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Lost quotations

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My dear papa, mama and me, the poodle and the pug | 20-Jul-10

Enquirer is looking for a poem they heard at school in the 1950s. It is about the ritual of a Sunday walk with one's parents and two dogs. The following line was repeated several times:

"My dear papa, mama and me, the poodle and the pug"

6 comments have been made on this quote. Click here to read them and then add your own!


Do you know this poem? Do you have any clues to help us find it?


Comments:

I remeber this poem very well.
We recited it in primary school, I think i was in Sub-B which is Grade 2. I think it goes like this:

When I was a high school noodle
And life was rather smug,
My Mother kept a poodle
My Father kept a pug.
And every Sunday afternoon
A strange procession you might see,
My dear Mamma, Pappa and Me
The poodle and the pug
Batabile Nqayi

We had another enquirer looking for this poem and a new search has revealed that this poem, "The Poodle and the Pug" is by A. P Herbert, published in his collection "A book of ballads: being the collected light verse of A.P. Herbert" / HERBERT, A.P. -- London : Ernest Benn, 1931. We hold a copy of this book in the Poetry Library.


Poetry Library

I know two more verses, as follows:
The poodle I could never bear
For he was naked here and there
And partly bare and partly hair
Was like a worn-out rug
The Pug, upon the other hand
Was far too well upholstered and
Somehow the pug I could not stand
I could not stand the pug.

And so on Sundays after three?
The poodle was alert and gay
He liked to run ahead and play
In quite a continental way
Unlike the stolid pug.
The pug was of another kind
He struggled on, a mile behind,
And in his movements called to mind
An alderman, or slug.

And so on Sundays ...

(there is another verse,dividing people into pugs and poodles, but I cannot recall it.)
John Radcliffe

My memory of the poem goes as follows:

When I was a high school noodle
And life was rather smug,
My Father kept a poodle
And my Mother kept a pug.
And every Sunday after three
This strange procession you might see,
My dear Pappa, Mamma and Me
The poodle and the pug.

The poodle was alert and gay
And loved to run ahead and play
Unlike the pompous pug.
The pug was more your Saxon kind
And plodded on a mile behind
And in his actions called to mind
An alderman, or slug.

At ballets of the Russian kind
Whole packs of poodles you will find
With tufts of hair stuck here and there
Which one would like to tug
And as for pugs, if you reflect
You know a dozen I expect.
Well, Mrs Bunn at number one
Is definitely pug.

And you, when you go beddy-bye,
Look in your mirror eye to eye
and ask the question,"Which am I
A poodle or a pug?"
John O'Donnell

Memories from 60 years ago!!!
The poodle I could never bear
For he was naked here and there
And partly bare and partly hair
Was like a worn out rug
The pub upon the other hand
Was far too well upholstered and
Somehow the pub I could not stand
I could not stand the pug
Oh, how I dislike those dogs
The pug had features like a frogs
And deep in the profoundest bogs
Could I have put that pug!
Margaret Stafford

I think it should be, and every Sunday after tea not every Sunday afternoon.
Sandra Kilgallon


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