Sonnet for Lucy McArthur

Webmaister's long awaited pleasure
His resulted in a lifelong treasure
Lucy; it wiz decided, she wid be called
A lovely wee lassie fur Webmaister tae hold
Her name, it is Lucy, and that means light
And knowing oor Webbie, that wid be right
Cos noo that she hiz arrived at last
Aw his fussing and frettings hiv passed
Pink cheeks, her lovely smile will linger
And Webbie, he'll soon be roon her finger
A lovely wee lassie wi a Scottish trait
And ah know Oor Webbie will think she's grrrrrrrreat
She's a wee Glesga cracker, and its true
Webbie will ensure her nose is blue
Aw ra BestFae a Green Nose Nell

When a Wiz a Wean

When ah wiz a wean
The world wiz quite plain
and ma worries wurr aw aboot dainties
bit as ahv goat aulder
and neighboors urr "caulder"
Seems the worlds no as nice as its painted

When ah wiz a wean
Ah never felt pain
Ah grazed knee, a cut oan the fingurr
"Stoap that daft greetin" Ma Mammy wid say
"Urr ahll gie ye something tae greet fur"

When ah wiz a wean
Ah hid a shoap o ma ain,
Roon the back, wi a boax fur a coonter
We hid tin cans fur peas
and we hid clabber fur cheese
while the boays wurr a military joonta

When ah wiz a wean
The boays wurr a pain
They spiled aw oor games wi their antics
They ran aw aboot wi ah howl and a whoop
and, made aw the lassies go frantic

When ah wiz a wean
The world wiz ma ain
And we wandered all over the city
Wurr armpits wurr oxters
Wurr big fish wurr doacters
But its aw different noo, merr's the pity

Aye, when ah wiz a wean (sigh)
wid ah go therr again?
Aye sure,: "like ah shot oota gun"
cos in spite of the bad
the tragic and sad
The people wurr friendly and fun

Smokers' Droop

pay attention
while a mention
Wee Pete's habit
That wiz causin contention

Wife frustrated
Getting berated
and tae cap it aw
prices inflated

Packin it in
Heid in a spin
Gaspin already
Ah dont think ah kin

Pete snatches
Nicotine patches
wife is relieved
Shes sits and she watches

aff the fags
tackle stull sags
must be the drink
In the kerry oot bags

Gie up the swally
Not on yir Nelly
Ahll kerry oan drinking
And make dae wi the telly

Procrastination - The Thief of Time

Woke up still tired, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and lay back down again. I could see the dishes in the sink in my mind's eye, and resolved to go and do them as soon as I got up. It was Saturday morning and I should have washed the dishes last night, and would have, if it hadn't been for the necessity of reading that article about a woman who found out she was Arthur Askey in a previous life, which had explained her lifelong fascination with bees. By the time I had finished reading, it was after midnight. I thought, 'it's too late to do those dishes, I will do them in the morning.'

Lying there in the warmth of the duvet, I drifted off into a reverie about what it would be like if the world was in black and white with no colour. But it was useless, as the visions in my dream kept coming back in colour and no matter how hard I tried they just refused to be black and white. I woke again, and again thought of the dishes. I slowly got out of bed, and put my slippers on, and noticed that one of the pom poms was missing. 'I will just find it before I do those dishes,' I thought. I got down on my hands and knees and began searching under the bed for the missing pom pom. I spotted it. It wasn't under the bed but under the wardrobe. I got up, went round to the wardrobe, but couldn't reach the pom pom. I, again, got up and went to the broom cupboard, took out the sweeping brush, and howked the pom pom out. I put the brush back and headed reluctantly towards the kitchen to do the dishes.

As I went into the kitchen, I thought of the sewing box in the drawer there. 'I might as well sew this pom pom back on before I do those dishes'. I retrieved the sewing box from the drawer and went into the sitting room. I sat down and began to sew the pom pom onto the slippers. Ouch! I pricked my finger with the needle, which necessitated me going back to the kitchen for an elastoplast. I tried to run my finger under the tap, but couldn't because the sink was full of dirty dishes. I then used the bathroom tap. I dried my finger and put the elastoplast on the pin prick, made my way back to the sitting room and finished sewing on the pom pom.

