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!


Pat Hope (Almond) 
(In memory of past folk and beasts of Tollerton in North Yorkshire)	


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