Summertime in Lanarkshire by Isobel Taylor, 1934-2016

This morning we said our goodbyes to, and gave thanks for,
our friend Isobel Taylor.

As part of our remembering,
Isobel's sense of fun and her enjoyment
of poetry were recalled, and the following poem closed the eulogy - summing up her love of the area she called home... no rose-tinted spectacles
here, rather, Isobel's very practical understanding of what it was to live in Lanarkshire:


Summertime in Lanarkshire

It’s summertime in Lanarkshire, in the valley o’ the Clyde,
Wi' rollin’ hills an' heather glens, whit better place tae bide?
But the summer season in thae pairts is a law untae itsel’,
For whit oor weather’s gaun tae be, naebody can tell.
Believe the forecast if ye wish, I mean, it’s up tae you,
But see yon mannie, Michael Fish? He hasnae  got a clue!

Ae day we micht hae poorin’ rain, the next it’s bilin’ hot,
There’s hail an’ mist – an endless list – oh, aye, we get the lot!
We cover up oor plants at nicht, but still we coont the cost
Next day when we discover there’s been five degrees o’ frost!
But sometimes there’s a guid day, when the sun comes shinin’ through,
An’ ye sit oot wi’ yer People’s Friend an' a gless o’ Irn Bru!

But there’s a snag here in the country, when we lie oot in the sun,
There aye comes waftin’ on the breeze the familiar reek o’ dung!
“A fine, healthy smell,” the fairmer says, “It fairly clears yer tubes!”
Says I, “Weel, suit yersel’, but me, I’ll stick tae sookin’ Zubes!”
Weel, there’s no’ much point in worryin’, or startin’ tae complain,
For nae sooner hae ye settled doon than the rain comes on again!

Ye pick up a’ yer stuff an’ hope it’s jist a passin’ shower,
But the first draps fell suin efter twel’ an’ it poored till half-past fower!
Then jist when ye start thinkin’ the sun’ll never shine,
The rain goes aff, the sun comes oot, an’ then – it’s Midgie Time!
They come doon in their thoosan’s – ye dinnae stand a chance -
Thae wee black de’ils aye seek ye oot – ye’re led a merry dance.

Ye never will escape, nae maitter hoo ye duck an’ dive, 
They move that quick, an’ they fairly stick tae yer Factor Twenty-five!
If I kent wha brocht thae midgies here I cheerfully wid shoot him
But I doot they sneaked on Noah’s Ark, when the wee man wisnae lookin’!

Noo, maist o' this has been in fun, it’s no bad a’ the time,
We get some days when it disna’ rain, an’ days when the sun does shine, 
Ye’ll find a welcome here in Lanarkshire, so please, pay us a visit –
But maybe no’ in summertime, ‘cos if ye blink, ye’ll miss it!

But I’m no’ movin’ hoose nae mair, I’ve burnt a' my bridges,
Here I am an’ here I’ll bide – in spite o’ a’ the midgies!
There’s nae ither time or place on earth whaur I wid sooner be
Than summertime in Lanarkshire – that’ll dae for me!  

by Isobel Taylor...
April 22, 1934 - March 13, 2016
Rest in peace, and rise in glory.