Roon the Back By Helen Nell Ross There wiz nae heather growing in mah tenement street Nae rolling hills wi grass at my feet There wurr pee-the-beds and daisies in the cracks in the road There wiz a durty great puddle where the back met the close. There were nae re-cycle bins in oor back court midden Jist a ramshackle building that folk flung their durt in There wiz broken gless, cans and auld bits of rope Bit we used thame aw tae play at a shoap. There wiz a washing line there propped up wi a pole And we wid hiv concerts where we aw goat a role Mammy brote the sheets oot tae hing ower the line They wurr oor curtains, oor show will be fine Skirts tucked intae knickers legs kicked up and birls And we thote that we wurr the real Tiller Girls Then Jessie wid sing and gie us her banter Let me tell ye this, that lassie’s some chanter Sometimes wee’d sit, wi a book oan oor laps Fur the serious business of swapping oor scraps “Yir no getting the Angels, they’re mah pride and mah joy” “Bit ahll let ye hiv Santa fur the wee girl and boy.” Efter negotiations and argyments galore The sales pitch wiz tense, went oan fur an oor The deal wiz then done in a bit of a hurry And baith parties left as happy as larry. We chalked oan the pavement tae mark oor beds oot Wi a shoe polish tin we wurr ready to shoot Oor wee game of peever wiz aboot tae begin Bit don’t land oan the line urr ye never wull win. We stoated oor baws aff the grun and the wa Singing a big ship wiz sailing, nay bother at aw We cawed oan oor ropes, wi a gipsy called Caraline And played fags oan the street, and ah wid pick woodbine. Naw there wiz nae heather growing in mah tenement street Bit the folk wurr the best ye ever wid meet Its poor weans the day fur whom a feel sorry They’ll never get a hudgie, oan the back of a lorry
Posted on: Wed, 10 Sep 2014 16:00:16 +0000
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