The Wellyphant is the most colourful fellow,


His suit is bright red and his helmet is yellow,


His boots are as black, as black as can be,


And he grows fat on chips, and Fire Service tea.




He sleeps at the fire station, on his own little bed,


And he rides a fire engine, all silver and red.


At fetes and parades he can often be found,


Happily waving and fooling around.




He loves boys and girls, and he likes holding hands,


If they stroke his long trunk he feels ever so grand.


He’ll skip and he’ll sing, and sometimes he’ll dance,


And he’ll flirt with their mummies, if given the chance.




He teaches fire safety, when he comes to school,


Never ever play with matches, is his golden rule,


If you’re ever in trouble, just dial nine-nine-nine,


And his friends the firemen, will be there in time.




Yes, Wellyphant is really a very fine fellow,


In his suit of bright red, and his helmet of yellow,


So whenever you see him, just give him a wave,


Perhaps there’ll come a day, when it’s your life he’ll save.





I have been the Wellyphant but in this picture I was his minder. I'm the big kid with the fire service cap.