Ladybird books, publishers are continually mining the backlist to revive and reimagine classic texts to create new audiences and income. This is a key approach to publishing and a beneficial learning experience at the start of the degree programme. Students gathered in the Publishing Lab, Bath Spa University at 9.30am one morning and were given their challenge.
Commissioning editor challenge •
You’ve started a new job as an editorial assistant in a publishing company. Your boss has left an old edition of Hilaire Belloc’s Cautionary Tales on your desk with a note asking you to create a new edition suitable for 21st-century readers. This is called repackaging the backlist.
•
Working in pairs, you will reimagine and develop one of the tales into page spreads for a new A5 book.
•
Make decisions about sensitivity editing and updating.
•
You have total creative freedom regarding font choices, making new fonts and images for your tale.
•
You can rewrite and edit the original texts or create a wholly new tale for the 21st century.
Katharine Reeve, Publishing Subject Leader and module coordinator for Create Lab
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Cautionary Tales Reimagined
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JIM
Who Ran Away From His Nurse and Got E aten by a L ion...
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T here was a Boy whose name was Jim;
His Friends were very good to him. They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam, And slices of delicious Ham, And Chocolate with pink inside, And little bikes to ride, And read him Stories through and through, They even took him to the Zoo— But there it was the dreadful Fate And to save him, all were far too late. You know—at least you ought to know. For I have often told you so— That Children never are allowed To leave their Carer in a Crowd; Now this was Jim’s great mistake, A risk that he regretted to take, For on this ill-fated day, He let go his hand and ran away. He hadn’t gone far when—Bang! With open Jaws, a Lion sprang,
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And hungrily began to eat The Boy: starting with his feet. Now just imagine how it feels first your toes and then your heels, Your shins, ankles, calves and knees, Are all slowly eaten up with ease. No wonder that Jim screamed “Help!” The zoo keeper heard his cry, Though unfit he ran To help the little gentleman. “Ponto!” he ordered as he came (For Ponto was the Lion’s name), “Ponto!” he cried, with angry Frown. “Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!”
The Lion made a sudden Stop, He let poor Jim drop, And slunk reluctant to his Cage, Snarling with Disappointed Rage But when he bent him over Jim, The zookeeper’s eyes were dim. The Lion having reached his Head,
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The Miserable Boy was dead! When the carer informed his Parents, they Were more Concerned than I can say:— His Mother, as She dried her eyes, Said, “Well—it gives me no surprise, He would not do as he was told!” His Father, who was self-controlled, Made all the children round attend To Jim’s miserable end, And always keep ahold of your carer For fear of finding something scarier.
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R
EBECCA,
WHO SLAMMED DOORS FOR FUN AND PERISHED MISERABLY
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Scorns doors. Slamming
A trick that everyone in little kids is A wealthy banker’s
little daughter who lived in Palace Green, Bayswater
Rebecca Offendort)
(by name was given to this
noisy
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sport.
She would deliberately go and
slam the door like
Hey, whoa! to make her Uncle Jacob start.
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She was not
really
bad at heart,
but only rather
r u d e
and
w i l d
:
she was an aggravating child‌
It happened that a
heavy clock
which told the time was gently propped above the door this
Madame
had deviously prepared to slam, and down it came! It knocked her flat!
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It laid her out! She looked like that.
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Her funeral service (which was long and followed by a tearful song) mentioned her virtues, it is true, but touched upon her flaws, too, and showed the dreadful end of one who goes and slams the door for fun.
The children who were bought to hear the tragic tale from far and near, were much distressed and swore they never more would slam the door as they often had done before.
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Matilda, who Told Lies, and was Burned to Death
Matilda told such dreadful lies, It made one gasp and one’s eyes;
stretch
Her Aunt, who, from her earliest youth, Had kept a strict regard for truth, In an attempt to believe Matilda The effort very nearly killed her, And would have done so, had not she Discovered this infirmity.
