Lyr Add: When We Were at the Skuel

Subject: Lyr Add: When We Were at the Skuel
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 Jun 04 - 08:12 AM

When We were at the Skuel

Tune- "Nae luck aboot the hoose."

I just maun chaunt a wee bit sang,
An' play for yence the fyul;
An' tell the evils o' the days
When we were at the skuel.
Ah! weel ye mind the wooden leg,
An' think ye hear it stump;
Ye'll no forget the "Grey Meer Meg,"
The name just gars me jump.

Chorus
When we were at the skuel, my lads,
We oft wished to be man;
We gat our wishes: now we lang
To be at skuel agyen.

The Dom'nee lo'ed the "Quaker's Wife"-
The sang, I mean-fu' weel;
He whistled as we sang for life,
He drummed to make us squeel.
The dreadful "Clog" fast to the ring,
An' "Ginglesby," the sprite,
That in the garret wav'd his wing,
Filled a' our hearts wi' fright.

Ah, man! to kneel two hours or sae
Upon a ruler round
Was sic a pleasure in that day,
The like's now seldom found.
An' then upon a desk to kick,
Grip'd fast by leg and arm,
Weel hammer'd wiv a clubby stick-
It garred ye feel a' warm.

The maister was a canty chiel,
At ba' in skuel he'd play;
He did not heed the lads a deal,
An' what could callants say?
He'd fry us pancakes at a pinch,
An' clout our heads when dull,
An' nip wor lugs, and gar us flinch-
They were grand times at skuel.

Methinks I see the bonny spot
Where pears an' apples grew;
We didna like to see them rot,
Sae kindly pluck'd a few.
Wor lads- the maisters kens it a'-
Stuff bags down ilka back,
And if the cane should chance to fa',
Ye'll never tent the crack.

Ye'll no forget the Washing Tubs,
The burn's Green Wate Pyul?
Ye'll maybe mind o' Tommy's rubs,
When ye cam late to skuel
Your memory o' the battle speaks,
Wheen foes were doom'd to fa';
Tho' Roman chiels, ye fought like Greeks,
But best-ahint the wa'!

The days arre gyen- yet still we cling
To recollections dear;
We haud the bee without the sting-
The thought without the fear.
O! Merry were the days o' yule,
When our good pastor came
Wi' grand prize buiks and cakes to skuel,
An' sent us dancing hame.

Where is that honoured pastor now?
His fate was like the lave:
Time laid his cauld hand on his pow:
We bore him to his grave.
An' when his image meets our ken,
The faithful tear is given;
But-let us never weep again,-
He'll no come back frae Heaven.

Washing Tubs and Great Water Pyul = Both famous bathing places for boys at Jesmond Burn.

-J.P. Robson, "Bards of the Tyne," 1849