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Mr. and Mrs. McAlister of Balleyclaire, Northern Ireland
I have heard people brag about places they've been
How far they have travelled, the sights they have seen;
But the happiest memories of most, as a rule,
Are the days of their childhood they spent at the school.
With me it was different; when I was a boy
The school had no pleasure, no spasms of joy.
I was'ny content from the first day I went
For I would'ny been there if I had'ny been sent.
Nor I was'ny lucky as ithers I know
Who got sweeties and pennies to coax them to go;
For money was scanty and leather was dear;
I went in my bare yins three months of the year.
I was'ny long started before I could tell
That very few present knew less than mysel';
I had great difficulty dividing by two
If the figure was bigger I had'ny a clue.
For bye I discovered how far I was wrang
About things I was sure I was right for so lang.
I could see that Creation - from what I was taught -
Was more of a mystery than even I thought;
For instance, the Earth has no corners at all
For the World is a peanut the shape of a ball
Surrounded by galaxies spinnin' in space
With apparently nothing to keep it in place.
And away beyond Ireland there's people galore
In places I never heard mentioned before;
With cultures so varied, and countries so vast
They have cities far bigger than Larne or Belfast.
The scholars by nature were shuffled apart
some lazy and stupid, some quick and alert.
Some acted like infants long into their teens
While others had minds like computer machines.
To queries and theories I played little heed
My future depended on learnin' a trade.
So I sat thro' the sessions of bonn' details
just suckin' my pencil or bitin' my nails.
If the teacher approached me I made some excuse
Or ask for permission to use the wee hoose.
Now the Mester's a man of unquestionable skill
And determined that nothing would alter his will.
To ensure that the parents took pride in their wee'ns
While he was in charge of their bodies and brains.
Their morals and manners as much his concern
As the edification they ventured to learn.
His methods were simple, the standard was high
And God help the pupil that did'ny comply.
When he asked you a question on what you had read
Or to prove you'd been listening to what he had said
It was'ny so bad wi' a minute to think
But if asked in a hurry, the mind would go blank.
The answers were seldom, if ever, correct,
And as often an answer he did'ny expect.
Sometimes he would gulder, sometimes he would grin
A lot would depend on the mood he was in.
When a comic committed some minor offence
Like playing a prank at the Mester's expense,
He'd punish some innocent creat're like me,
And the guilty but cunning wee rascal went free.
When I think on the wallops I got wi' the cane
The taps o' my fingers still dinnel wi' pain.
I am' at the time how I felt I would like
lust to hide a wee bomb in the bag o' my byke.
For convinced that revenge was a bit of a risk
In case I got jammed between him and the desk.
I decided to wait till my muscles matured
Or else get my heed and my shoulders insured.
And woe to the villain that kicked a wee lass
Or was rude to the teacher in front of the class.
If the cane was'ny handy to gie' him a scud
He just took his knuckles and thumped him a thud.
Sometimes I look back at those delicate years
My chums now secure in their jobs and careers.
And I wonder how many would care to confess
That they owe to the Mester their wealth and success.
Some teachers, some preachers and pillars of peace,
Some doctors, some lawyers, a few on the police.
And as many have seen their ambition fulfilled
By the wisdom and knowledge his teaching instilled.
As for me, when I think on the blunders I made
No wonder the threads of his patience got frayed,
And yet, he was kind, to a certain degree
Altho' there was friction between him and me.
Since then he's retired, our feud's at an end
I'm honoured and proud when he calls me his friend.
And now when I meet him he just shakes my han'
Which proves he's a generous, agreeable man.
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