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For once, towards the close of day, Matilda, growing tired of play, And finding she was left alone, Went tiptoe to the telephone And summoned the immediate aid Of London’s noble fire-brigade. Within an hour the gallant band Were pouring in on every hand, From Putney, Hackney Downs and Bow, With courage high and hearts a-glow. They galloped, roaring through the town,
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Inspired by British cheers and loud Proceeding from the frenzied crowd, They ran their ladders through a score Of windows on the ballroom floor; And took peculiar pains to souse The pictures up and down the house, Until Matilda’s Aunt succeeded In showing them they were not needed And even then she had to pay
It happened that a few weeks later Her Aunt was off to the theatre To see that interesting play The Second Mrs Tanqueray. She had refused to take her niece To hear this entertaining piece: A deprivation just and wise To punish her for telling lies.
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That night a
fire did break out—
You should have heard Matilda shout! You should have heard her scream and bawl, And throw the window up and call To people passing in the street— Who could not feel increasing heat Encouraged her to obtain, Their confidence—but all in vain! For every time she shouted
Fire!
They only answered
And therefore when her Aunt returned, Matilda, and the house, were
burned.
Jack and his Pony Isobel Tupman & Tesni Roberts
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Jack had a little pony – Tom;
He frequently would take him from The stable where he used to stand
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And give him sugar with his hand. He also gave him oats and hay And carrots twenty times a day
And grass in basketfuls, and greens, And swedes and sprouts also beans
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And heaps of food from various sources And bread (which isn’t good for horses)
And chocolate and party rings And lots and lots of other things The most of which do not agree With little ponies such as he. Because he swelled 34
and swelled
and swelled.
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Jack gave him medicine by the pail And malted milk, and nutmeg ale, And yet it only swelled him more Until his stomach touched the floor,
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And then he heaved and groaned as well And staggered, till at last he fell And found he could not rise again. Jack wept and prayed – but all in vain
The pony died, and as it died Kicked him severely in the side.
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Moral: Kindness to animals should be Attuned to their needs.
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Hilaire Belloc’s TOM AND HIS PONY
T
om had a little pony, Jack: He vaulted lightly on its back
And galloped off for miles and miles, A-leaping hedges, gates and stiles, And shouting “Yoicks!” and “Tally-Ho!” And “Heads I win!” and “Tails below!” And many another sporting phrase. He rode like this for several days, Until the pony, feeling tired, Collapsed, looked heavenward and expired. His father made a fearful row. He said “By Gum, you've done it now ! Here lies a carcase on the ground No less than five and twenty pound!” Indeed the value of the beast Would probably have much increased.
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His teeth were false; and all were told That he was only four years old. “Oh! Curse it all! I tell you plain I'll never let you ride again.�
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MORAL His father died when he was twenty And left: three horses, which is plenty.
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Jack and his Pony, Tom Jack had a little pony — Tom; He frequently would take it from The stable where it used to stand And give it sugar with his hand. He also gave it oats and hay And carrots twenty times a day And grass in basketfuls, and greens, And swedes and turnips also beans And patent foods from various sources And bread (which isn’t good for horses)
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And chocolate and apple-rings
And lots and lots of other things The most of which do not agree With Polo Ponies such as he. And all in such a quantity As ruined his digestion wholly And turned him from a Ponopoly — I mean a Polo Pony — into A case that clearly must be seen to.
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Because he swelled and swelled and swelled. Which, when the kindly boy beheld, He gave him medicine by the pail And malted milk, and nutmeg ale, And yet it only swelled the more Until its stomach touched the floor,
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And then it heaved and groaned as well And staggered, till at last it fell And found it could not rise again. Jack wept and prayed — but all in vain. The pony died, and as it died Kicked him severely in the side.
MORAL Kindness to animals should be Attuned to their brutality.
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Chloe Delevar 47
Chloe Delavar, a girl of nine years old, Had hair as blonde as gold.
Gossiped like a galute gobbled. Never tried to interact, With classmates of a lower tact.
Tongue as swift as a silver fox, Never stayed inside her box. Nor showed sufficient intellect, She failed in one severe defect.
It seems she wholly lacked an understanding That money was not withstanding. Every day she’d be screaming.
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‘Mummy! Mummy! I must be dreaming’ ‘How can I not have had this yet?!’ ‘I’ve been wanting it since I last slept!’
Her toys deliberately ran through her hands, Like water through the ocean sands By the most tragic mischance, An only child’s extravagance.
Such conduct could not but affect Her mother’s fortune, swiftly wrecked. She wrung her hands, exclaiming, ‘There is no money now remaining!’
