A Letter from the Bush

Dear frend,

Well, wot’s fresh? Me an’ Bill Smith has just got back from the Cup, an’ we ’ad a lot of good things for the races that we got from a bloke up this way who ’as a cousin in town. ’E lives in the same street as a cove whose brother’s wife’s arf-sister is torkin’ to one o’ them swell bookmakers’ clerks.

Me an’ Bill Smith reckoned the inside information we got orter land us a coupla certainties, an’ we nipped in pretty free for a few. Result?—well, I don’t want to say too much, but it’s all orf.

If you know of anyone round your way wot would like to purchase a sukin’ an’ grammyfone, a fair order, an’ seventeen records; or a blacksmith’s anvil, slightly damaged; or a lady’s neck risin’ eighteen— communicate with me per return.

I am likewise willin’ to dispose of a reel solid gold double Albert—style an’ narrow—that ’as no faults except goin’ black two or three times a week if you don’t keep rubbin’ it. I got it from a gent on the train for two pound ten. I was doin’ me money in an’ wantin’ some luck to put on a dead cert for the last race. ’E sed if it won I could meet ’im at the pie stall after the race an’ redeem me gold Albert.

Well, it did win—but I never seen ’im, tho’ I waited at the pie stall till near dark, wantin’ to do the fair thing by the poor feller.

Anyone wantin’ the Albert—which is the sweet name for watch-chain—kin ’ave it as a gift for five quid. If you ’ear of a purchaser, please advise quick per telegram.

I am sorry to say since I come home the wife ’as bin too free; every time I mention it she goes orf like a pack o’ crackers.

Hoppin’ you are the same,
Yours truly,
Bill Bowyang