Sherwood Doggerel or The Lost Ballad by Ness Ayton
This first appeared in the series of "Frak" zines.
'Twas Christmas Day in the forest,
The outlaws' glade was bedecked
With holly and ivy and garlands;
Their noses were all turning red.
Herne showed up in his antlers,
Said he couldn't afford Santa Claus
As well as the eight prancing reindeer,
So he'd crawl around on all fours!
Will, amidst much complaining,
Into a red suit was pressed,
Appropriate for one who's named Scarlet
As Santa he found himself dressed.
Tuck – his stomach was grumbling.
For the feast he just couldn't wait,
Swan pasties and venison cutlets,
Shame they knew nothing about cake!
A silver arrow was sent to our Robin,
In whose defence he just couldn't rest.
Tho really he needn't have worried,
'Twas TV FX at their best!
Little John, the gentlest of giants,
Was given a new staff of wood,
And the long and the short of this story
Is that his fighting is now twice as good.
Nasir wasn't sure about Christmas,
Coming from lands far away,
Yet enjoyed all the strange celebrations
On this, the most happy of days.
Marion was blissfully happy,
Outlawed, yet carefree, content,
Revelling in seasonal frolics,
She knew it was all heaven sent.
Much was given a new reed pipe
And on it played many a fine tune,
Through the trees everyone danced and cavorted
Then sat down to eat around noon.
Alan and Mildred, his sweetheart,
Joined the outlaws for the day,
Their charger had run off to new pastures
And so they had walked all the way.
Wickham village's Christmas was merry,
For Robin and his friends had made sure,
That some monks in their monastery haven
Had distributed food to the poor.
The castle was lit up so brightly
With fiery candles, score upon score,
The table was heavily laden;
There were no seasonal thoughts for the poor.
The Sheriff's stocking was completely empty.
Santa, the poor boy, had forgot.
But when ordered to return to the chamber,
Replied loudly, "No, I will not!"
Sir Guy really did not like Christmas;
He found that the frolicsome fun
Got in the way of his hunting
And watching his enemies run.
For Hugo the season had to be solemn;
On his knees he was praying all day,
Blessing the poor and the suffering,
At the same time, giving nothing away.
Deep in the Nottingham dungeons
The guards, of the mead, had made free.
Arthur and his friend were a-singing
Wassail to you and good health to me.
The king's Christmas turned out to be dismal;
The details I'm not filling in.
If you want to know anything further
Read "King John's Christmas" by Alan A Milne.
And there it is, one and all, now you have it;
A picture of this season festive.
Whilst Nottingham folks like receiving,
Those in the forest know 'tis more blessed to give.