THE HAUNTED DOMINIE

Cromwell Argus, Volume L, Issue 2647, 10 November 1919, Page 6

THE HAUNTED DOMINIE

[By Cir.oru;it Bi.aik in the * Record, Edinburgh.]

Tlie bairns arc tired and restless. and the scli'ilwooin's a’ a-lnun. I’m sick myself o' history an' dates: I see their lips and fincer- busy fingering the stun. T hear their pencils scari n' on the sides. They arc busy wi' their countin'; I can leave them for a woe. The last half-'oor or so afore they skcll ; And I ho’ some of thorn are dreaming, as I canna’ help but see. I am seein' dreams an’ visions for inyscT. Siliinir up before my desk, on the high three-legged stool. I am watching non the bairns there at work ; It's the laddies I am secin’ wha hac lately left, the school, And are gane tae meet the German and the Turk. To their places on the benches I can fee them shachle in. Wi' mirth and mischief in their very gall, Wi' orva nips and scratches, and wi' kicks upon the shin. As they settle doon to copy book and slate. Gnid kens they were a worry, wi' I heir plaiskies and their steer;I hue skclped them and lethercd them fit' sa i r; Vet I'd gie my hopes o' pension could 1 only hac them here, And could watch their cheery caperin' yin re mair. There was Gcordie fiherp. a laddio wi' a pooch aye fu' o bools, Wha'd never heed a single word I'd say— Who could never Minister grammar, nor mind the parsin' rules. And wad sell his son I for shinty ony day. I!m he made a splendid sodger—so at least the colonel said When he wrote to tell his mither he was killed: He, was cheerin' on his fellows when a sniper laid him dead. But thev carried biick his bodv frae the field: And there was Tamtnic Taylor, too. a ihochtfn' little chap. Wha's coon tin’ was the pride o’ a’ the schulc: The Germans got his section soinchoo kep’d in til a trap, And Tam was made a prisoner—is a tie still. And Sandy Dull', a rascal just as cunnin’ as a tod. For every kind of mischief he was ripe ; HtfMvad keep the it hers at it wi’ a passin’ wink or nod, Bui he’d stand a miebty lickin' ere he'd clype. In the ancient Chersonesus, jisl forninst the gales o' Troy, Antang Australia’s miracles o' men, Bauch in’ at the roarin’ death as gin it were a ploy, Young Duff gao’d doon and never mse again. And Geordic Fyfe, ti sodgor frae his very mither’s knee, Wha's nieves were doubled yiuce or twice a week, Wha’s cen were aften blcckencd, wha yinco tried it on wi’ me, Doesna hae his scraps an’ scairlins two to seek. For lie's actin’ as a sergeant in the Scottish Fusiliers, Whaur he gels his fill o' fcchliu’ ony day; Whanr, wi’ his gun and bayonet, he can work off his arrears Upon his country's focmcn in the fray. list ower there by the blackboard Jimmie Bogan used to sit, A stracht-limbed lad as ever look the e'e; Noo he's hirplin’ on ITs crutches wi’ a. splinter in bis fit A broken man for a' the years to be. And t here was my ain Alec, too. a lad o’ mony a pairt. Wha ni college led in Greek an’ Latin baith; Wha never gar’d me blush for him. nor suffer a sair heart., Till I got the wire that telt me o’ Ids death. ■‘A gallant officer," they said, and weel I ken 'twas true— His men wad follow any gait he led ; But it's gey and weary waitin’, 1 feel anld and dune the noo. As I see his sunny face amang the dead. And there's a cunt it hers wha were schuled amang us here. Wha- rushed to war like beaters to the hunt : The lads were keen on fcchliu’ and had little trokc wi' fear. And needed nae press-gangin' for the front. Viiil some o’ them are sleepin 'neath Flanders bloody soil. And some in Syrian sands bae found a bier ; But I'll meet my laddies sometime when the registers o' God Bid the Minister and his laddies answer " Here!’’