I grew up in the same house as my grandparents (they were born in the 1890s) where one of the seasonal traditions was the Christmas monologue. My favorite was always my grandfather 's rendition of 'Christmas Day in the Workhouse' by George Sims.
It is Christmas Day in the workhouse,Read on.
And the cold, bare walls are bright
With garlands of green and holly,
And the place is a pleasant sight;
For with clean-washed hands and faces,
In a long and hungry line
The paupers sit at the table,
For this is the hour they dine.
And the guardians and their ladies,
Although the wind is east,
Have come in their furs and wrappers,
To watch their charges feast;
To smile and be condescending,
Put pudding on pauper plates.
To be hosts at the workhouse banquet
They've paid for -- with the rates.
Oh, the paupers are meek and owly
With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's!'"
So long as they fill their stomachs,
What matter it whence it comes!
But one of the old men mutters,
And pushes his plate aside:
"Great God!" he cries, "but it chokes me!
For this is the day she died!"
