A Ballad Of Eels

[“Lord Desborough has just been reminding us of the neglected source of food supply that we have in the eels of our rivers and ponds. He stated, ‘The food value of an eel is remarkable. In food value one pound of eels is better than a loin of beef.… The greatest eel-breeding establishment in the world is at Comacchio, on the Adriatic. This eel nursery is a gigantic swamp of 140 miles in circumference. It has been in existence for centuries, and in the sixteenth century it yielded an annual revenue of £1,200 to the Pope.’”—Liverpool Daily Post.]

When lowering clouds refuse to lift And spread depression far and wide, And when the need of strenuous thrift Is loudly preached on every side, What boundless gratitude one feels To DESBOROUGH, inspiring chief, For telling us: “One pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef”!

Of old, Popes made eel-breeding pay (At least Lord DESBOROUGH says they did), And cleared per annum in this way Twelve hundred jingling, tingling quid. In fact my brain in anguish reels To think we never took a leaf Out of the book which taught that eels Are better than prime cuts of beef.

In youth, fastidiously inclined, I own with shame that I eschewed, Like most of my unthinking kind, This luscious and nutritious food; But now that DESBOROUGH reveals Its value, with profound belief I sing with him: “One pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.”

I chant it loudly in my bath, I chant it when the sun is high, And when the moon pursues her path Noctambulating through the sky. And when the bill of fare at meals Is more than usually brief, Again I sing: “One pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.”

It is a charm that never fails When friends accost me in the street And utter agonizing wails About the price of butcher’s meat. “Cheer up,” I tell them, “creels on creels Are hastening to your relief; Cheer up, my friends, one pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.”

Then all ye fearful folk, dismayed By threatened shortage of supplies, Let not your anxious hearts be swayed By croakers or their dismal cries; But, from Penzance to Galashiels, From Abertillery to Crieff, Remember that “one pound of eels Is better than a loin of beef.”

But these are only pleasant dreams Unless, to realize our hopes, Proprietors of ponds and streams Re-stock them, like the early Popes. Then, though we still run short of keels And corn be leaner in the sheaf, We shall at least have endless eels, Unnumbered super-loins of beef.