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Prehistoric Complaint
Oranges and Lemons was a success, and transferred to the Globe theatre, where it had a long run, and we began to get a reputation for writing what Laurie called 'our witty little songs', and also privately, for performing them ourselves, at parties, and at those rather terrifying occasions, the first read through of a new revue, or sing through, as you might say. When the cast assembles for the first time, to hear what the authors have written for them. And complain about it. Actually, Donald and I rather enjoyed ourselves, he was very experienced as a musical director, playing down there in the bottomless pit, and I was a frustrated actor working in radio, in search of an audience. We rehearsed it all carefully, to make it look spontaneous, even so, at the read through of our next revue, Penny Plain, in the spring of 1951, it did take a bit of nerve to say to someone like the late and much-lamented Max Adrian, well, this is your solo, Max, it's very funny, it's called 'Prehistoric Complaint', you'll be dressed up in bits of fur as a sort of misfit caveman, and it goes like this:
I was never cut out for a caveman,
I'm a throwback, or forward, or out.
This tedious stone age
Just isn't my own age, I feel
But you can't cast an age like a clout.
Oh, it's fine for the tough,
Who is hairy and rough,
Killing reindeer and mammoths and all,
But I'm tired of their cracks,
And I've bust me stone axe,
So I'm painting rude words on the wall.
How do you spell 'Ugg'?
I was never cut out for a caveman,
My pigments and brushes are coarse,
I'm painting away
For the future to say
'My dear, it really does look quite like a horse'
I must paint with agility,
Signs of fertility,
Rude little men with no vests,
And I dare not lean back
'till the last Pterodactyl have flown overhead to it's nest.
I was never cut out for a caveman,
As an artist I fight against odds,
It's among my complaints
That they will steal my paints
And use it to daub horrid stripes on their bods.
My charge is three flints for an indigo rinse,
But once when I said what he owed,
A neighbour from Piltdown
Kept pulling my kilt down
And giving me one for the woad.
I was never cut out for a caveman,
No model will pose in my lair.
The entrance is narrow,
The boys from the barrow
Keep coming and dragging them off by the hair.
My wife was alright when I turned in last night,
But this morning I found with a cry,
Her little fur brassiere,
Caught on a glacier,
Just to remember her by.
I was never cut out for a caveman,
The menu just bores me to tears.
Now the prospect before us
Is boiled Brontosaurus
For breakfast and dinner and supper for years.
I must chalk up at once
The results of their hunts
Or they'll drive me away from the den,
This age neolithic
Is wholly Horrific
So roll on the ice age again!
Originally from the album 'And The We Wrote...'.
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