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‘Please stop your screaming!’ She did cry. She spoke the truth, the bank had run dry.
She had to sell the house and grounds, Chole’s belongings were out of bounds. And so her mother watched dismayed, Her frame willowy and frayed.
As her daughter continued to demand, But no longer could they afford to live so grand.
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Godolphin Horne, Who was Cursed with the Sin of Pride, and Became a Boot-Black
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Godolphin Horne was nobly born; He held the human race in scorn, And lived with all his sisters where His father lived, in Berkeley Square.
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And oh! the lad was deathly proud! He never shook your hand or bowed, But merely smirked and nodded instead: It made all the nobles’ faces red. Alas! How could such rude tricks Flourish in a child of six?
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(For such was young Godolphin’s age). Just then, the Court required a page And so the Lord High Chamberlain (The kindest and the best of men), He went good-naturedly and took A perfectly enormous book Called
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And murmured, as he scanned the list (To see that no one should be missed), ‘There’s William Coutts has got the flu, And Billy Higgs would never do, And Guy de Vere is far too young, And D’Alton has too sharp a tongue, And as for Alexander Byng!—. . .
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I think I know the kind of thing, A churchman, cleanly, nobly born, Come let us say Godolphin Horne?’ But hardly had he said the word When great arguments were heard.
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The King of Iceland’s Said, ëNever! I am
taking none!í The aged Duchess of Athlone Remarked, in her acidic tone,
ëI doubt if is what we
he need!í
With which bishops all
the agreed;
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eldest son
And even Lady Mary Flood (So kind, and oh! so really good) Said, ëNo! He wouldnít do at
all, Heíd make us feel a lot too small.í The Chamberlain said, ‘ . . . Well, well, well! No doubt you’re right . . . one cannot tell!’ He took his gold and diamond pen And scratched Godolphin out again. So now Godolphin is the boy Who blacks the boots at the Savoy.
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Charles Augustus Fortescue
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About Charles Augustus Fortescue I have some things I should tell you He always ate his carrots and peas He rarely fell and scraped his knees At school he was top of his class He spoke in language never crass He seldom shouted, he hardly cried He scarcely made excuses or lied A tantrum he had never had Because Charles August was never bad Â
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But heed my warning here and now, Charles Augustus changed – here’s how: By day an angel but by night Charles Augustus was a blight His goodness as a child had Convinced him he could do no bad He came to riches as he grew Because he married a lady who Smelt rather gross but was his beau Because her father was CEO Of Tinder, which is where they met One swipe right and Charles was set
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The moral of this story is this: You can secure lifelong bliss If as a child you are good Do not fight, do as you should Go with the flow and you will see It’s easy to live happily If you are clever and cunning and sly But do no harm, you’ll get by Eat your peas, your carrots too And life will be kind to you We hope to have shown you what you might Become by simply swiping right
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About John, Who lost a Fortune by Throwing Stones
J
ohn Vavassour De Quentin Jones Was very fond of throwing stones At Horses, People, Passing Trains, But ‘specially at Window- panes. Like many of the Upper Class He liked the Sound of Broken Glass It bucked him up and made him glad: It was the most fun he’d ever had. But the Amusement cost him dear, My children, as you now shall hear.
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John Vavassour De Quentin had An uncle, who adored the lad: And often chuckled; “Wait until
You see what’s left to you in my will !” Nor were the words without import, Because this uncle did a sort Of something in the City, which Had made him fabulously Rich, (Unlike John’s papa, Mitch.) He had a lot of stocks and shares And half a street in Buenos Aires A bank in Rio, and a line Of Yachts to the Argentine. And options more than I can tell, And bits of Canada as well; He even had a mortgage on The House inhabited by John. His will, the cause of all the fuss, Was carefully indited thus: “This is the last and solemn Will Of Uncle William— known as Bill. I do devise and give By Execution Mandative The whole amount of what I’ve got
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(It comes to a tremendous lot!) To bestow upon My well-beloved nephew John. (And here the witnesses will sign Their names upon the dotted line.) Such was the Legal Instrument Expressing Uncle Bill’s intent. As time went on declining Health Transformed this Man of Wealth; And it was excellently clear That Uncle Bill’s demise was near... At last his sole idea of fun Was sitting snoozling in the sun. So once, when he would take the air, They wheeled him in his Patent Chair (By “They,” I mean his Nurse, who came From Dagenham: Miss Charming was the Nurse’s name). To where beside a little wood A long-abandoned green-house stood, And there he sank into a doze Of senile and inept repose. But not for long his drowsy ease!
