They have given me me notice. I must pack me sticks an go Its part of this slum clearance scheme an it must be done a know because, a house is like a person, it gets run down an oul an it suffers like the rest o us from the years aheed an coul. The talk is all o housin trusts an flats an new estates, have bathrooms an wee gardens an subsidies for rates. but down near at the City Hall uner the big green dome, that the minage place their pullin down is some poor craters home. It seems like only yesterday since my Mary dear an me come to this house from our honeymoon it was a trip to Cardeley an this wee house bit us welcome, we knew that this was home an always we would mind it no matter who would rome. The front door had a knocker with a shine that would blin your eye an the windas got a lick o paint each year around July. With paper an its temper, we would always kept it neat an sure Mary scrubbed the front door step half roads across the street. We had the wee back yard well white washed an as neat as it could be o nastursiums an bergonias an some ferns ecarnity. Theres a wee hout whos placed down the yard it often makes me grin. The doors still got the chisel marks where wee shoey got shut in. The childer grew up roun us six fine sturdy sons we had. This wee house bid them welcome, it was home till every lad. Itll linger in their memories still, though far they had to rome. The waters call it just a slum, till them its, its home. We had no television then, but ach, sure wed never lack lots of good company round the fire an a bit of friendly craic. An ja know this wee house seemed ta listen. When a neighboured toul a joke an, somehow it would hear it laughin back when Im given the fire a poke. We had one wee golden lassy were wed be watchin smile. we thought her light the brightest for it shone that short a while. an on the day she left us, it was as if this house knew for with silent sadness this wee house, mourned her to. Soon Mary was to follow after, the man above knows best, Ill be content till Im beside them when it comes my time to rest. But I wish theyd let me stay a while till the master bids me come. An the wee house bright with memories, an they call it just a slum.
Posted on: Thu, 02 Oct 2014 08:53:42 +0000
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