Legs getting blown off me marras in a clarty trench, the stench of death in your nose. Jesus, you wouldn’t believe what Ah seen ower there, man. Aye, ah was ower in France with the Northumberland Fusiliers. This un must’ve been here when they built wor raa after Thu Waa. You see, we’re living on it’s land, not the other way aroond. “Haway, kidda, it’s bedtime,” Ah says, and they gan trooping up the stairs. “Aye,” ah reply, giving her a wide smile, “But that’s why you love uz, Mary Molloy.”Īh bent ower an give her a big kiss as she swaddled the baabie then lifted wor Henry up on me showlders. There’ll be cubs in a den somewhere up the woods ower the back.

“Haddaway Mary, man, a fox’ll not touch the young ‘uns, thy’re mair afraid of us than we are of it. Ah sometimes supped a porter with him in the club when Ah got the chance. A bonny Irish lass, her fathaa had come ower from Dublin to work doon the pits when the tattie famine was on. “Christ, divn’t encourage the bairns to feed a bloody fox, man, George,” says Mary, her cheeks flushed red against her blue eyes and dark hair. It’d be better off oot in the countryside where it could catch rabbits and that.” “I divn’t reckon it’s getting much food roond here. “Whey, it was a hungry looking thing,” Ah says. “What was it like, Dad?” he asks, his eyes wide in wonderment.

The bairn’s giggling, his white blonde hair ahl wet an sticking up from his wash in the tin bath by the coal fire, and Ah tells him what Ah’ve seen oot the back. So anyways, Ah gets away in in my owld collarless grandad short with the sleeves rowlled up an my hefty forearms oot and sweeps up wor Henry in one swift move. It’s bloody hard yak braying lumps of rock off a stone face with a chisel, Ah tell you.

She told me that she got nipped by a Jack Russell when she was just a bit bairn herself, so wor lads have got nee chance of getting a dog.Īh work as a stone quarryman and come hyem knackered every night. She doesn’t trust them aroond the bairns, like. Ah’ve always fancied a little wiry terrier, mind, but wor lass’ll not have one while there’s young ‘uns knocking aboot. Nah, live and let live, Ah reckon, you’ve got to dee what you’ve got to dee to get by.Īh divn’t keep ferrets like a lot of the pit marras dee and there’s ney animals in ma hoose. They’re a geet bonny animal a fox, mind, with their long snout and bushy tail, the white on their bellies.Īh divn’t reckon they’re vormin like some of the fellas roond here will tell you. Ah gave maself a little grin, chucked down the glowing tab end an got maself back in the hoose. It’s all red brick and slates up wor raa and in the dusky twilight he was gone in a flash. He looked like he was gannin to bolt, like, but when he got a waft of the bones he grabbed it up in his gob and off he went out the yard door and up the back lonnen.

Ah lift the muckle metal bin lid, and chuck him down a bit chicken carcass that we’d left over from our Sunday dinner. Ah’ve just always had a soft spot for animals, man. He looked up at me with these greet orange peepers, his bony ribs showing through his thin sides, and owld Micky Muggins here gans and takes pity on him. So ah up to have a look, thinking it might be a dorty black rat or something, and there he is, bowld is brass, a bonny red fox. Whey, ah just gan oot to get away from the noise of ahl the bairns running aboot, man. Ah was sitting on the ootdoor netty smoking a Woodbine in me cloth cap when ah hord something scratching aboot among the bins.

Geoff tate flock of seagulls hair