A little while ago, I reprinted two poems that we found in an old magazine attributed to a “W.H.H.” (You can read about it here.) The general consensus among many (myself included) was that there was no conclusive evidence that these poems were written by “William Hope Hodgson.”
Courtesy of Dennis Lien, who unearthed the last two poems, comes a THIRD poem by the mysterious “W.H.H.” This poem comes from PICTURE POLITICS #117 (July-August 1903), page 15. Again, we have no evidence that this is by Hodgson. There is no mention of a poem by this name in any of the reference texts nor is a version included in any of the published poems.
However, it is worth noting that it does concern a topic which Hodgson would have been interested in (wages) and is written in a manner that tries to emulate a mode of speech (which Hodgson did in several stories). Until such time as evidence arises to refute or affirm Hodgson’s authorship, it will remain an open issue.
[“I will give you a table from which you can tell for yourself how much extra
wages you must get in order to cover the extra expenses of living.” — Mr.
This hain’t the wisdom of Solomon,
But the blessed Birmigem sige’s;
O Lord, ‘ow good to tell us to hearn
A big lump more o’ wiges!
Tho’ grub goes hup, both bread ‘n’ beef,
Sugar an’ corn an’ mutton,
Wiv ‘an’some empl’yers (in Kingdome come?)
No workman’ll care a button!
But a bloke wot sweats f’r ‘is fifteen bob,
Wiv fam’ly cares a strugglin’,
E hain’t bewitched by the ‘rithmatic
An’ the “Cabinet Bruvvers” jugglin’.
It’s grite f’r swells an’ country squires,
But strite, as I’m a sinner,
The litest tible wot Joseph’s lide
Is a tible wivaht a dinner.
It’s the sime old lesson the Tories teach,
Openly put, or ‘idden,
Tho workin’ man is the “under dog,”
Wot ‘as to do as ‘e’s bidden;
We know from the chap wot drives the tram,
To ‘im ‘as ‘andles the “Lino,”
Joseph, ‘e’s in for Zollvyrine,
An’ we — are to drop the rhino.
I sought for a “rise,” in the best of times,
But me clicker s’ys “Drop the notion,
For seekin’ sech things o’ Flint and Co.
‘S like chuckin’ yerself in the hocean.”
So, tike me tip, this trick is the kind
T’ gild a Brer Rabbit fible;
We’ve gulped a deal o’ Birmigem stuff,
But — I’m blowed if we swoller the tible!
W. H. H.