Jan 272012
 

By Bob Smith.


There’s jist nithing ti dee
Young eens cry in Aiberdeen
Iss wisna muckle o a problem
Fin I wis aroon seventeen
.
There wis cafes bi the dizzen
Faar ye cwid sit an chat
The famous Holburn Cafe
Or maybe the Kit Kat
.
Syne later on alang Union Grove
Ye cwid dander wi ease
An cum upon The Rendezvous
Better kent as Mama G’s
.
I learnt the airt o duncin
At Garlogie, Echt an Skene
Syne twis  ti the dunce halls
In bonnie Aiberdeen
.
Wednesdays – Abergeldie Jazz Club
Ti listen or jive ti Sandy West
Setterday – doon ti “The Beach”
Faar Leslie Thorpe wis at his best
.
There wis ither eens o coorse
The Palace, Douglas or the Palais
Faar ye cwid fin a bonnie quine
Ti snog up some dark alley
.
There wis Rock n’ Roll an ballads
Maybe jazz it wis yer choice
Played on the latest record players
Made bi Decca or His Master’s Voice
There wis lots o drainpipe troosers
Sweaters wi necks ca’ed crews
There wis Tony Curtis haircuts
An ticht winkle picker shoes
.
Ti the open air duncin at Hazleheid
Ye wid wanner hand in hand
Ti listen ti the music
Or waltz ti Bert Duff’s Band
.
On Sundays ye’d “waak the mat”
An see lassies bi the score
Maybe ye’d bump inti een
Ye’d snogged the nicht afore
.
There wis hullocks o picter hooses
The Majestic an a haill lot mair
The Capitol an the Astoria
Even hid an organ player
.
Ye ask’d a lassie ti the picters
She wis dolled up ti the nines
Ye really felt a cheapskate
Gyaan in the one an nines
.
The faavrit meetin plaicies
Fer the young an gallus
Wis ootside the “Monkey Hoose”
Or near the statue o William Wallace
.
There wis Eric, Bill, Neil, Ian an me
We fairly thocht we war dashin
Noo we’re aa ower sixty five
An rinnin oot o passion

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011

Jul 292011
 

By Bob Smith.

Young Dod his ti get mairret
Ti a quine fae doon the howe
He hisna tell’t his mither yet
So there’ll be an affa rowe

Fan Dod’ll tell his mither
I’m nae jist affa sure
Bit ye’ll nae doot hear her rantin
Fae Alford up ti Drummuir

Dod’s quine’s jist a young deem
Fa’s pit on a bittie wecht
Throwe a bit o hunky punky
Efter a marquee dunce at Echt

His mither noo she’s affa prood
Dod’s the aipple o her ee
She’ll fair be less than happy
If  neebors gossip ower their tea

It’ll be a funcy waddin
Dod’s mither wid hae nae less
Fit I doot micht bither her
Is the young quines type o dress

Foo tae cover up the bump
The quine’s mither will wark oot
Fit she wid richt like ti dee
Is skelp Dod’s lug nae doot

The quine hersel is nae pit oot
As she gyangs aboot her wark
Nae doot thinkin o the nicht
Young Dod he made his mark


©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010.  Image Credit:   © Madja | Dreamstime.com