By Donald Clegg and Clive Dalton
Where livestock are sold at a market or 'mart' anywhere in the world, it's not just a venue for the trading of livestock. A major function of the mart is for farmers to meet and discuss the problems of the day - even if they are not buying or selling stock themselves.
Their reason (or excuse) for going to the mart is to 'check on the trade' - and to complain if prices are low, but make sure they are not heard to be too positive if they are high in case some great natural disaster is waiting to fall upon them!
The mart is a legitimate opportunity to get off the farm, and is regularly viewed by farmers' wives and partners as a 'male creche', to leave the men folk while the ladies go shopping. The women know that the males will not have strayed far from the mart on their return. If they are not at the mart, they are guaranteed to be in one of the local pubs!
Their reason (or excuse) for going to the mart is to 'check on the trade' - and to complain if prices are low, but make sure they are not heard to be too positive if they are high in case some great natural disaster is waiting to fall upon them!
The mart is a legitimate opportunity to get off the farm, and is regularly viewed by farmers' wives and partners as a 'male creche', to leave the men folk while the ladies go shopping. The women know that the males will not have strayed far from the mart on their return. If they are not at the mart, they are guaranteed to be in one of the local pubs!
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| Lawrence Dagg (Hott farm, left) and Brian Anderson (Brieredge) Photo by Helen Brown 2004 |
Jock
Noo Wattie, what’s yor fettle, Aa’m keepin’
weel mesell
Apart from pains an’ belly wark Aa’m
sorvivin’, truth to tell.
What think ye of the stock in heor, thor’s
sum Aa wadn’t touch,
Wi’ shot mooth an’ wi brocky fyace, five
pund is ower much.
Wattie
Aye Jock thor bad, there is nee doot, Aa’ve nivvor seen yowes warse.
Lean as craas wi’ pooky jaas an’ aal wi’
daggy arse.
In this pen heor, just tek a keek, thor’s
not yen meks the grade.
Aa’m sorry if Aa upset folk, but Aa'll caal a
spade a spade.
Jock
Whey nivvor heed man Wattie, yor entitled
to yor say,
But howld a bit and think on, afore we gan
away.
Hev a look and just stand back, an’ give
yorsell a minute
Afore ye oppen up yor gob an’ plant yor big
foot in it.
Te find fault and te criticise is often varry
fine
But check thor lug marks an’ thor bust
An ye’ll see them yowes is mine!
The lambin'
Clive Dalton
Huw’s the lambin ganin
Jack
Mine’s nowt grate see
far,
Deed lambs, kebbed
yowes and gay few twins
An the inbye’s a foot
deep in glaur.
And that tup Aa got
frae Lanark
Was just a gud lookin
nowt,
His lambs gye-necked
and undershot
An Aa paid enuff for
him Aa thowt.
Thor’s nee decent
growth on the in-bye haughs
And the Northern’s bagged
feed’s ower deor,
Aa’m feared that the
milk’ll gan off the yowes
We snaa forecast Aa
heaor.
An the best o’ the
hoggs are gay middlin te poor
Aa’ll flookeed with big
pokey jaas,
Sair skittad an’all with
dags right ower thor backs
An te the feel thor aall
lean as craas.
An the lambin man’s
dun a quick flit by the moon
Taen off wi the byre-man’s
dowta,
She’s a canny lass an’all
and just left the school
Wi some brains in hor heed ye’d of thowta.
Me owld collie bitch just
laid doon an’ deid
So am hevin te work
the young pup,
Mind Aa keep him at
hand on a gay short hemp rope
Till Norman’s bus has
gone up.
Nuw Av ruined the nebs
on me Simonside beuts
Burying yowes in holes
of hard clay,
So Aa’ll need te catch
Norman’s bus the morn’s morn
And a new pair‘ll tek a
month’s pay.
But Aa knaa that Am
gitten ower owld te farm
And Aa need te spend
mare time in the hoose,
But te leave the farm
to the eldest son
Am teld is the warst kind
of child abuse!
END
