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Fae the Lochs Tae the Lakes ©

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England
2005

When a moved doon tay Cumbria,
a wiz oan ma way tay the Smoke,
But ma sister who'd moved first, hijacked me,
"Try a month here, tay see if it's OAK"...(AY?)

That wiz 25 years ago,
when a hid joost turned twinty-wan.
Should a hiv stopped tay look efter the Maw 'n Da?
Bugger that, yi get oot while ye can!

I jumped on a bus tay Lancaster,
a hid aw that a needed wi me.
A'd ma claithes in a metal framed Hi-Pack,
And ma Ibanez Flying-V.

Ma sister an her man were sceptics.
They thought a'd no come doon at aw.
Till they saw this bedraggled wee hippie,
scramble oar the back gerdin waw.

"Ye takin in the Gloashies?" a sayed.
(I wiz always a laugh, wi ma patter..
...Like the lump av still got fay ma very first plook..
tho a guess noo, that diznay matter..boom boom)

They pit me up in a "Box" room,
They asked, "Is it too wee?" A sayed, "Nup."
But this Box room wiz mer like a cubbird.
So a hid tay sleep, stonnin up!"

A goat a wee job in the market,
Sellin curtains 'n fabric 'n stuff.
It paid for the rent, so a stayed there till Lent,
Cos the Dole money wiznay enough.

A did a wee spell as a Leckie, (or Spark)
But not for long enough tay bore me.
A soon got the sack, tho they wanted me back.
(But no the guy who started before me!)

A still had the Market, an a played in a Band,
A had women, song and ma beer.
A musta looked too happy at the Dole Office,
Coz they said, "You can come and work here!"

Five years o' that, signin folk on ye knew,
Wiz enough tay drive me insane.
The only good thing tay come oot o' that time,..
When a left, a'd a great wife 'n wain.

19 mer years in a factory,
dayin aw sorts o' jobs.
Ye start aff on Fork-lifts, then move on tay Tankers,
Then ye work yir way up tay the Snobs.

Av played in Bands that have done every style.
Nothin much here gets me doon.
Whether Folk, Jazz or Pop, or Rock n Roll,
A just play the same bloody Tune!

Now here's why av written this Poem,
In ma heed, some thoughts have been buzzin.
A wiz recently asked a strange question,
By a big fat American cousin.

"Do you still think of yourself, as Scottish" he asked.
Tay annoy him, a quickly said "No!"
"I've lived most my life, down in England.
So that's MY Family's Home. you know?"

But he asked aw the rest o' ma siblings,
and all o' them said they were Scots.
Tho nut wan o' them lives in Scotland,
it's enough tay gi yi the trots.


It's no that am knockin ma heritage.
I'd a very good reason for movin'.
The Lake District's quite like the Trossachs,
But their Gene-pool needed improvin!


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