Anagrammy Awards > Tribute Pages > Mick Tully
'Although you have been found guilty of a serious offence, there are mitigating circumstances,' Judge Michael Forde told Craig Hilton Bell, while passing judgement on him in a Brisbane court. 'In particular, you are the first person in the history of Queensland ever to be convicted of procuring a sexual assault against himself, and for that reason I have decided not to pass a custodial sentence.' Earlier, Bell's counsel had explained the circumstances that led to Bell, 43, having committed an estimated 300 offences. 'Due to fear of losing his position as loans manager at the Commonwealth Bank, the defendant felt under pressure, and found that he could only become sexually aroused if his testicles were fondled by women. In order to satisfy his needs, he began visiting women doctors all over Queensland, claiming that he had been hit in the groin with a cricket bat, and asking them to examine his testicles. Most of the doctors never realised that he was obtaining gratification in this way, but complaints were made after he became visibly aroused during one examination. Technically, the only sexual assault that has taken place is upon my client, though clearly at his own request, and we therefore request leniency.' Bell pleaded guilty to 35 charges of sexual assault against himself, and was ordered to perform 240 hours of community service. (The Courier-Mail [Brisbane], 27/7/02. Spotter: Norm Reynolds)
'Once again, you have been found guilty of a serious, senseless offence, and as usual, there are no mitigating circumstances whatsoever...' Judge Lord Peregrine McTunstall-Pedoe told Michael Gilbert George Tully (54) of Northolt, passing judgement on him at Harrow Crown Court. 'Indeed, you are quite the only man in the County of Middlesex ever to be convicted of lamb, sheep, calf and camel rustling while dressed in nothing but a pair of blue and green galoshes. Alas, next time, I feel I can have no choice but to pass a long custodial sentence. Get out, man!' Earlier, barrister Sir Osama Fathallah-Hussein-al-Qaida Q.C. had explained the circumstances that led to Tully committing the obnoxious offence. 'Basically, my client spends up to 23 hours a day in front of a computer doing `anagrams'. (No your honour, I have no idea what they are either). This unfortunate addiction has left my client with little free time with which to interact with females...members of the fairer sex...and therefore he felt the need to take...how can I quite put this...avail himself of the animal's arse. My client assures me that this regrettable, sad, lax incident is behind him, and base acts of casual bestiality shan't ever occur again'. As Tully, a self-employed (ex?) licensed mini-cab driver, sank to his knees, sobbing senselessly, he was ordered to do 300 hours listening to Des O'Connor, and fined £430 (and costs). (Pinner & Harrow Bugle) 27/7/02. (Spotter: David S. Bourke)
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
My Final Answer To My Friends
I, on the edge of a supernal night,
Can't fathom why these relatives and friends
Had wept and wondered how can someone end,
And asked if me I've seen some giant lights...
Essentially, I scoff at this exchange.
Love's peaceful force and faith kept me content;
Ten thousand anagrams I wrote and sent,
Until no words were there to rearrange.
Life was these lights - so, on this heavy note,
Life never ends for someone who is whole;
You only reach a point where life's too numb.
Right now, I wish I'd chased that one big goal;
I wish I had... but now, it's so remote.
Perhaps, for once, I'd lie down and succumb.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Keeping vigil on the night of a wake
Us peers and kin and friendly folk
Have rendezvoused to praise this bloke
And yet, it's quite the downward slope
For all the grief this might evoke.
The key is not to weep and mope
If we are hungering to cope;
We'd sip some beers and have some fun -
He'd like it, too (or so we hope).
And so, we hear the stories spun
Of who he was or what he's done,
Yet know his fable as a whole
Might not be known to anyone.
The heavy loss might take its toll,
Yet we should remedy this hole;
We raise some pints to bless his soul,
We raise some pints to bless his soul.
Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.
Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.
He Died Of ...?
As helpless life's conclusion breezes nigh,
No power charm comes rolling to this bed.
As mourners get absorbed before I die,
Gray content gets known deep in this hard head.
Remotely fresh to crunch me to the Death,
And why the hell at healthful sixty-one?
My elder face takes one mere, feeble breath
My desperate head prepared to ask a ton;
A splendid warmth of strength was up a sleeve
To enter life with rather mirthful birth.
It now depressed me - that's what I believed -
So was it worthwhile, dwelling here on Earth?
The product looks too dreadful here to think,
So just clutch up the harmless glass and drink.
Mick was probably the most prolific submitter of anagrams to the Anagram Genius Archives. There are many others in there under his various pseudonyms.
Updated: May 10, 2016