Gossip in the Wash House

Gossip in the Wash House

There’s a gathering of women from around the shed

In the wee house where the blue smoke begins to rise

They’ve brought the dirty linen from the bed

Separating whites from coloured no mixing of the dyes

They’ve stacked the fire with peat ready for the day

Now there’s water in the basin ready for the heat

It’s Monday and it’s washing while men work the hay

And the women share the gossip where they meet

In the settlement nothing escapes their eye and ear

Amy and Jean are seated scrubbing on the board

Their tongues already working in the highest gear

Young Jim’s got a motorcycle he can’t afford

Time to remove a stain from the Sunday best

Bella’s gone and got herself pregnant again

You’d think after four that she’d want a rest

She’ll need the priest if they’ve to have a proper name

There’s a rumour that Ewan has got himself a tractor

A grey Fergie I heard and with a link box

Then Vera got mauled by a bull that attacked her

Damn I just can’t get the stain out of these sox

The suds are overflowing the gossip coming fast

The laird is building a new pier by the loch

Jock is getting a new wife but that will never last

‘Cos he can’t keep his hands off anything in a frock

They had a repository of news gathered from every home

That would never make the local paper but would spread

Faster than those city folks who had a telephone

They’d talk of the deceased before they were even dead

I wonder if they’d had television and a mobile phone

Would text messages really be as interesting as chatter

Tapping on a little keyboard when they are all alone

Hardly a real substitute for the richness of a washing natter

Copyright: David Hopcroft August 2024

The Housekeeper

The Housekeeper

Huddled by the glowing peat

Smoke drifting in the only room

Door closed against driving sleet

Hoping she would arrive soon

He had tarried in youth far too long

His friends had chosen to marry young

Whilst at first he believed he was strong

Now he felt stranded on the bottom rung

He had skipped making meals over the fire

Too often his lunch was bread and cheese

To himself he had become the liar

Now he felt those moments of unease

Dawn and the loch glistened in the sun

In another village she began to prepare

He knew that soon she would come

His mind swirling between hope and despair

There was only one room to the home

A chair table and two beds by a wall

More than enough when he was alone

Suddenly his home seemed so small

The card he placed in nearby village shops

Had not asked about her age or health

She would know to help harvest and lift crops

That he was not a man of great wealth

The sun was high she was due at noon

A heifer bellowed from the byre

Her first calf coming far too soon

Boots on he trudged through the mire

He reached in to turn the calf to the fore

A first birth and she could barely stand

Suddenly a voice called out through the door

“Hi I’m Vera Do you need a hand”

Copyright: David Hopcroft August 2024

The Loch

The Loch

Did time stand still upon the shimmering waters

On that morning when the gulls did not scream

Where the brown wrack lay limp upon the shore

In a world that was captured in the dawn dream

The mist lay low and dense upon the salt sea

Hills hidden and paths known only to the stag

Criss crossed the ridge where the lynx slipped away

Whilst nestlings of the hawk shivered on a crag

Through the mist came the sound of a splash

Ripples spreading out from the touch of the oar

Sail lowered the helmsman stared out ahead

Seeking out a sandy bank to come ashore

A scraping of oak upon stone the moment arrived

Oars raised the men reached for sword and shield

To follow a trail where the smoke hung in the air

Where the clan lay sleeping their fate sealed

When the mist rose and the sun burned through

With bodies strewn across fields there had been no escape

Heather thatch still smouldered with the smell of death

Another village plundered and pillaged in a thirst for rape

The longship slipped quietly away the sail was raised

Their bloodied swords washed the waters turning red

In a world where the evil of greed had diseased the mind

They dreamed of Valhalla but became the undead

Copyright: David Hopcroft August 2024