Memories of the Common
Poetry
by Mr Thomas Lorimer
Tammy Lorimer is my name,
Ma age is eighty three,
An little, little did ah ken
A Shepherd I would be.
The Common is a bonnie place,
The place I do adore,
It’s there I stand agin the fence,
An gaze doon on the shore.
I tak’ a dounder round about
To pass awa the time,
In case some o the sheep might stray
Upon the railway line.
It’s braw to see the bonnie sheep,
Wech spread about,
Some playin’ on the whirlie gig,
And some below the chute.
Before they got the bye laws passed,
The sheep could graze we ease,
But now the grass is cut that short,
Puir brutes, they are on they knees.
The plouter brig was a dirty hole,
It was aye fou a glour,
But noo it’s got a concrete flair
And it wis nay mixed wi tar.
Richt weel I mind the happy days,
That never will return
It’s there I walkit up and down
By the side of the Molly Burn.
I’m begining to think I’m getting auld,
And I’ll no ken whit I’ll dae,
When I pairt we my Highland Sheep,
And my frish Collie tae.
My auld dog Ben was a faithful dog,
They are few and far between,
You just had to look at his bonnie face,
And his twa sleekit een.
He ran aboot the whole day long,
You’d never think he’d tire,
And wi a’ his powky tricks He was much admired.
They’ll hurl me up the Newport road,
Among the happy crew,
When I’m luing on my back oot there,
You’ll see my words are true.