(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)
