by John Pitcher (1965)

Sallies in a hay field
On a summer sunny day
Sheep along the hay racks
Chewing on the hay

A punt puttering in the distance
I hear its approaching sounds
Hen in the chicken yard
The men gone to the fishing grounds

Cabbage in the gardens
Carrots row by row
Gertie’s in the kitchen
Rolling out the doe

Up towards the heavens
The big jet liner flies
Uncle Fergus is watching it
With aged squinted eyes

Over on the hillside
Trapomen sleeping in the sun
Wooden flakes of fish are salted
Work has only just begun

I ‘suppose I’ll go mend some nets
There a bit of rope to splice
Perhaps I’ll meet her at the dance
I plan to treat her nice

The sun hides behind the hills
The harbour calm as glass
I frizzle oil my hair up
Some ole spice on my face

I am off to bid Nelly Brown
The lover of my dreams
I will not think of resettlement
That’s nothings what it seems