SONIA

Is somebody strangling a goose?

Is there a frightened piglet-on-the-loose?

A terrible noise is being produced,

And it’s coming from next door.

Is somebody torturing a rat?

Has someone-accidentally, trodden on their cat?

It’s that kind of sound, and it’s hard to be exact,

But it’s coming from next door.

Cancel the RSPCA!

No wild animals have gone astray,

It’s worse than that – to my dismay,

And it’s the talk of the day in the Square’s café....

I’m afraid we’re gonna have to like it or lump it -

Young Sonia from Eastenders is learning the trumpet.

And what dedication Miss Jackson showed!

Day in, day out on the brass she blowed,

After one cacophonous episode,

I self-diagnose with trumpet overload,

But Sonia plodded on, and regularly bestowed,

Fanfares upon E20 postal code.

Sonia had-a-try-at-busking, at Walford station,

A surefire sign of trumpet dedication,

But the first few honks of her favourite piece

Attracted the attention of the Square’s police.

Sonia’s second offence – they had her over a barrel,

And marched her quick sharp to beleaguered mum Carol.

Carol stood there with her hands wringing wet,

Working, as she was, in The Square’s launderette,

Carol had had enough – she was at her wits’ end,

With her Sonia and the trumpet driving all round the bend.

To her daughter she declared, ‘No longer shall you play’,

And to the police in attendance, ‘Take her away!’

In the end due to Sonia’s tender years,

And because she begged, and turned on the tears,

The young-musician was reprieved, and handed a warning,

With a strict instruction to cease performing!

Growing up, busting up, relationship woes,

The next few years keep Sonia on her toes,

And the girl once famed for her musical howlers

Forgets the trumpet, marries a Fowler,

Tina, Naomi, Baby Bex,

Trumpet ignored, unloved, unchecked,

Sisters now honking like strangled geese,

Tied up in a basement by bad man Reiss.

In April ‘25, Sonia left The Square for good,

And the trumpet left too as I understood,

‘Play it as we leave!’ shrieked gobby Bianca,

A jokey suggestion but for this we do thank her,

‘Go on Son, be a right laugh, innit,

And when we get to Stanstead you can take it out and bin it.’

Sonia laughed her away and caressed her treasured trumpet,

Walford’s worst player couldn’t bring herself to dump it.

So Sonia and her instrument vacated the square,

Honking away while the wind caught her hair,

And the Walford crowd did joyfully applaud,

While Sonia took her trumpet to a brand new life abroad.

Sarah Ogilvie 2025