Here's a poem my granda used to recite (that's him in the tank top in the pic above, probably aged about 15, with his three brothers and four sisters):
Ninety Four
I’m 94 this mornin', aye I’m 94 theday
I’m no' as young as I used tae be for I’m gettin' oul an' grey
But my heart is young and I’m fu' o' fun and I’m very pleased tae say
I’m getting mairried on Thursday tho' I’m 94 theday
Tae some folk doon in the village it will be a big surprise
The people think it’s a' a joke an' the minister’s tellin' lies
But we will hae a lauch at them as sure as you’re alive
For I’ll mebbe see a christenin' yit afore I’m 95!
Here's a recording of it from a Scottish folklife website; another by Will Fyffe, and a traditional English version from the British Library archives, recorded in Firle in Sussex (where Hilary's brother and family live).
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Monday, December 28, 2009
"I’m 94 this mornin'"
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1 comments:
My dad told me this song/ sung it to me almost 60 years ago & I have never forgotten it
Another one was-
Sure & the hat don't fit, the boots are far too wee, I cannea stand the collar, it nearly strangles me. I've scarcely room to breathe I in fact the death it's true - the Hats tight, the Coats tight & I'm tight too
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