Div ye mind in summers long gone by, till Dinnad Bey we'd churney?
A pleycey no at far awey till make e bairnies girny,
A tickad clutched in eych chiel's han, wi cup an coatie too,
A picnic for e Sunday School wi locks a things till do.
A getherane at e motor stance all waitin
on a bus,
Wi buckids speyds an full o spirits, causin quite a fuss,
Wur mams wi cotton frockies on, an teychurs weyrin cheens
Lek regimental sergeant majors, couldna quel wur beans.
A bussie comin, double decker, new fey
Staxigoe,
No need till rush ere for a seyt, no room abeen ablow,
E nixt lock empty, doors let go, lek bees let oot a hive
We belted ower till fecht for pleyss, e action meyd us thrive.
Wi streamers hingin fey e windows,
singin lek till burst,
Arrived at Dinnad, throtties sore complete wi ragin thirst,
Wur moarnane baggies all dished oot, a pie some crisps a scone,
All wholesome meyt for growin bairns wi no chiel left alon.
Then, till e beach, pure ecstacy, a
whole day on e san',
Could gie more pleasure than a trip till far flung foreign lan',
Wur sand-castles a work o art, then treasure hunt for shell,
A reyce along e golden beach, a paddle in e swell.
An mam wid open up hur bag an dish hur
goodies oot,
Sangwidges for ivry chiel an plenty more no doot,
Wrapped in loff bags sma squeyr parcels, eych a mystery,
Wis id eigg an san' or spam an san' till feast on all e day?
'Boot half past fower, we'd climm e
dunes till go back till e hall,
For cups o tea an "fancy baggies", boy, we'd hed a ball,
A bus lod fill o sunburnt feycies sleepy eyes an smiles,
All dreymin o goin back nixt year till pass e homeward miles. |