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A stone came whizzing through the trees, And caught him smartly in the eye. He woke with an appalling cry, And shrieked in agonizing tones: “Oh! Lord! Whoever’s throwing stones !” Miss Charming, who was standing near, Said: “That was Master John, I fear !” “Go, get my Fountain pen and paper, as well as my Famous Will.” Miss Charming flew as though on w i n g s To fetch these necessary things, And Uncle William ran his pen Through “well-beloved John,” and then Proceeded, in the place of same, To substitute Miss Charming’s name: Who now resides in Kensington Square And is accepted everywhere.
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Henry King WHO CHEWED BITS OF STRING, AND WAS EARLY CUT OFF IN DREADFUL AGONIES
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THE CHIEF DEFECT OF HENRY KING WAS CHEWING LITTLE BITS OF STRING.
AT LAST HE SWALLOWED SOME WHICH TIED ITSELF IN UGLY KNOTS INSIDE.
DOCTORS WHO WERE HIGHLY TRAINED ALL CALLED AT ONCE; BUT WHEN THEY CAME
THEY POKED, PRODDED AND AGREED, “THERE IS NO CURE FOR THIS DISEASE. HENRY WILL VERY SOON BE DEAD.” HIS PARENTS STOOD ABOUT HIS BED
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LAMENTING HIS UNTIMELY DEATH, WHEN HENRY, WITH HIS LATEST BREATH, CRIED –
“OH, MY FRIENDS, BE WARNED BY ME, THAT BREAKFAST, DINNER, LUNCH AND TEA ARE ALL THE HUMAN FRAME REQUIRES…”
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With that the wretched child
expires.
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Lord TRump A Cautionary Tale
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Lord Trump from his earliest years Was far too freely causing tears. For instance if his Mother said,
“Trump! It’s time to go to Bed!” He bellowed like a spoilt brat. Or if his father Lord Business Rat Said “Hi!” in a Commanding Tone, “Hi, Trump! Leave the dolls alone!” Lord Trump, letting go its hair, Would raise up so terrible his despair As moved His Grandpapa the Duke To utter the severe rebuke: “When I, Sir! was a little Boy, A woman was not a Toy!”
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His father’s Elder Sister, who had privileged roots like him too, Confided to Her Husband,
“Drat! The Miserable, Peevish Prat! Why don’t they drown the Little Beast?” Suggestions which, to say the least, Are not what we expect to hear From Daughters of a Yankee Peer. His Grandmamma, His Mother’s Mother, Who had some dignity or other, The Party, or no matter what, I can’t remember all the Lot! Said “Oh! That I were Brisk and nimble To give him that for which to tremble!” (An empty wish, alas! For she Was Blind and nearly ninety-three).
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The Dear Old Butler thought-but there! Trump really neither knew nor cared For what the Dear Old Butler thought! In Trump’s opinion, Butlers ought To know their place, and not to play
“poor old man”night
The
and day.
I’m getting tired and so are you, Let’s cut the poem into two!
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It happened to Lord Trump then, As happens to so little men: Towards the age of seventy, He shoved his way into politics; In which profession he commanded The Income that his rank demanded In turn as President of The Unites States, the far right, and the Wall. But very soon his friends began To doubt if he were quite the man: Thus if a member rose to say (As members do from day to day),
“That’s fake news, why must you lie!” So Lord Trump would begin to cry. A Hint at diversity inclusive jobs Would shake him with convulsive sobs. While as for the LGBT, these Would bring him to his knees, And leave him whimpering like a child. It drove his colleagues raving wild! They let him sink from Post to Post, From fifteen hundred at the most To eight, and barely six--and then To face his rival Clinton!. . . And finally there came a Threat To oust him from the Cabinet!
The Duke -- his aged grand-sire -- bore The shame till he could bear no more. He rallied his declining powers, Summoned the youth to Trump Towers, And bitterly addressed him thus-“Sir! you have disappointed us! We had intended you to be The next president but three: The stocks were sold; the Press was squared:
The Middle Class was quite prepared.
