Saturday, February 04, 2006
This was written for my Auntie Annie by my Grandfather. The comments are by my Auntie Pearl, both o f my mother’s sisters as was Edna who gets a mention. Wee Ticky is my oldest living cousin ~ the one with the Over Bloody Eighty Pendant. She was called Ticky because she listened to her father’s watch and said “tick tick” We still call her Ticky though her name is Edna. Pearl’s comments…….. This poem was written for Annie. At that time if you wanted to sell chickens, you sent for a crate to put them in, but this time it didn’t arrive. The part about Dad’s clothes ~ I’m sure the suit of Uncle Jacks was Aunty Louisa’s idea. Dad never wore a suit in his life, but when he went out, he always wore clean moleskin trousers, a white shirt and a spotless white hanky round his neck. He was very clean and tidy. Dad really loved Annie. (She was his firstborn). Granny Magford’s was the wine place in Glenrowan where Ned Kelly was captured. Edna and I used to go there sometimes to work. Annie's Poem Yes, time flies swiftly onward, though it seems like yesterday that we met at Granny Mogfords where the chicken got away. He’d escaped from his companions through a vent, within the bag. which I fixed, you well remember with some rotten string or rag. Then we looked among the others to make sure that they were right, But we found the trip and worry had put out another’s light. And me thought me of the Scotch man, aye, that close and canny beast, with his “bang goes sixpence lassie”, each was worth a thrum at least. My heart went out with pity, for your face was lined with care, and I read the disappointment at the crate that wasn’t there. Wee Ticky didn’t know me, you will learn with some surprise, I was there in borrowed plumage, like a jackdaw in disguise. For the hat that covered Snowy and the clothes upon my back – bar the boots with Danny’s heels – all belonged to Uncle Jack ! I left you at the slip rails, for a moment took a spell, Quaffed a wine, seized my packet, took the train and steamed to hell. In the end the pick and crowbar and that tough unfinished line, where you reckoned at the day’s end posts erected number nine. Myself was in a muddle and was left to dream at night that I’d done the same as usual, Just the thing that wasn’t right. Oh well, we all have our troubles, some are great and some are small, But no matter their dimension, ‘twould be better – none at all ! But when Gabriel blows the trumpet, though the distance is so far, I will shout aloud to Peter for to swing dem gates ajar. - Hugh Ranton 1866 -1937 I think Grandad was feeling guilty for going off to drink and by doing so the chicken escaped. He used to like to drink so I have heard. He died when I was 3, so I never knew him. He spent a lot of years living at Auntie Annie’s place, Her husband Dan died very young and she raised a family of sixchildren and only three are still with us.