Edinburgh Wheelbarrow by Motorhome
The Scottish Parliament
Edinburgh Castle Rock
Castle Rock was chosen centuries ago for a secure hilltop fort
Impregnable to attack and easy to defend with solid foundations
It was a fine and sunny June day. The Motorhomers were strolling on Princes Street Gardens with their wives. They had been warned not to give the ladies a showing up and to be on their best behaviour;
‘Aren’t the roses wonderful, Phemie? They have such large beautiful blooms, don’t you think?’
‘Aye, Jessie, aye, Jessie’
‘That’s a load o’ auld hoarsies’ dung, Jessie, wait tae ye see the gigantic rhubarb aroon’ the coarner’ said Josie
‘Josie, keep your voice down,’ urged Jessie, ‘or you won’t get any salmon and cucumber sandwiches’
‘Ok, Jessie, ok, Jessie’
They had crossed a small bridge and were walking along a pathway below the sheer face of the rock on which the Castle is built;
‘Look at the size of that rhubarb, Phemie, you could make a lot of pies with that’
‘A lot of pies, Jessie, a lot of pies, Jessie’
‘Loads o’ hoarsies’ manure, Jessie,’ said Francie
‘You keep yer wee trap shut, Francie,’ said Phemie
The two happy couples sat down on a bench in the Gardens people watching and enjoying the sandwiches that Phemie had prepared, while gazing up at the magnificent Castle;
‘Josie, wis there a dungeon in the Castle, where they kept their prisoners?’
‘Francie, knowing that ye would probably have a wee history question for me today, I have delved into my all encompassing archives and have come up with the answer, are ye ready for yer lesson, Francie?’
‘Sure, Josie, sure, Josie’
The Gardens were buzzing with people of all nationalities. Two little boys from one of the adjoining benches had heard Josie say that he was going to tell a story, soon a small crowd had gathered and Josie began;
‘The Scottish Soadjers were haudin’ a troop o’ English Soadjers captive, using them tae clean oot the hoarsies’ stables. The dung that ensued from the big Clydesdales wis transported under cover of darkness, because o’ the smell, in a big wheelbarra’ and taken tae the Port o’ Leith, put oan a boat tae be transported under its ain steam, tae Dungkirk in France. The manure wis used tae grow their enormous runner-beans and onions. It wis the job o’ two big burly Scots Guardsmen tae wheel the muck tae the docks at two o’clock every morning. One of the English Soadjers decided tae try tae escape. He reckoned that if he could get tae Dungkirk, then he could easily get a ferry back hame tae Kent. He hid himself underneath the dung in the wheelbarra’. The Guardsmen came oot at two o’clock, they lit up a cigarette and then one said tae the other, feel the bliddy weight o’ that barra’, Jock, I don’t fancy wheelin’ that a’ the way tae Leith, let’s dump it ower the side. They baith grabbed a shaft, took a runner at the battlements and tipped the damn lot ower the wa’
‘Is that right, Josie, is that right, Josie?’ said Francie
‘Pure dead brilliant, Josie, pure dead brilliant, Josie’ said Phemie
‘That’s a load o’ auld hoarsies’ dung, Josie, and ye know it,’ said Jessie
‘Well, if ye wid jist let me finish this history lesson. It’s said that if you come doon here at two o’clock every mornin’ ye’ll here the rumblin’ o’ a wheelbarra’ an’ the sound of an Englishman yellin’, … Oh no, shit’
Holyrood Palace
Perhaps you would enjoy reading the adventures of Francie and Josie.
http://purepoetry.co.uk/links_15.html
