For Wor Cissy

Ah used tae luv yon times in the summer holidays when we wud gan ower tae bide whe uncle ind auntie Robson it The Craig. It wisn’t aal that far from the village really, in fact, ye cud see the smoke from the chimleys, arly mornin, but it wis sae different.

Wor brekfists tasteed that much better, elwis bacon ind egg, ind mushrooms when the wis ony aboot.  

Then we wud feed the hens we aunty Lizzy ind Sweep wud git rang of uncle Barty for loupin up it wuh. 

In d’ye mind yon bright sunny mornin wuh wor doon the bottom i The Croft in ye got sic i glif we yon ather.  But uncle Barty sean fettled him, he gie him sic a bittlin we his stick.  

Aye ind it wis whiles gittin on inta the night afore uncle Barty got the auld coo milked but yon glass i warm fresh milk wis worth waitin for. Ind cream off the top nixt mornin wis even bettor is lang is aunt Lizzy didn’t see ye usin yor finger. Ah elwis think she kenned but nivor sed nowt. As the heather startid tae lose its bloom ind show time came aroond wuh knew it wud sean be time tae gan heym ind prepare for scull again, but, mon, whit a grand time wuh had hed.

(c) Terry Common



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