But as it is! . . . In shit we’re mired It’s our turn to say YOU’RE FIRED!” The Aged Patriot groaned and died: And gracious! how Lord Trump did lie!
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Algernon
Who played with a loaded gun, and, on missing his sister was reprimanded by his father. Young Algernon, the Doctor’s Son, Was playing with a Loaded Gun.
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He pointed it towards his sister, Aimed very carefully,
But
Missed Her!
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His Father, who was standing near,
The Loud
Explosion chanced to Hear,
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And reprimanded Algernon For playing with a Loaded Gun...
Aunt Jane ‘Mamma’ said Amanda, ‘I want to know what Our relatives mean when they say That Aunt Jane is a Gorgon who ought to be shot, Or at any rate taken away.
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Pray what is a Gorgon and why do you shoot It? Or are its advances refused? Or is it perhaps a maleficent Brute? I protest I am wholly bemused.’
‘The Term’ said her Mother, ‘is certain to pain, And is quite inexcusably rude. Moreover Aunt Jane, though uncommonly plain, Is also uncommonly shrewd.
She provides information without hesitation, For people unwilling to learn And often bestows good advice upon those Who give her no thanks in return.
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She is down before anyone’s up in the placeThat is, up before anyone’s down. Her Domestics are awed by the shape of her face And they tremble with fear at her frown.
Her visiting list is of Clergymen who Have reached a respectable age, And she pays her companion Miss Angela Drew A sufficient and regular wage.
Her fortune is large, though we often remark On a modesty rare in the rich; For her nearest and dearest are quite in the dark As to what she will leave, or to which.
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Her conduct has ever been totally free From censorious whispers of ill,
At any rate, since 1903And probably earlier still.
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Your Father’s dear sister presents in a word, A model for all of her sex, With a firmness of will that is never deterred, And a confidence nothing can vex. So in future remember to turn a deaf ear To detraction- and now run away To your brothers and sisters whose laughter I hear In the garden below us at play.’ ‘Oh, thank you, Mamma!’ said Amanda at that, And ran off to the innocent band Who were merrily burying Thomas the Cat Right up to his neck in the sand.
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FRANKLIN HYDE, Who reveled in the Dirt and was corrected by His Uncle.
His Uncle drew near Franklin Hyde Reveling in the Dirt. He Shook him hard from Side to Side And
Hit him till it Hurt, Exclaiming, with a wFinal Thud,
“Take that! Immoral Boy! For Playing with Disgusting Mud As though it were a Toy!”
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MORAL From Franklin Hyde’s adventure, learn To pass your Leisure Time In Cheery Cleanliness, and turn From Mud and Ooze and Slime And every form of Nastiness--
But, on the other Hand, Children in ordinary Dress May always play with
Sand.
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Hildebrand, Who frightened by the neighbour’s dog, was brought to reason. “Oh, dear! What was that, Mum?
I thought he was going to my arm!’’
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bite
off
‘’Well, that was just a dog. The most faithful companion! Designed to amuse and charm
Much rather than to rouse
alarm.’’
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‘’What would your father do?
Who is a general in our
great army.
And lost a leg at the Falklands War, And The Gulf War and Iraq too’’
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‘’What would he have remarked to hear his young son
shriek with fear,
because he happened to be near, A harmless, playful hound!
But do not worry! Let’s go! We are off to the shelter, To give a
puppy a home!’’
OLIVIA… WHERE’S THE CAKE?!
Birthdays come but once a year, but as the days kept creeping near Little Olivia began to fear That no one would be there to hoot, or cheer! The table was ready, the places were set. Mum was frantic, covered in sweat, To make sure Little Olivia’s needs were met. Or there’d surely be trouble before sunset…
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There were
and , jelly and cream,
sausage rolls- more than in your wildest dreams! Cheese finger sandwiches and corn freshly
POPPED!
And skewers with tomato, and cucumber topped.
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But one thing is missing! Oh no! Who on earth would take A delicious chocolatey treat that took so long to bake?! “Olivia!” Mum cried, and a step she would take, “Where have you run off to, for goodness’ sake?” Mum followed the crumbs that scattered the floor, Until there were none to follow any more, She lifted the table cloth, and just what she saw, Made Mum let out an enormous roar. 99
But under the table, her shoulders a shake, Was Little Olivia, stuffing her face with cake!
