Poems from North Shields
by Meg Stephenson

The Brothers Grim

Taak aboot snotters! candles doon ter tha chin
'N never a cloot atween either o' thim.
Breeks cut down from tha fathor's 'n aal.
Galluses ter haad them afeared the' shud fall
Th' reached fra tha oxters reet doon ter tha calves.
Th' sartinly didn't dee 'scrimpin' be halves,
Scabby knees, nee socks, beuts wi ne toes.
Tha' muther had ne cash ter spare, Aa suppose.
Heeds shaved epseptin a bit o' a fringe.
Sit next ter them? "Naw!" Tte lasses wad cringe.
('The Two Brothers Grim' Aa privately named
But reely at my snooty thoughts was ashamed!)

'Cos both lads were strudy, nee malice nor spite.
Th' struggled at scuill as weel as they might.
Lessons they missed did neither much harm,
Tha fathor wad teach them the ways o' the farm.
A strong arm was needed 'n that they both had.
Anythin else they cud larn from tha dad.

Both lads grew tall an' larned canny ways,
Hoyed off tha rags 'n bowt better claes,
Courted the lassies 'n larned how ter dance
Till one day Aa met an owld marrer bi chance...

"Hoo yer gannin on hinny?" Aa went up 'n said.
"Varry weel" sh' answered 'n torned a bright red.
"Aa'm gettin married" sh' ses wiv a grin
"Ter one o' them lads yer called the 'Two Brothers Grim'!"

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