By this time I was feeling a bit hungry. I decided to make something to eat and then do the dishes. No point in doing them before, as I would only need to do them again afterwards. I thought 'if I had eggs I could have egg and bacon........if I had bacon'. I had neither and anyway the frying pan was in the sink with the dirty dishes. I settled for cereal. I prepared the cereal, went back into the living room, switched on the television and sat down to eat my cereal. I would do the dishes when I had finished eating.

The programme on the telly was about a man who had travelled over South America searching for a lost tribe of pygmy eating giants. Rivetting stuff, the dishes would have to wait. I couldn't miss this. I finished the cereal, and put the bowl in the sink with all the other dishes, and thought. 'I really must do these dishes, but I'll just watch the end of this programme first.' The man thought he was close to finding the pygmy eating giants, it was a waste of time really as he never did find them.

I got up to finally do the dishes, when the doorbell rang. I answered it and it was two well dressed Americans who told me they were Jehovah's Witnesses. I thought of the dishes, and invited them in. Two hours later I followed them to the door, asking if they wanted to hear about my experiences when I was a Buddhist Monk in the foothills of the Himalayas. They assured me that they would come back another day to hear about those experiences, and that my reminiscences of my time in the Atherius Society had been most interesting. 'Dishes, must do those dishes.' I had just closed the door behind the Jehovah's witnesses when the phone rang, it was my Mother. She began by telling me about two of her neighbours who had died that week, and that the woman across the road had put up fancy roman blinds. I said 'sorry Mum, can't talk at the moment I need to do these dishes. I left them last night and they are beginning to get crusty. Bye for now, luv you, speak to you later'. By this time it was four o'clock in the afternoon, and I was meeting Sandra at seven. I would have to leave the dishes until later. I got out my clothes and laid them on the bed and went for a nice long soak in the bath. I got dressed and went out, with the image of the dirty dishes still imprinted in my brain. When I got home I felt a bit tired, perhaps it was the wine, in any case I couldn't do the dishes tonight, I was whacked and I would have to do them in the morning.

Woke up still tired, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and lay back down again. I could see the dishes in the sink in my mind's eye.

The Sister

The meetings took place every week, a gathering of like-minded people, who whilst not close friends, were all acquaintances, but for the past few weeks a stranger had been attending the meetings, his name was Edward but everyone called him The General, this was due to an air of authority, he carried with him. He had a long face, shaped like a lantern, and deep black eyes which traversed the room with an imperious glance. He was singularly unattractive, however his company was sought out by most of the friends. His incredulous tales, kept the friends rapt, and hanging on his every word.

The custom of the friends was to partake of an agreeable meal and refreshments, conversing and exchanging stories. The friends, who had been meeting for many years, had begun repeating their stories, and this evening there was a languid air of boredom in the room."Ah here is The General" called several people at once. The General entered the room, sweeping down to the front of the assembled group, he was at once the centre of attention. "Tell us one of your stories" said the young man, who had been watching The General with an air of someone who had met his maker.Alright ladies and gentlemen take your seats and dim the lights and I will relate the following mysterious happenings.

Quite some time ago now, I had occasion to visit the Chief of the Clan Dunbar, in the North West of Scotland, I had met him previously in New York, where he had been attending one of the many gatherings of his Clan which took place regularly in America. On that occasion we found in each other a kindred spirit, and I accompanied him to all of his Clan Meetings and we became firm friends, exchanging addresses and promising to keep in touch. A few weeks after I arrived home, I received in the post an invitation to spend the weekend in Dunbar Valley in the extreme North West of Scotland. Over the next week, I carefully prepared for my visit, and decided I would drive, and stop off in the Lake District for a night and resume my journey in the morning.

I arose on the day of my journey full of excitement and looking forward to both the drive and spending some time with my friend. I spent the night in an adequate Bed & Breakfast in Windermere and after a hearty breakfast resumed my journey northwards, as I drove the weather became more and more menacing.

His substantial house lay in a valley, surrounded by steep hills covered in bracken and heather, there was a stillness about the place, and the surrounding scenery could only be described as magnificent desolation. I am sure the sun did reach the valley floor, but not on this occasion. The menacing black clouds which threatened rain, hung over the valley like Damocles Sword. As I drove into the valley and up to the house, the place was in darkness except one light shining brightly against that pitch blackness which can only be found in the depth of the countryside. I knocked on the door and it was quickly answered by the wife of the Clan Chief. "Come in, welcome to Dunbar House." she said with a pleasant smile which lit up her pretty face. The interior of the house was wood panelled and full of overstuffed sofas and large imposing dark wood furniture. There was a faint smell of cigar smoke permeating the house. I followed her into the living room where my friend was sitting back smoking a cigar, he rose to meet me and shook my hand firmly. "It’s good to see you" he said "I hope you have a pleasant stay with us". Letitia, his wife, showed me to my room, which, although not an attic, was at the top of the house. It was a pleasant, light room, in stark contrast with the rest of the house, and I looked forward to a comfortable sleep after my long drive.

