24 February Cumnock to Ochiltree (As per 6 January) or The Day We Were Nearly Snawed Aff

There are times in the year when the wather is clear,
And the sun splits the heevens abune.
But then again, there are times when the rain,
Disnae tak time tae come doon.
There are times when the heat blisters oor feet,
Oan tarmac het up by the sun,
Or times when we slog through marshes and bog,
Tae derive oor hard-gotten fun.

Yet, whatever the weather, ye ken that the blether
O’ Ooters is heard far and wide,
Oan the banks o’ the Ayr when the weather is fair,
Or in rain oan the shores o’ the Clyde.
Or maybe the will is tae tackle the hill,
Wi’ the sweat dreepin’ aff o’ the broo,
Then aff o’ the ben and doon in the glen,
Ye’ll find us come staggerin’ through.

I’m sure ye’ll agree, a tough lot are we
An’ no’ much pits us aff o’ oor dauner.
Nae maiter whit fate dumps doon in oor plate
We’ll meet ev’ry We’nsday by honour.

But noo I’ll regale ye a’ wi’ a tale,
O’ the time that the gods had a laugh,
They gave us a blaw accompianied by snaw,
An’ thocht that we wad cry aff.
But we’re made o’ strong stuff and rugged and tough,
An’ we’re no’ the folk tae resign,
Sae, in spite o’ the snaw that blanketed a’,
We gethered in Cumnock at nine.*

There wis Davie an’ Rex, and yon chap wi the specs,
By the name o’ Paul frae the Troon,
And Alan and Ronnie and Jimmy and Johnny
An’ Allan frae auld Irvine toon.
An’ last but no’ least, we had Ian the Feast
Yon remarkably ravenous guy.
And noo there wis nine o’ us fellows fine -
And Holly the Collie forby.

Noo, withoot too much talk we sterted the walk,
Northward towards Auchinleck,
Though the snaw piled high and the traffic whizzed by,
We were happy and cared na a feck
Then at the burn, we took a left turn,
And doon the wood pathway came we.
Till we were met by the Lugar in spate
Rinnin’ doon towards Ochiltree.

A snaw-covered road, quite level and broad,
Ran doon by the side o’ the watter,
And takin’ this route, we fairly strode oot,
Each ootdaein’ each wi’ his patter.
Then appeared through the trees, the Hoose o’ Dumfries
On the opposite bank o’ the river,
But the mood wisnae richt tae view such a sicht
Sae we walked on an’ visited never.

The shelter o’ trees provided some ease,
Frae the wind and the breeze driven snaw,
But we shin left the bield an’ took tae a field,
An’ met wi’ the elements a’.
The snaw scoured the face, sae we quickened the pace,
Tae get by wi’ the worst o’ the thing,
And making a turn by the side o’ a burn,
We strode oan tae Barony bing.

That slope loomed afore us and stertit tae scare us,
For there’s some that don’t fancy the climbin’,
But, here’s a thing, we climbed up that bing,
Wi’ barely a break in the stridin’.
As the snaw eased awa’ the path levelled an’ a’,
An’ we could relax for a bit,
We walked up a track wi’ the win’ oan oor back,
Tae the ‘A Frame’ o’ Barony Pit.

Then, feelin’ the need, we sat doon tae feed,
And savoured oor peeces an’ cheese,
An’ there’s nothing tae beat the al freso treat
O’ Allsorts and Jeely Babees.
We were gled o’ the rest, then bodies refreshed,
We wandered aroon the pit-heid,
Tae learn o’ the pit and the men that worked it -
The labour that won them their breed.

But the clock moves its haun, and time it rins on,
An’ the hour came for us tae make tracks,
Sae leavin’ ‘the frame’, we turned towards hame
Still wi’ the win’ oan oor backs.
The steps we had made were retraced, I’m afraid,
At least for a bit o’ a mile,
We then hatched a scheme tae return tae the stream,
An’ follow it yet for a while.

Sae takin’ a richt, we drapped oot o’ sicht,
Doon tae the river yince mair,
The snaw went awa’ and the win’ drapped an a’,
For the gods saw that we didnae care.
As the wather got brighter an’ spirits got lighter,
We entered a riverside glade,
Then each found a tree behind which tae pee,
For we’ve a’ reached that age, I’m afraid.

At Mill o’ Affleck, we stopped tae inspect
The rusting auld iron mill wheel,
An’ tried tae explain why it stauns a’ alane
In the midst o’ a marsh in a field.
Then forward we pressed and onward progressed,
Back on the riverside way,
Till we came tae the span o’ the bridge at the dam,
An’ oor walkin’ was by for the day

But some time wis spared tae see the kirkyaird,
Whaur the deid hae been solemnly plantit,
In a flat bit o’ grun’ at a bend in the burn –
Whit mair could a body hae wantit?
Then, withoot too much fuss, we boarded a bus,
An’ came back tae where we had stertit,
But the day wis still young, sae tae continue oor fun,
We roonded it aff in The Mercat.

Noo a’ ye big sissies, ye jessies an’ prisses,
Wha sit oan your erse an’ complain,
Rise aff o’ yer chair an’ get oot in fresh air,
In spite o’ the snaw or the rain.
Jist think o’ us auld yins, the wrinkled and bald yins,
Oot for a Wednesday waun'er.
Despising the snaw, the rain and the blaw,
The Ooters will aye hae their dauner.

*Poetic licence. It was actually nine thirty, but you try to get a rhyme for nine thirty!