WHAT’LL DO WITHOUT ME WELLIES?

A younger me with Jimmy, my pet lamb, in our village Fancy Dress parade

Above you can see me dressed as Little Bo Peep, a character from an English nursery rhyme.

Finding this sent me on a trip down memory lane and I ended up writing a nostalgic poem about living on our tenant farm Holly Cottage Farm.

Many of the expressions I’ve used are from Yorkshire or have to do with farming and may need explanation . I hope you understand it and enjoy it!

What’ll I do without me wellies?

(A farmer’s daughter’s recollections of living on a farm)

What’ll I do without me wellies?

Me Mam’s gone an‘ chucked ‘em in t’bin!

I know they were nowt special,

but with them on me feet I felt like a king.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more        helping me Dad on Holly Cottage Farm

                    like               milking cows, feeding ewes or stacking hay.         

                    No more       bedding-up boisterous bullocks in the barn

                     nor               dipping sheep on a scalding hot day.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more        picking potatoes with frozen feet

                     nor               making up feed with barley and maize.

                    No more       slopping noisily down the main street

                    nor               herding young cattle onto a fresh graze.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more        checking for new lambs in the middle of the night

                    nor               ducking out of t‘way when a cow lifts its tail.

                    No more       slurping calves covered in milk, all wet and white.

                    nor               collecting baskets of eggs to put out for sale.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more        chucking straw, mangolds or sugar beet in trailers

                    nor               listening to the pulsating pump of the milking machine.

                    No more       climbing on oily tractors, combines and balers

                    nor               mucking out t‘cowhouse keeping it spotless and clean.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more        feeding a bottle to Jimmy, me pet lamb

nor               digging worms in t’garden and having a laugh.

No more       tug-o-war between me boots and me Mam

nor               washing Judy, our dog, in an old tin bath.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more       making deep footprints in drifted snow

nor               splashing in t’puddles and making a mess.

No more       wanging wellies at Tollerton village show

nor               dressing-up as a superhero in t’fancy dress.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

   There’ll be no more        sliding on ice, falling flat on me face

nor               squelching through mud, getting stranded and stuck.

No more       sledging down hills at one heck of a pace

nor               catching a fish on the end of me hook.

What’ll I do without me wellies?

Me Mam’s gone ‘an bought me some more!

I know they’ll be reyt special,

And with them on my feet I’ll ‘ave adventures galore!

There’ll be..            Sliding, sledging, slurping and slopping,

                              Splashing, dressing, washing and mucking.

There’ll be..            Pumping, feeding, bedding and dipping,

                              Picking, milking, making and ducking.

There’ll be..            Stacking, climbing, wanging and digging,

                              Squelching, checking, catching and chucking.

That’s what’ll I do with me wellies!

In memory of past folk and beasts of Tollerton, North Yorkshire.

Pat Hope (Almond)

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