After washing and changing, I made my way back down to the living room and following some idle chit chat, we sat down to dinner. I noted an air of sorrow on my friends face, and asked him, if he was OK. He replied that he was, but that the sorrow was due to the death of his wife’s identical twin sister, who had never married and had been living with them for some time. At this his wife, clearly upset, rose from the table, and said "she is not dead" and excusing herself left the room. My friend confided that his wife had taken the death of her sister very badly to the extent that she would not allow the room she lived in to be altered in any way, "it must stay as it was when she left" she had told her husband, and she would spend many hours in there sitting on her own with her thoughts. As letitia returned, I made an effort to lighten the mood, with some comic anecdotes, and reminding my friend of the great time we had had in New York. After a while the mood lightened and we sat there laughing and joking as we ate our, not unsubstantial meal. That evening as I went to bed, through a chink of light at the bottom of the dead sister’s door, I saw a shadow, which appeared to cross the room. I knew my friend and his wife were downstairs, and there was no one else in the house. I felt a chill, and hurried into my room and to bed. I slept fitfully and awoke with a start in the middle of the night. I rose from the bed and crept to the door, listening intently, but could hear nothing except the howling of a distant owl, and the chirruping of grasshoppers, whose sound was carried in the still night air. I went back to bed and determined to tell my host of my experiences over breakfast.

When I arrived for breakfast, Letitia was already preparing some bacon and eggs, and I could smell the fresh coffee which was bubbling on the stove. I helped myself to some coffee and exchanged pleasantries with Letitia, however, I noted a slight change in her voice, I couldn’t put my finger on it, the tone had subtly changed, and although, almost imperceptible, her face did not seem as pretty as it had the evening before. I had another cup of coffee and my friend entered the room. "I thought we might take a walk before breakfast" he said, and invited me to get my coat from the hall. As we walked along I noticed that the threatening clouds had burst in the night, and had left a glittering, silvery dew on the abundant foliage on the hilly slopes leading up out of the valley. It was a crisp, cold morning, perfect for a brisk walk before breakfast. As we walked I related my experiences of the previous evening, and my friend, said I must have been imagining it and that there was no one else in the house except him and his wife. I let the matter drop, as I could sense uneasiness in my companion’s manner. We returned and Letitia served breakfast and as we chatted I realised that her voice of the previous evening had returned and her face was as pretty as ever. I shrugged off my misgivings and enjoyed the breakfast. After breakfast, my friend and I ventured out with our cameras to try to photograph a deer, my friend had said there are plenty of deer in the valley and with a bit of luck we might even see a Stag. After four hours of creeping around, we were successful and I managed, with great stealth, to photograph a magnificent stag, and whilst not such a good photograph, I also got one of a Golden Eagle in flight. What a beautiful Country this is. We returned early afternoon, and had a light lunch, so as not to spoil dinner.

I went to my room to freshen up for dinner, stopping at the room where I had seen the shadow the previous evening, I quietly opened the door, and went into the room, which was lit dimly by a shaft of fading light entering from the one window. It was a pretty room, obviously a woman’s room. There were cosmetics and perfumes neatly set on the dressing table and there was a skirt and blouse laid out on the bed. The room felt cold, and I had an uneasy feeling, so I left and quietly shut the door behind me. I shrugged and laughed to myself at my paranoia, and told myself not to be so silly. After dinner we played cards for a while, cribbage. At around midnight I left my hosts in the living room and went upstairs to bed. I noticed there was, again, a chink of light under the door of the bedroom, and I stopped to listen at the door, holding my breath in case anyone could hear me from within the room. There was no sound, all was quiet and still. I went to my room and fell into a deep sleep, from which I awoke with a start. I once again, gingerly rose from my bed and crept to my door listening all the while for any sounds. I opened the door and was startled, by a slight creak which pierced the stillness. I stopped in my tracks, held my breath and waited for the silence to surge back. I then crept towards the door of the other room. I opened the door quickly and before me stood Letitia and beside her was another Letitia, but this one I can only describe as transparent, and as I entered the room she merged into the real Letitia and they became one. I felt a cold chill and asked Letitia what was going on. She replied, "I told you my sister wasn’t dead, she lives through me." The next morning I awoke and after pleasantries with my friend I said my goodbye’s and left them to their ménage de trios.

