Homecoming.

Homecoming.

It could have been so different

If Mother hadn’t scolded the dialect out of me

When I was a boy.

Refusing to listen unless I used the right words,

Embarrassing at the time

Not so much now.

Listening to the banter

In the public bar is a treat

They leave me alone on my seat

As they jostle and rag with one another.

They remember me from school

So they say,

I have no recollection.

What does that say about me?

Dad has filled me in

With names and occupations.

So many out-of-work

With the pit closed down.

He was right

And so are they,

I should remember.

It has been so long since I needed to.

A big round man with a wide red face

And blackheads on his nose

Gave me an awkward hug

Not something he was used to doing

Me neither,

It would seem.

“Tommy Dodds.”

Dad mouthed.

He was in my class

The bottom end

But was a good right-winger

With an eye for a goal.

That I do remember

Even though I was on the left.

Still am.

But that is another story.

“How have you been?”

I asked

“Err areet like on the hurl

Divven’t get us wrang man

It maks us sick ta think

Av wasted the hurl of me life.”

“Hurl?”

I was intrigued

“Aye.”

“What do you mean by hurl?”

I asked again

He looked puzzled

At my ineptitude

“Ah man, all ev it like. The hurl thing.”

“Could you spell it?”

“What?”

“Hurl.”

“Why man is yez daft

Or summat? It’s w-h-o-l-e

Isn’t it like?”

“Ahh, whole.”

“Aye, is yerz soft i’ the heed?

That’s wat a seed,

The howel uf ut.”

“Ah yes, of course

What was I thinking?

I’ve been away too long.”

“Aye man, yez tark like a toff noo.

Divvent ya”