Rural Diaries - live the country life, love the countryside and learn about rural issues

Posted by Sally on May 15th, 2009 in Countryside Tales

Thought I would just share a funny little poem Foul Old Ron (my father by any other name) wrote for a friend of the family, a shepherdess in Scotland.

There are a couple of ‘in jokes’ in there but I hope it gives you a giggle and anyone who has lambed in snow will know just how true it is.

The Shepherdess

She wanders o’er the dark bleak hills, feeling cold and cranky
Her nose is red and dribbly, but she hasn’t brought her hanky
Too bad you say the silly lass, as dribbles start to flow
None but a fool would venture, through those drifts of snow.

Now look at that she’s found one, all stiff and looking dead
But she tucks it neatly in her vest, a warm and comfy bed
Now where’s your mum gone this time, she’s always doing that
Leaving you abandond, the stupid bloody prat.

And where’s me four-be, where’s it gone, I parked it over there
But now there’s just a mound of snow, oh sod it I don’t care
Wish I hadn’t lost me matches, and of course me box of fags
But there’s holes in all me pockets, co’s I’m dressed in all these rags.

What’s it the daft old bugger says, “breakfast on rum and cokes”
Well I haven’t got one handy, so I hope the bugger chokes
Ah no that’s quite unfair of me, he can’t help it that he’s mad
He was locked up in a coalhouse, as a tiny little lad.

Bugger now I’ve lost me count, and I had it just before
It’s all these bloody lambs again, doubling up the score
One thousand six or was it seven, maybe it was eight
Oh now I’ve got to start again, and it’s miles back to that gate.

Mind you this life is what I chose, and money’s not that bad
But not enough for me to hire, a handsome helpful lad
That would be fun I like to think, just him and me, ah but!
There isn’t room for twenty lambs, and us two in my hut.

My fire will have burned away, by the time that I get back
And the wind will still be howling through, every little crack
But there’s a fairy at my window, and a unicorn outside
Wild and free and handsome, he’d be such a thrill to ride.

And I’ve cold porridge for my supper, breakfast and for tea
Which other girl gets half the treats, waiting here for me
Warm and slippery digging deep, hand and arm inside a sheep,
Turning heads finding feet, I do wish I could get some sleep.

Now there you’re out and look at this, this is called your mother
And I do believe this other one, could be your baby brother
It’s getting dark best make haste and hurry down the hill
Into bed, snuggle deep, who needs a sleeping pill.

Dream perhaps of a handsome prince, who’s riding to my rescue
Through wind and hail, by day and night, through knee deep wind blown fescue
His shield held high, his sword unsheathed, my ogres set to kill
On bended knee he’ll hold my hand, and say he’s at my will.

Then all too soon the morning sun, through yonder crack shines bright
I’ve got to face the day alone, so please make haste Sir Knight.

“Ee Lass, what an occupation sum folks choose” L.O.L. Foul Old Ron