Poem by Robert William Service

My Ancestors

A barefoot boy I went to school
         To save a cobbler's fee,
For though the porridge pot was full
         A frugal folk were we;
We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,
         And counted each bawbee.

We reft our living from the soil,
         And I was shieling bred;
My father's hands were warped with toil,
         And crooked with grace he said.
My mother made the kettle boil
         As spinning wheel she fed.

My granny smoked a pipe of clay,
         And yammered of her youth;
The hairs upon her chin were grey,
         She had a single tooth;
Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say,
         For I would speak the truth.

You of your ancestry may boast,—
         Well, here I brag of mine;
For if there is a heaven host
         I hope they'll be in line:
My dad with collie at his heel
         In plaid of tartan stripe;
My mammie with her spinning wheel,
         My granny with her pipe.

1. The Rhyme of the Remittance Man
2. The March of the Dead
3. “Fighting Mac”
4. The Sunshine Seeks My Little Room
5. Bessie's Boil

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