Monday, March 19, 2012

mane digger gifts


Posted by Picasa As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making mane..."

In the deserted garden next to the garden where I grow vegetables a digger appears. "It's almost human," I think to myself, "the way way it groans and hums as it goes about its business, articulating its arm and rocking to and fro.  It seems to be knocking down spurious walls at the moment. It raises its bucket to full height and brings it thumping down to shatter what is beneath it. It is like someone having a tantrum.

Next door to The Crown at Groombridge there is a shop which specialises in  arranged flowers and gifts.  it is called The Black and White Shop. "We're just clearing up after yesterday," says the owner who is unloading stuff from her van. "We're not open today; we're clearing up after yesterday." Yesterday? Of course. Mother's Day or Mothering Sunday. Why black and white? I forget to ask.

3 comments:

Lucy said...

I like that Twa Corbies, the bit about 'and I'll pluck out his bonny blue eye...'. I get it a bit muddled up with Patrick Spens and the Corpus Christi carol though.

Those digger things can be quite gentle too.

Lorenzo da Ponte said...

During my crossword-doing days I bought a Penguin book of crosswords from The Scotsman, working on the principle that I'd never run out of spaces to fill in. It succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. With a hundred puzzles to go, I only managed one clue: Author of The Twae Corbies (4 letters). After much deliberation I entered "Anon",

Plutarch said...

As I was walking all alane
I heard twa corbies making mane
The tane unto the tither did day:-
"Where shall we gang and dine today?

"In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there
But his hawk his hound, and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.

"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een.
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek out nest when it grows bare.

' Mony a one for him maks mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane!
O'er his white banes, they are bare,
The wind sall blaw vor evermair."

I suppose that being a ballad this must once have been sung. To what mournful tune?