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Gunfight at the Oatcake Corral
There’s an old English town known as Fargo,
In the dark, rugged hills of the west.
Where they say, there was many a gunfight,
But this one was one of the best.
Old Homity was the Town Sheriff,
A man to be trusted and feared.
He lived in a shack by the graveyard,
Just a mean-looking dude with a beard.
Now, one day, a rider came calling,
With vengeance and hate in his eyes.
He was known in the county as Tinlegs,
Though nobody seemed to know why.
This Tinlegs was spiteful and evil,
As bad as a citizen can be.
He hitched up his horse by the alehouse,
That’s known as The Marquis of Granby.
For it seems that last Saturday evening,
A rumpus had truly begun.
When Homity pulled out his six-gun,
And he shot down old Tinlegs’ son.
“I’m here for revenge” said his father,
“For I’ll never know pleasure or joy.
Till I’ve riddled your body with bullets,
For the damage you did to my boy.”
So, a fight was arranged at the Marquis,
Just across from an old garden wall.
Where the locals would tether their horses,
It was known as, “The Oatcake Corral.”
Now, Tinlegs, he fired the first volley,
Just as Homity swerved to the right.
As the bullets flew off in the distance,
To bring down a pigeon in flight.
Then Homity pulled out his Buntline,
With the barrel about a yard long.
As he squinted his eye to the gunsight,
Just as Tinlegs, he burst into song:
“Oh, take me back home to the Prairie,
To my log-cabin home in the sun.”
He was singing to cause a distraction,
As he loaded more slugs in his gun.
Then the lead started flying in earnest,
There were bullets and glass everywhere.
As the locals climbed onto their roof-tops,
There was much better viewing from there.
Well, they say the result was a stalemate,
And that both of them surely had died.
For the gunfire had ceased around midnight,
But nobody dared go outside.
Next morning, they looked for the corpses,
They were searching from morning till late.
When somebody said, “The town Vultures,
Have appeared to have put on some weight.”
So, now every June, they remember,
If you go to the Wild Western show.
Where the locals still talk of the gunfight
That happened those long years ago.
For their ghosts are still haunting the village,
When the evening is quiet and still.
So, keep your head down by the Marquis
Or you might just end up in Boot Hill.
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Oatcake: A local delicacy here in North Staffordshire.
Marquis of Granby: a real ale-house associated with two people known as Homity and Tinlegs.
Boot Hill: cemetery
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Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.
That is a riveting and fantastic story that had me rapidly reading for more. The gunfight you described in detail was a great treat that you had in store. Your true western credentials are cemented as a gunfighter aficionado
With the gunfight at the “Oatcake Corral” by the sheriff and the desperado.
This was a real treat and fantastically vivid portrayal with tongue-in cheek.
By the way, I caught your allusion to the OK Corral with “Oat Cake” and to “tinhorn” with “tinleg.”
Undoubtedly, you would enjoy a visit to Boot Hill in Old Tombstone, Arizona. One of the gravestones is inscribed: “Here Lies Lester Moore/No Les, No More.
Hello again Roy. The culture of the Wild West was part of my upbringing. I was one of the guys going to school in a Davy Crockett hat, whistling “The Alamo.” I am still awaiting the Mariachi band version of your great song, “Tucson Sunday Morning”
From one gunslinger to another, thanks for your kind comment.
Jeff,
An amusing parody of Western poetry and the Tall Tail.
With a number of amusing throwaways, my favorite being,
“. . .To bring down a pigeon in flight.”
Thanks for the story and the way you told it.
Thanks Jim, I will pass your comments on to the mean-looking dude with the beard when I see him.
Great fun to read as an lover of old western movies, especially black and white. A genre that seems to no longer be acceptable in our ‘new’ world. Thank you.
Thanks Phil. Wild West culture was certainly part of my upbringing. “OK Corral” is still a great movie, but “High Noon” was the best of all.
Dear Jeff,
My sons enjoy watching old westerns. They are not my preference. However, it turns out I can thoroughly enjoy a western – it just needs to be in the form a poem like this.
Thank you.
Gigi
Thanks Gigi. I can highly recommend, on Netflix, “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs.”
Cheers from over here.
Jeff, when I saw “Oatcake” in your title, I ran for my last pack of Scottish Rough Oatcakes to go with my tea. While I am much disappointed that your entertaining shoot-out story did not in fact speak of one of my favorite snacks, I would not have wanted anyone to throw them in the air as clay pigeons for target practice. The poem is an amusing dislocation of places. You would have to import weapons today to locales where oatcakes and tea (or ale) are most likely to be on the menu, and where viewers are unlikely even to experience a savage flyting, since it is illegal for combatants to carry so much as a dirk. Glad you are able to put on a splendid show using your unique quirks of diction. I love the fun of perfect grammar of the chosen meter in expressions like “The town vultures have appeared to have put on some weight.”
Thanks Margaret. I am always humbled that you take the trouble to comment on the drivel I write. As to the Oatcake, the North Staffordshire version is the only one worthy of consumption, all the others are imposters. As to gun culture, there is more over here than ever, and the crossbow is our main news item today. A BBC sports commentator has just had his whole family of wife and two daughters, wiped out with this weapon, by a jilted young man. I will continue with the quirks of diction in future. Thank you once again for your kind words.
This poem set in England’s wild, wild west is great fun, Jeff! In fact, you had me at the fun title which winks at the original O.K. Corral. This, surely, is one of those poems that ought to have a chorus added and then set to music, accompanied by a banjo and sung around the campfire. And this thought brings up an unexpected resonance — much American country and western music is actually derived from British folk music.
Like Roy, I suggest a visit to Tombstone, Arizona — site of the original Boot Hill. Tombstone is now a campy tourist town where actors reeenact the famous gunfight at the OK Corral — Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday et al. shoot-out against the Clantons every day. It’s great fun. Much like your poem!
Thanks Brian. I took up the bluegrass banjo, after seeing “Bonnie and Clyde” for the first time. I was the butt of many jokes, such as, “I hate banjo players so much, I get out of bed early so that I can hate them for longer.” I’ll stick with guitar for now.
Tombstone sounds great fun. On our last trip Stateside we witnessed the Wild West shootout at Jackson Hole, which was amazing.
If you have time, please check out “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” on Netflix. This is a glorious collection of Wild West stories and is the perfect tribute to the genre. OK Corral is a great tale, and still a great movie. Thanks again pardner.
Jeff, this marvellous poem is very well crafted and utterly hilarious. I love the way you’ve woven facts throughout the piece – most interesting. Your poem puts me in mind of dear old Ernie, who drove the fastest milk cart in the west. Thank you for the huge smile. I hope you’re planning on singing this.
Nice one Jeff! I suppose ‘oatcake corral ‘ Was inevitable!
As you know, I know the ‘Marquis of Granby’ – may even have drunk in it !
I live in Devon now and oatcakes are a rare treat when friends from Stoke visit!