Our village policeman is tall and well-grown,
He stands six feet two and he weighs sixteen stone;
His gait is majestic, his visage serene,
And his boots are the biggest that ever I've seen.
Fame sealed his renown with a definite stamp
When two German waiters escaped from a camp.
Unaided he captured those runaway Huns
Who had lived for a week on three half-penny buns.
When a derelict porpoise was cast on the shore
Our village policeman was much to the fore;
He measured the beast from its tip to its tail,
And blandly pronounced it "an undersized whale."
When a small boy was flying his kite on the links
It was promptly impounded by Constable Jinks,
Who astutely remarked that it might have been seen
By the vigilant crew of a Hun submarine.
It is sometimes alleged that great valour he showed
When he chased a mad cow for three miles on the road;
But there's also another account of the hunt
With a four-legged pursuer, a biped in front.
If your house has been robbed and his counsel you seek
He's sure to look in--in the course of the week,
When his massive appearance will comfort your cook,
Though he fails in the bringing of culprits to book.
His _obiter dicta_ on life and the law
Set our ribald young folk in a frequent guffaw;
But the elders repose an implicit belief
In so splendid a product of beer and of beef.
He's the strongest and solidest man in the place,
Nothing--short of mad cattle--can quicken his pace;
His moustache would do credit to any dragoon,
And his voice is as deep as a double bassoon.
His complexion is perfect, his uniform neat,
He rivets all eyes as he stalks down the street;
And I doubt if his critics will ever complain
Of his being a little deficient in brain.
For he's more than a man; he's a part of the map;
His going would cause a deplorable gap;
And the village would suffer as heavy a slump
As it would from the loss of the old parish pump.
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