I once wrote a poem on the same subject but have contrived to lose it, so here we go again.
It is a tale that centres on Hylton Castle in Sunderland and involves a young stable boy, Robert Skelton, and the 13th Baron Hylton.
‘Aam cauld’
Robert Skelton a canny stable lad,
worked for Baron Hylton when times were bad,
five hundred years on the story is auld,
but he can still be heard moanin’
‘aam cauld’, ‘aam cauld’.
Commanded to ready the master’s horse early,
Robert ower slept meckin’ the Baron surly,
confronting the miscreant in the stable,
the Lord dispatched him with pitchfork - the fable.
Or perhaps took off
his head with a sword,
Or beaten with a riding crop by the noble Lord,
whichever way the story is tauld,
he can still be heard moanin’
‘aam cauld’, ‘am cauld’.
Nee quiet spirit young Bobby Skelton,
in the time since, his activities dwelt on,
show actions of a restless poltergeist,
by untidiness from his rest is enticed.
A spirit you'd want to have around the house,
as long as he's quiet as a mouse,
but when already spick and span,
will trash the place like a demented man,
moanin’
‘aam cauld’, ‘am cauld’.
© David
L Atkinson December 2024
No comments:
Post a Comment