The Cremation Of Joe Newbie - Part Of GoodBye - 7

1. Tom Watson
Mar 13 2003, 6:53 pm show options

It has been said that newbies are not given a warm reception in this
newsgroup. I take issue with that and present this for your
edification.

The Cremation of Joe Newbie

There are strange things done in the rec.norm sun
By the men who boil and mold;
The rec.norm trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Newsgroup Fights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Letharge
I cremated Joe Newbie.

Now Joe Newbie was from alt.howdie, where the nice folk blooms and
blows.
Why he left his home on the alt. to roam round the Wreck, God only
knows.
He was always cold, but the land of Norm seemed to hold him like a
spell;
Though hed often say in his homely way that 'hed sooner live in
hell.'

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Bennett trail.
Talk of your cold! through the keyboard's fold it stabbed like a
driven nail.
If our eyes wed close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we
couldnt see;
It wasnt much fun, but the only one to whimper was Joe Newbie.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight on our keyboards beneath
the snow,
And the trolls were fed, and the stars oerhead were dancing heel and
toe,
He turned to me, and 'Cap,' says he, 'Ill cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, Im asking that you wont refuse my last request.'

Well, he seemed so low that I couldnt say no; then he says with a
sort of moan:
'Its the cursed cold, and its got right hold till Im chilled clean
through to the bone.
Yet taint being dead--its my awful dread of the icy grave that
pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, youll flame my last
remains.'

A pals last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly
pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in
alt.howdie;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Joe Newbie.

There wasnt a breath in that land of death, and I hurried,
horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldnt get rid, because of a promise
given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: 'You may tax your
brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and its up to you to flame those last
remains.'

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the wreck has its own stern
code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I
cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the trollers,
round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows O God! how I loathed the
thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the trolls were spent and the grub was getting
low;
The plonks was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give
in;
And Id often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Letharge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the
'Delta Gray.'
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen
chum;
Then 'Here,' said I, with a sudden cry, 'is my flame-a-tor-eum.'

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some threads I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel
higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared such a blaze you seldom
see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Joe
Newbie.

Then I made a hike, for I didnt like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the trolls they howled, and the wind
began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I dont
know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured
near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: 'Ill just take a peep
inside.
I guess hes cooked, and its time I looked;' . . . then the door I
opened wide.

And there sat Joe, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace
roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: 'Please close
that door.
Its fine in here, but I greatly fear youll let in the cold and
storm'
Since I left my tree, down in alt.howdie, its the first time Ive
been warm.'

There are strange things done in the rec.norm sun

By the men who boil and mold;
The rec.norm trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Newsgroup Fights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Letharge
I cremated Joe Newbie.

Ayup. The Wreck can be a warm place.

(apologies to Robert Service, RIP)

Happy Spring.

Regards, Tom.

Tom Watson - WoodDorker

tjwatson1ATcomcastDOTnet (real email)

http://home.comcast.net/~tjwatson1/

c

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