“I’m sorry Mum, I was just so afraid, that no one would see the table you laid!” And just like that, the door-bell rang, And Mum threw open the door with a “We’re here for Liv’s party!” WHACK and a BANG squeaked the boy at the front. “Well, she’s not been very good.” Mum said, very blunt. “But why?” he complained, with means to confront. Mum sighed, “She pulled a SELFISH, GREEDY and HORRIBLE stunt!”
They shuffled away, their heads hung low, For back home with their parents they must go. Mum closed the door, calm and slow, And left Little Olivia, sitting guilty and alone. 100
Maria, Who Made Faces and A Deplorable Marriage
Maria loved to pull a face:
And no such usual grimace As you or I or anyone Might make at grandma for fun. But one where nose and mouth and all Were screwed into a kind of ball, The which— as you may well expectProduced a
horrible effect
On those it was directed at.
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One morning she was struck like that! Her features took their final hold
blood
In shapes that made your run cold And wholly lost their former charm. Mamma, in agonised alarm, Consulted a renowned Masseuse —An old and valued friend of hers-
Who rubbed the wretched child for days In five and twenty different ways And after that began again. But all in vain! — But all in vain!
The years advance: Maria grows Into a Blooming English Rose— With every talent, every grace (Save in this trifle of the face). She sang, recited, laughed and played At all that an accomplished maid Should play with skill to be of note — Golf, the Piano, and the Goat; She talked in French till all was blue And knew a little German too. She told the tales that soldiers tell, She also danced extremely well, Her wit was pointed, loud and raw, She shone at laying down the law, She drank liqueurs instead of tea,
Her verse was admirably free And quoted in the latest books — But people couldn’t stand her looks. Her parents had with thoughtful care Proclaimed her genius everywhere, Nor quite concealed a wealth which sounds Enormous — thirty million pounds —
And further whispered it that she Could deal with it exclusively. They did not hide her chief defect, But what with birth and intellect And breeding and such ample means, And still in her delightful ‘teens, A girl like our Maria (they thought) Should make the kind of match she ought. Those who had seen her here at home Might hesitate : but Paris ? Rome ? . . . — The foreigners should take the
bait.
And so they did. At any rate, The greatest men of every land
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Arrived in shoals to seek her hand, Grand Dukes, Commanders of the Fleece, Mysterious Millionaires from Greece, And exiled Kings in large amounts, Ambassadors and Papal Counts, And Rastaqou&res from Palamerez And Famous Foreign Secretaries, They came along in turns to call But all — without exception, all — Though with determination set,
Yet, when they actually met, Would start convulsively as though They had received a sudden blow, And mumbling a discreet good-day Would shuffle, turn and slink away, The upshot of it was Maria Was married to a neighbouring Squire Who, being blind, could never guess His wife’s appalling ugliness. The man was independent, dull,
Offensive, poor and masterful. It was a very dreadful thing ! . . . Now let us turn to Sarah Byng.
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GEORGIE Whose screen time caused a catastrophe of considerable damage
When
Georgie’s That
nan was told
Georgie
had been as good as
GOLD,
She promised in the afternoon To give her some screen time soon. 105
And so she did; but when screen time came, Georgie knocked into the candle flame. The candle tumbled into cans Of hairspray owned by Georgie’s nan And being of a dangerous sort
Exploded with a loud report!
!
The lights went out! The windows broke The room was filled with reeking smoke. And in the darkness shrieks and yells Were mingled with electric bells, And falling masonry and groans, And crunching, as of broken bones, And dreadful shrieks, when, worst of all,
THE HOUSE ITSELF BEGAN TO FALL! 106
It tottered, shuddering to and fro, Then crashed into the street belowWhich happened to be
Chestnut Row.
When help arrived, among the dead
Were Cousin Mary,
Little Fred,
The Twins (both of them),
Mum and Dad, And also Great-Great Grandad. 107
And I am dreadfully afraid That poor old Nan, Will now be permanently deafAnd both her puppies are much the same;
While Georgie, who was in part to blame,
Received, you will regret to hear, A nasty
lump
upon the brain.
The moral is that little girls and boys Should stray away from phones
And stick to toys.
