The Picktree Brag
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Description
The Picktree Brag As I came from a Christening One day in Chester-le-Street, I thought I heard the clopping Of a pony, sleek and fleet. I turned upon the cobblin’ And saw, upon my soul A parti-coloured dobbin Scarce bigger than a foal, And on it – not a rider. So crammed my fine top hat On my noggin even harder, And straightened my cravat. I took hold of my waistcoat With its lovely brocade stitches – Without a thought I crammed it Beneath my belt and britches, And I mounted that wee pony. I felt just like a boy As it turned and gazed upon me With its eyes so dark and coy. We galloped down the lonnin With no saddle, reins or crop; I saw the pond approaching And I yelled for it to stop, And stop it did, just at the bank, Not shuddering or shying: It stood stock still upon the brink, And that’s what sent me flying. I spluttered and I floundered, I spat out green duckweed: A wee man stood and chortled In his fairisle and his tweed. I hang my coat, I wring my socks My britches drip and sag: I am the latest laughingstock Of the wicked Picktree Brag. Lyric by Giles Watson, 2013. Inspired by an account of a mischievous shape-shifting fairy from County Durham, in Frederick Grice, Folk Tales of the North Country, London, 1944, p. 113. The story seems to be a light-hearted variant on the tales of the far more malevolent Scottish Kelpie. “Lonnin” is Geordie dialect for a street or lane. -
Owner
Giles Watson's poetry and prose -
Source
Flickr (Flickr) -
License
What does this mean? Attribution-ShareAlike License
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Further information
Link: https://www.flickr.com/photos/29320962@N07/8397732969/
Resource type: Image
Added by: Splat
Last modified: 3 years, 10 months ago
Viewed: 492 times
Picture Taken: 2013-01-20T15:10:55 -
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