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"Glamorgan Sheep" 

by 

Anna Brown

 

As dawn broke over the valley

They would amble down the street,

One by one with a Ba, Ba, Ba

Came the Glamorgan sheep.

They were experts at tipping the buckets,

Leaving ashes all over the place,

They would nose out the cabbage and peelings,

And emerge with a dust-covered face.

If you went out and shooed them, they’d stand there

With a nonchalant look they would munch,

If you rose up your hand, they would just turn away

Then leave you their yesterday’s lunch.

 

I remember my friend Mary’s mother,

Edith Maud, who had bought a new hat,

She had bought it for our Gymanfa

Or, some big occasion like that.

But Edith Maud was never to wear it,

And the reason is you see,

She left her front door open

And went next door for a nice cup of tea.

The sheep ambled in through the doorway

To the parlour and saw Edith’s hat,

They chewed it all up, then, gulped it all down

And that was the end of that.

 

One morning our Mam was unlucky

She was faced by a curly horned ram,

He dropped his head all ready to butt her,

But our Mam slammed the door with a bang.

The ram, he was very persistent

He butted the door constantly,

Until dad took the cane - brush and poked him

Said, ”Get away or we’ll have you for tea.”

Sheep were also quite partial to gardens,

Like ghosts they’d arrive in the night,

They’d vault over the wall like Olympic stars

Then destroy everything within sight.

 

I’ve seen many a gardener in tears,

Swearing vengeance to farmer and ewe,

But in those days, there was no compensation

There was nothing the gardeners could do.

If they went and complained to the farmers,

They would just shrug their shoulders and say,

“The Glamorgan sheep, they have minds of their own,

It’s not our fault if they want to stray.”

“But the sheep should be fenced up on the mountain,”

They’d cry, “Or kept ‘tidy like’ locked in a pen,

Not stuffing their guts on our Delia’s

And our lettuce and carrots as well”.

 

One day I awakened quite early

To a commotion outside on the road,

When I opened the curtains and peered out,

It was Glam-or- gan sheep siŵr y fod

The sheep was wearing Ma Moses’ front gate,

That had finally come off its hinge,

The ewe staggered and fell in the gutter,

With the gate round it’s neck like a fringe.

Dai and Harry, they carried the sheep off

To Twm’s carpenter shop up the lane,

Twm cut off the gate with a hacksaw,

But we never saw that sheep again.

 

My Bopa, she had her suspicions,

When Twm’s wife bragged about her new mat,

“It’s woolly and white for the bedroom,” she said.

And my Bopa said, “Well, fancy that,

No doubt the mince sauce has been flowing too,”

My Bopa said, nodding her head,

Goes nice with a slice of Fresh, Welsh lamb,”

Twm’s wife’s face turned a bright shade of red.

Now, those days of ash buckets and sheep mess,

And irate gardeners, who tore out their hair,

Like the innocent pleasures of childhood

They sadly, no longer are there.

 September 2006

 by Anna Brown.