108
SARAH BYNG Who could not read and was tossed into a thorny hedge by a bull
109
Some years ago you heard me sing My doubts on Alexander Byng. His sister Sarah now inspires My jaded Muse, my failing fires. Of Sarah Byng the tale is told How when the child was twelve years old She could not read or write a line. Her sister Jane, though barely nine, Could spout Aesop’s Fables through And parts of J.K. Rowling too, While little Bill who came between Was quite unnaturally keen On penning poems for the Queen. But not so Sarah! Not so Sal! She was a most uncultured gal Who really didn’t care that much For any literary stuff And gave the classics all a miss. Observe the consequence of this! As she was walking home one day, Upon the fields across her way A gate, securely padlocked, stood, And by its side a piece of wood On which was painted plain and full,
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BEWARE THE VERY FURIOUS BULL
111
Alas! The young illiterate Went blindly forward to her fate, And ignorantly climbed the gate! Now happily the Bull that day Was rather in the mood for play Than goring people through and through As Bulls so very often do; He tossed her lightly with his horns Into a prickly hedge of thorns, And stood by laughing while she strode And pushed and struggled to the road. The lesson was not lost upon The child, who since has always gone A long way round to keep away From signs, whatever they may say, And leaves a padlocked gate alone. Moreover she has wisely grown Confirmed in her instinctive guess That literature breeds distress.
112
113
114
The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts
115
116
The Dromedary The Dromedary has an extra
lump Perhaps that’s why he gets the
Hump
117
The Yak As a friend to the children Commend me the Yak.
You will find it exactly the thing: It will carry and fetch,
You can ride on its back, Or lead it about
With a string. 118
The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Tibet
(A vast region of snow) Has for centuries made it a familiar pet,
Then tell your parents where the Yak can be got,
And if they are awfully rich
They will buy you the creature-
119
Or else They will not. (I cannot be positive which)
120
The Polar Bear The Polar Bear is unaware
cold
Of that cuts me through For why? He has a coat of hair. I wish I had one too! His home of ice is melting fast
cold
So now he’s not so . For why? It’s warmer than the past. We think he should be told!
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The Hippopotamus She s h o t the hippopotamus With b u l l e t s made of water. She wouldn’t use normal ones,
that’s not what they taught her! To s h o o t an animal is wrong, With b u l l e t s of deadly lead, Soon there will be no creatures,
They’ll all be gone and dead.
122
The Lion The Lions at the zoo,
are often very peaceful. They are happy to lounge, and be observed by people. But don’t be too noisy, and defnitely don’t be rude… Because if you annoy them,
they’ll eat you!
123
The Camel is the Ferrari of the desert.
“The
Camel is the race car of the desert.� 124
The Tiger The Tiger on the other hand, is kittenish and mild, He makes a pretty playmate for any little child; And mothers of large families (who claim to common sense) Will find a Tiger well repay the trouble and expense.
125
The Whale Yo u
The Whale that wanders round the Pole
cannot
Is not a table fish.
ba
k e
or
bo il him who le N or ser ve hi m d in a ish;
126
But you may cut his blubber up And
it down for oil. And so replace the colza bean (A product of the soil).
127
These facts should all be noted down And deliberated on, By every boy in Oxford town
Who wants to be a Don.
128
129
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Credits With thanks to all our first-year students and to Neil Baber, Honey Debney-Succoia, Caroline Harris, Laura Little, Gemma Matthews, Emma Sherab and Gavin Wilshen
131
Hilaire Belloc’s bestselling Cautionary Tales was set as a one-day challenge for first-year students as part of the Publishing course ‘Create Lab’ module. These lighthearted verses warned misbehaving children of the terrible consequences that awaited them if they didn’t change their terrible ways. Belloc parodied the many Victorian advice books aimed at the upper classes and upwardly-mobile. The humorous book, illustrated by Belloc’s friend Basil Blackwood, became a fixture of many 20th-century English childhoods – designed to be read aloud with both gusto and menace – and it has never been out of print. Over 100 years later, sixty undergraduate students worked in pairs to reimagine these tales using new typefaces – using hand-drawn font software, adapted or drew new illustrations or created collage images. Some students created entirely new tales based on the behaviours of the early 21st-century such as over-use of mobile phones.
Publishing Futures Lab