School Days by the late Robert Corrigan, sent in by his wife Mary

The aul school days, they wurney that great,
a sleave fur yer nose, an wan fur yer slate.
Aul nibbit pens made a mess o’ yer claes,
an at times you goat wan, o’a near neibours flays.

If an excuse tae the teacher didnae ring true,
smiling, they’d say, “I’ve something for you.”
“Just hold out your hand, without much ado,
this hurts me more, than it ever hurts you!”

But that wisnae true, we knew it quite well,
cause their eyes didnae smart, or hauns ever swell.
Nor blaw oan their hauns, tae cool them wae heat
or under their oaxters gaun back tae thur seat.

If you were late, locked out, twas always the same,
‘Tardy Scholar’ was sung, you weeshed ye’d stayed hame.
Big Rose made us sing, we thoat it wis great,
it wis, if you wurny wan that wis late.

Wae wur baries in Summer, we all had a go,
tae burst taurry blisters yaisin yur toe.
We had draigins made of paper, sticks, and some soap,
some o’ them wid flee, some hudnae a hope.

School jaunt days, now, there wis a thing,
bag o’ buns, an a tinny tied wae string.
A great day fur all, the sun always shone,
before you could blink, the day it wis gone.

The tables, the spelling, the aul 3R rule,
ah widnae chinge it fur modern day school.
There were nae calculators, fingers were yaised,
and mistakes wae a pincil are quickly erased