A MOAN FROM MITCHAM

We once had a Common at Mitcham, Where boys would bring wickets and pitch 'em, That devouring wolf The fanatic of golf Established a club, And—aye, there's the rub!— The Conservators sacrificed needs of the Public on purpose to help and enrich 'em! The Common they soon will be shutting In the interests of driving and "putting." The balls fly about and hit kids in the eye, And frighten old fogies, and make horses shy. The public's "wired" out while the golfers "wire in," They have got lots of brass, but they pay little tin. They drive sheep and cattle, and boys in their teens. And nursemaids and prams off their bothering "Greens." Oh, Punch, can't you pitch in, and pitch 'em, These bores, off our Common at Mitcham? Authority here at Monopoly winks, But I am an old Mitcham-lover who thinks That the Links on our Common should be Missing Links!