Last Monday P3 were given The Sair Finger, Twa-Legged Mice and Captain Puggle Scots poems to choose one to learn. On Tuesday P4 were given An extract of George’s Mingin’ Medicine, The Auld Troot and Ye Cannae Shove Yir Grannie aff a Bus Scots poems to choose one to learn.
Use the Scottish Poetry Library website to read Captain Pugglehttp://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poetry/poems/captain-puggle
Challenge – learn all 3 poems.
We have been learning them in school.
Keep practising at home. We need to tell Mrs Wilson our class winner and runner up for the Burns Competition next Monday 23rd January. The winner will say their poem at our Scottish Afternoon on 26th January.
The Auld Troot Sandy Thomas Ross
The auld broon troot lay unner a stane,
Unner a stane lay he,
An he thocht o’ the wund,
An he thocht o’ the rain,
An the troot that he uist tae be.
A’m a gey auld troot, said he tae hissel,
A gey auld troot, said he,
An there’s mony a queer-like
Tale A cuid tell
O’ the things that hae happened tae me.
They wee-hafflin trooties are aa verra smert,
They’re aa verra smert, said he,
They ken aa the rules
O’ the gemm aff by hairt,
An they’re no aften catched, A’ll agree.
They’re thinkin A’m auld an they’re thinkin A’m duin,
They’re thinkin A’m duin, said he,
They’re thinkin A’m no
Worth the flirt o’ a fin
Or the blink o’ a bonnie black ee.
But A’m safe an A’m snug in ma bonnie wee neuk,
A’m safe an A’m snug, said he,
A’m the big fush that
Nae fusher can heuk,
An A’ll aye be that – till A dee!
O Ye Cannae Shove Yir Grannie Aff a Bus
by Margaret Tollick
O ye cannae shove yir grannie aff a bus.
How no, but?
Ah mean,
Great if she’s a douce wee body,
Flooer-peenied,
Knittin-oxtered,
A poke o sookie sweeties in her pocket.
Lauchs like a lintie at yir jokes,
Maks clootie dumplin fir yir birthday,
Aye supports yir team.
Some grannie
Fir somebody,
Yon.
No me
But.
Ma grannie’s a
Girnin, greetin,
Toffee-brittle
Soor-ploomed
Shammy-gab.
Aye clypin tae yir faither,
Aye gripin tae yir mither,
Aye wishin she wis deid.
Shove her aff?
Ah widna even let her oan.
An Extract o’ Geordie’s Mingin Medicine
by Roald Dahl, Translaitit by Matthew Fitt
Weel, weel! Thocht Geordie, aw O a sudden. “Fings-bings! Richtitie-pichtitie! I ken exactly whit I’ll dae. I’m gonna mak her a new medicine, a magic medicine, naw a mingin medicine is what we’re gonna hae!”
Sae gie me a golach and a lowpin flee,
Gie me twa mauks and speeders three,
And a slivverie skoosher fae the sea,
And a poisonous jag fae out a bumbee,
And the juice fae the fruit o the pokey-hat tree,
And the poodered bane o a wombat’s knee.
And a hunner ither things and aw,
Things wi a hummin honkin blaw.
I’ll steer them up, I’ll bile them lang,
A mixter roch, a maxter strang.
And then, bang-wallop, doon it gaes,
A guid big spoonfu (mind yer taes)
Jist gowp it doon, and hae nae fear.
“Hoo’s that for ye, Grannie dear?”
Will she lauch or will she greet?
Will she tak aff doon the street?
Will she explode in a fuff o reek?
Or blaw herself intae nixt week?
Wha kens? No me. Let’s hing on and see.
(I’m gled it isnae you or me.)
Och Grannie ye’ve no got a clue
Whit I’m gonnae mak for you!