The assembled friends who had been listening intently to the General began to clap their hands, "brilliant General, is it a true story?"
The General, with a quizzical look, replied, yes.

The Park Bench

The old man sat on the bench opposite the fountain every day, he was reading a copy of The Times and every so often he would knock his pipe against the edge of the bench, and after re-lighting it, he would put it into the corner of his mouth and resume reading.

George Gregory had been coming to this same bench regularly for the past 15 years, but today was to be his last day, only he didn’t know it. Ever since his wife had died some 5 years previously, George had taken to walking in the park each day and sitting on the bench reading, smoking and watching the world go by. This particular day seemed no different from any other, George had gotten up around 07:30 and after his morning ablutions, had eaten a light breakfast and tidied up the small flat that he and Elizabeth had shared for 40 years, they hadn’t had children, so the flat had always been enough for them. He had met Elizabeth at University, she had been a bit of a rebel, and had been arrested several times, for taking part in various protests, it was this rebellious streak in her that had attracted George. That, and her beautiful body and long black hair, she had a dimple on one cheek and it deepened when she laughed. George had been the quiet studious type, and was amazed when Elizabeth made it known that she was attracted to him, and after a whirlwind courtship they had married in the local Registrar’s Office. They bought the flat in 1972 and had lived there ever since.

When they first married they had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, but as the years passed, most of them had either moved away or died. They still kept in touch with a few friends, but mostly they kept each other’s company. They were kindred spirits, and loved each other with a passion that never died. She had only gone in to hospital to have a benign cyst removed, but had suffered a heart attack on the operating table. George was devastated, and retreated into himself. The only time he left the house was to go for shopping and to the park each day for his smoke of his pipe, he wouldn’t smoke in the flat as Elizabeth had always hated the smell of his pipe, and although she was gone now, he felt she wouldn’t have liked him to smoke in the flat.

It was a beautiful, sunny day and the park was busy. Children running past laughing and shouting, courting couples, arm in arm, gazing into each other’s eyes, fractious babies crying, Ice Cream Vendors Chimes and harassed Mothers and Fathers, scolding their children.

As he sat there in the warm sun smoking his pipe, George folded his paper and leaned back on the bench, his mind wandered back to sunny days in the past when he and Elizabeth had first met at university, the endless political meetings, the demonstrations, the music and the tender nights of youthful passion. He remembered her joy when he had got them tickets to see Bob Dylan, and they way she threw her arms around him and told him, she loved him up to the sky. They had walked through this park many, many times, so much in love, with the world before them. Once she had found an injured bird, and took it home and nursed it to health. Then when they were told they could never have children, Elizabeth had come to the park, he followed and found her on the bench quietly crying, he had put his arms around her, and her face wet with tears, he had kissed her gently and said it will be OK, but the pain remained in Elizabeth’s heart. It was also here she had come when she found out about the lump in her breast, they had both sat on the bench crying with a feeling of dread, and then the joy when they were told that the lump was benign and that Elizabeth only needed a small op to remove it. He thought about the wonderful holidays in Greece, they always went to the same place, a beautiful out of the way village where over the years they had gotten to know the locals very well, he remembered the tender sweet intimacy he shared with her on hot, balmy Greek nights.

The night before she went into hospital she had said to him, "don’t worry George, I’ll be OK" and even if I’m not I’ll be waiting for you. He had thought that strange at the time, but shrugged it off. The Sun was getting hotter, and George fell into a Reverie, he could see Elizabeth’s face, she was beckoning him, he felt warm and happy, he walked towards her and took her hand, he experienced a peaceful calm come over him. He knew now what she had meant and felt sublimely happy, Elizabeth was smiling her dimple deepening.

George remained on the bench, and the children running past smiled at the old man sleeping on the bench, the Ice Cream Van was still chiming and the Mothers and Fathers were still scolding, but George couldn’t hear them.