‘A Couple of Ballads’ Excerpt
One of our Scottish members, T S Law of Newarthill has not only sent the Ulster-Scots Language Society his best wishes, but also the following extract from his work called “A Couple of Ballads” for publication with his permission. The complete work is a personal account of some of his early life after his move from Ulster to Scotland many years ago. The idea of the complete story is loosely based around the two ballads of “Sir Patrick Spens” and “Phil the Fluter’s Ball”.
“… What once was there in that Ulster of our young manhood, however, was absorbed as quietly in the mind as casually unnoticed, but surely melled in with what has always been my awareness of Ireland and interest in its people, history, myths and customs. Something of the atmosphere of the place was to come together with those in my mind one day when I remembered a story told by an old lady in Newarthill. She was a Mrs Henderson, an Ulsterwoman and the wife of an Ulsterman, one Robert Henderson who was better known to all of us in our youth and maturity as Rab, usually Big Rab, for he was a tall man.
… In our young years, our families had gone about each other’s houses. Mrs Henderson still had the Ulster twang of her childhood on her tongue, and it was from her that I heard the following story of something she had known in her childhood: we are going back now to well over a hundred years ago. In later years, when I was a young man myself in Ulster, sometimes I would look around me, wondering where she had lived there and where her story had centred. In the way of such matters, I never did think to enquire where she had come from and when. This is another instance of the casualness of youth that spoke a song to a friend but did not think to remember his name. But I do know the name of Mrs Henderson, who told the story that I was to put into the language of those among whom she had come to live. And if I were an artist, I know I could draw her face as I knew it when I was bairn sitting beside her fireplace in High Street, Newarthill. When those who knew her read the following story (though there cannot be many such alive now) they will recognise a few of the Ulster-Scots variations of language such as might have been used in such a situation …”
FAUR OWER CAULD
I mynd a yince-upon-a-tyme
that seemed ilk “Listen for the lave”,
I heard, asyde the ingle o a fyre
ableeze lik puit a lowe
athin the winter baens,
an auld bit wyfie was an Ulster bodie
tell o a tyme that was
lik yince-upon-anither-tyme-o-listen,
whuin she was a bairnie lyke masel
the middis o the nyneteenth centurie.
Thon was a tyme like mind it was
the neebor o the nicht that I
masel hae mynd o, lyke for aye,
yae Ulster nicht that was
athin the kintrisyde
lik yonner yont the middis o oor kennin,
a place an tyme o snaw
cauld blawin snell as puit a baen o airn
athin ilk finger, wi haurd yce
craik-craikelin athin the ilka jynt.
Thon wyfie said, wi een faur yont the tellin,
that in yon Ulster nicht
she sat upon the fender
bi ingle lowe, her faimlie roondaboot
lik crack in comfort,
whuin thare it was, lik yince
becam anither yin,
then three lik “Listen, hear me”,
a chap, chap, chap upon the doore,
abuin the kynlie clash o faimlie din.
“Wheesht!” said the mither til her wheen o childer,
and haed her man attend
the doore; an whuin it aipent,
a blast o smaa snaw poothered ben the hoose.
Taen tent the faither,
for thare fornent him, stuid
a paerlik kinna chiel
whoe speired a bittock waarmin
afore the fyre, fair baet was he,
an maerra-cauld as lyke tae brekk in twoe.
In cam the craitur, daudin snaw
aroond him lyke the blast ootbye,
syne pecht an splootert oot
his thanks fornent the bleeze,
the-tyme the wyfie o the hoose
gaed back an furrit maskin tea
wuid gie the fuhlla some bit heat
athin the baens wuid thowe a tingle.
Syne thare were buttert scones as licht
as seemed tae float abuin the flet,
no yin as daichie as
play dunt athin the wame;
thick farrels tae, wi muckle whangs
o kebbock suin wuid puit a creesh
o waarmth athin the ilka ynst,
ben kist, an thru the haill baen-maerra.
Aa duin that cood be duin
lik naething mair for daein
but speir awo tho no ower speirie,
and aathing ettent wi the naething mair
tae chowe but rift it quaetlik,
the mither wunnert
juist whit the paer sowl was adae
abraid in sic a nicht
no fit for cheeties yont the doore-jamb?
An shair enyeuch, an that’s
lik listen for the aunswer,
they heard for startlement the fuhlla
say that it happent-juist the cauld was sair
as bye the hoose he traikt
alang wi his ould mither
whoe still was ootbye in the cauld,
bi this timm happit ower
as whyte as dacentlyke wi snawflakes.
“Man,” said the faither o the hoose,
“Man, dear, ye cannae leave
yer mither oot in siccan waather!
Bring the paer bodie ben
an let her hae a waarm
afore the fyre, for Heeven’s sake!
She’ll be as bravelie as yersel
nae tyme avaa. Man, bring her til the ingle!”
“She’s faur ower cauld tae feel the heat,”
said thon chiel, gannin furth.
“She’s ooten here athin a barra.
I’m hurlin her awo
for yirdin.” And amang
the snaw gaed he, as maerra-het
as face the blast an byde his wheesht
for better days micht see him dee in suimmer.
T S Law
Next: The Oul Leid
Previous: The Life and Work of Rev W F Marshall
Contents: Ullans: The Magazine for Ulster-Scots, Nummer 4 Spring 1996
