A come on this wee rhyme that appeared in a paper frae 1914, an A thocht tae maesel why no let tha guid folk frae tha toon hae a wee keek at it instead lissenin tae mae ain channerin.
Onywye here it is its bae boady wha scrieved for a wheen o years unner tha name o’ Erchie Nuhan in tha Northern Constitution:
How Pat sowl’ the pig
‘Twas in Irelan’, yer onner, whan oul’ Pat O’Connor,
Alang wae his son Willie John went away
Frae his nate little dwellin’ a pig for tae be sellin’
Tae the sweet toun’ o Coulrain that stans bae the sea.
Skarree a mile had they gone, sir, whan yung Willie John, sir,
Tuk a luk roon the kert, an’ tae Paddy sez he,
“Ye’re daen’t ower clean, ye mae stap the masheen,
For divil the pig in the kert A can see.”
“Och, what’s that ye say, son ? it’ unner the strae, son” ;
“Oh, the divil the unner,” cries Bill, wae a grin.
“Bae mae sowl, ere we started we’ve forgotten tae kart it,
But ba’k A will go, an’ A’ll catch it again.”
So ba’k goes bill, wheelin’, an got the pig squealin’,
An’ then on his ba’k wae it, sweatin he strode ;
But Pat wae the kert, sir, had made a bould start, sir,
An’ galloped awa’ lake a fool doon the road.
The yung chap rin efter, noo daft, but still dafter,
An’ whan he cums up tae the kert he let’s cry,
“Whaur noo is the fun, Pat, in makin’ me run, Pat ?”
But Paddy turns roon wae a wink in his eye.
“Dae ye think me an’ ass, sir, tae let time pass, sir,
While you were a huntin’ the pig, mae boul son ?
Bae the biggest giant’s fist, sir, the market we’d missed, sir,
If I hadn’t galloped alang as I done.
Noo, should yer eddikashun sho’ up mae dikashun,
Or if ye think that mae story lucks blue,
There’s no a M’Garry frae the Sconce tae Glenwleary
But wid sweer bae the grammar that ivery wurd’s true.
An’ if yer still doubtin’, an’ want a day’s outin’,
Jest go for a danner awa’ up the Screen ;
They’ll be a’ in their glory tae tell ye the story
Hoo Pat tuk the pig tae oblege yer oul’ frien.
Jest yin thing left sae – A hope yese aa hae Happy an Healthy 2014.
Aa fur noo.