Cornelis de Heem (via Ocean’s Bridge with thanks)
Found – a typed manuscript with inked corrections in the hand of its author ‘Evoe’ i.e .E.V. Knox. Probably a contribution by him to Punch, or possibly read out by him at a feast or function. He attended many and was often called upon to entertain. No date, but posssibly late 1940s, the annotations being in biro. In format and sound it has echoes of the British Grenadiers song (‘..some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules..’) or Lear’s The walrus and the Carpenter. Take it away Evoe–
Of Fishes and Food
OYSTERIA
The oysters of Great Britain
Were bought to Julius Caesar;
He bolted them in unbitten
And smiled like Mona Lisa.
The Emperor Augustus
Preferred them put in patties.
His cook, whose name was Justus,
Could never serve him satis.
The Emperor Tiberius,
A man debased and selfish,
Was never wholly serious
Except about these shellfish.
And Claudius and Caligula
Make quite a ceremoniium
Of eating this particular
Subaqueous obsonium.
Why should I dwell on Nero,
Who gave the earliest charters
To oystermen – the hero
Of all save Christian martyrs?
I will not speak of Otho,
Nor Galba the rebellious,
Nor tell the tales I know (though
Superb) about Vitellius
I will not say how Titus
Once murmured to Vespaian,
‘Shall oysters not delight us
On this unique occasion?’
Enough to point out clearly
How Romans, blonde or dusky,
Admired and cherished dearly
These delicate molluscae.
‘They seemed to suit my carcass,
Hic Cibus est Divinusi’
Said Hadrian; so did Marcus
Aurelius Antoninus.
And once the great Honorius
Broke down through sheer repletion,
Striving to burst the glorious
Record of Diocletian.
Rome fell. There came a silence;
I cannot disentangle
How oysters in these islands
Fared underneath the Angle.
Who knows how much the oyster
Suffered amongst the rages
Of throne and serf and cloister
That marred the middle ages?
I merely guess the Normans,
To prove they where no caitiffs,
Put up a stout performance
In dealing with our natives.
And oysters, nicely nourished
And baffling all intruders,
Still held their own and flourished
Right down into the Tudors.
The Tudors and their cousins,
With appetite and unction
Kept wolfing them by dozens
At many a stately function.
And later kings who followed
With tears of deep devotion
Ecstatically swallowed
This tit-bit of the ocean;
Till the early Georges
Made it an act of schism
Not to indulge in orgies
Of ostreophilism.
And still with each September
When oysters shine so pleasantly,
All loyal hearts remember
To feed on them incessantly.
Which may have waned and faltered;
The oyster, our palladium,
Abides with us unaltered
And costs far less than radium.
The price? The price is hateful.
But what is that to me, sir?
Fetch me another plateful
Like those you gave to Caesar!