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The Ballad Of Inspector Morse

Janet A. Owen

Dear old Chief Inspector Morse,
Is a clever copper we know of course,

Sometimes he does not know what to do,
So he stumbles along without a clue.

With lots of footwork and slug, slug, slug,
To get his brain working he goes to a pub.

He treats Sergeant Lewis just like a slave,
But needs him around for his life to save.

He gets very cross when he can’t get far,
And he hates to drive just any old car.

His red Jag. Saloon is his pride and joy,
But only for work and not for ploy.

It gets smashed up and still breaks down,
Which means, poor old Morse walks to Oxford town.

But darling old Morse is the best of them all,
Although he’s a snob, he can take a fall.

He loves whisky, music from Wagner to Brahms,
But he’s always without a sweet girl in his arms.

He’s ever so lonely from dusk until dawn,
And wallows in depression which makes him forlorn.

I’ve written this ballad for a bit of fun,
So please just read it until it is done.

If the book and TV finish what will we do,
We’ll all drown our sorrows, like Morse would do too,

Or we’ll find a dead body that has not been found,
And detect after Morse, while he’s gone to ground.

So let’s just hope, but I’m willing to bet,
That we’ll see more Morse for a few years yet.

So come on Colin, Kevin, and John
Please let the stories go on and on.

Morse is not a bad ‘old stick’ after all,
And while he’s still going the ratings are having a ball.

This is now the end of my sad little song,
I do hope it’s not left you sad too long.

So let us all enjoy Morse as much as we can,
And hope he’s here for years at a span. (December 1993)