The cabbage sangwich - Liam McNally

Now I toul you I’d be back, and here I’m back so here I’m here

So I’ll start where I left af, when I was here this time last year.

I’m gonna cover grub an’ stuff, and a few things in between,

Like the things that we got up to, growin’ up in Crossmore Green.

There was fifteen heads to feed and no room for fussy aters.

So when the grub was on the table, we’d attack like alligators

For breakfast it was gluey porridge, no Coco Pops or Special K

And we always washed it down with a jamjar full of tay.

There was no roast beef forlunch, or salad rolls with Limerick ham,

It was half a soda farl, with lemon curd or strawberry jam.

We got no kebabas or pizza, that come in fancy coloured boxes,

And a bagel was a hound for chasin’ hares and foxes.

At dinner time the steak was rare, so rare it was never seen,

We had a sausage or a veggie roll, with spuds and Echo margarine.

At supper time we never seen, Chinese takeaways or chippers,

But before we went to bed we got a thing me ma called dippers.

It was a lump of Keady loaf, rubbed round a grazey gravy pan,

An’ you didn’t get a plate, you just ate it in your hand.

Granny Ding Dong used to love them, and took no time to pause,

And every time she took a bite, the grace run down her jaws.

She was brave and hard to fill and would always  look more bread,

And say, “I’ll have a cabbage sangwich, before I go to bed”.

 

The dinner menu rarely changed, an’ was almost set in stone,

But we just ate all we got, an’ knew better than to moan.

On Mondays it was soup an’ spuds Tuesdays, corn beef hash.

On Wednesdays we’d have scallions, or an egg bate up in mash.

Thursdays it was stew day, made up of vegetables in chief

An’ we used to play a game, Jim an’ Joe called ‘Spot the beef’

On Fridays it was always fish, no salmon steaks, as I recall,

Brown stuff boiled in milk and water, an nothing caught in Donegal.

Sometimes we’d have mackerel. An’ ma fried them in flake mail,

An’ we used to laugh at granny, cos she’d always ate the tail.

The fish man came in a yella van, an’ as soon as he’d arrive,

The childer’d all run after him, cos he’d shout “Harns alive!”

Me and Tam were in the gang this day, an’ Tam dropped his bread an’ tracle,

An’ when he went to pick it up, his head was battered af the vehicle.

So beneath a flock of flappin  wellies, and chants of HI YI HI YI YA!

Poor oul Tam was trampled, an’ I had to rum for ma.

He spent 6 wicks in Armagh hospital and they thought he wasn’t  gonna do,

But with a steel plate in his head he come home as good as new.

The doctors said he was very lucky, an had caused them great concern,

When he stood beside the telly, we could pick up Telefis Eireann.

We didn’t have the telly long, when Granny Ding dong lost the plot,

And she couldn’t mine the half of what it was that she forgot.

An’ after dinner every day, she’d sit in the chair an rock,

While ma watched ‘Taytime a Tommy’ he was on at six o clock.

At times granny drifted af to sleep, but she’d wake up, point and stare,

An let a gulder at the telly, “Who put that baldy boy in there!?”

But she could rhyme af all her ailments, an every time she’d start,

Da said “your jaws are workin’ well,  you’d ate the cribs af a cart.”

On Saturdays we always got, fray bentos, steak an’ kidney pies,

Ma would put them in the oven and they’d come out 3 times the size.

With golden brown puff pastry, they’d look a wholesome meal,

But when you stuck the fork in, they went down like a busted wheel.

The meat was well disguised, in a gravy that was thin,

And there’d always be a row, to see who got to lick the tin.

There were lumps of beef of some sort, what they were, no one knew,

Ma called it in her canine cuisine, an’ da called it Scooby Dooby Do

Saturday night was bath night, an’ we’d help to shine the shoes,

So we’d look our best for mass, an’ we all got penny chews.

Then we got to watch the film with a mug of cremola foam,

An’ the girls all bawled their eyes out, when Lassie never come home.

Cos it reminded them of our dog, they all thought that he was dead,

But I knew da had got the blockman, to drop him off in Clougherhead.

An’ if a cowboy show was on, the house was always buzzin’

Until ma would let a roar, “Its time for the dirty dozen”

There was gunfights down the hall an’ we were dropping to our knees,

With bellies full of lead, as ma corralled us in, in threes.

Wee Pete was always last, an’ he’d be in with Jim an’ Joe.

An when ma turned her back, they’d rinse his hair with granny’s po.

They’d jam the saucepan on his head, or dip his foot in the loo.

Then he’d go bawlin’ up the hall, like a Dalek outta Doctor Who.

Ma would use some Denny’s lard, an twist the saucepan af his head.

An’ with a stripe across his forehead, wee Pete pattered aff to bed.

Though there was always meat on Sunday, shin bone or boilin’ ham,

Chickens they were very rare, an’ so were legs of lamb.

But one day me da had done a job, for an oul boy out in Derrynoose.

He didn’t give him any money, but said, “Take home that goose.”

So da wrung it’s neck an’ plucked it, an’ hung it up behind the dure

An’ he muttered to himself, “Thons one humpy, hungry hoor”

 

 

Ma cleaned it out and cooked it, with an awful lot to do,

I mine her sayin’ to me granny “That things as owl as you2

An’ it might not be a goose at all, that boy’s known for tellin’ lies

I’d swear that thing’s a buzzard, or a seagull in disguise!

So ma sat him on the table, an cut af the skin an’ fat,

The girls got bits of breast apiece, an’ so did me an’ Tam an’ Pat.

Though the meat was tough an’ stringy, we tuk into it like no tomarra,

Owl ding dong ate the neck, an’ the chaws her was tarra.

Ma and da got legs apiece, an the wings were Jims an’ Joes,

There was nothin’ left for poor wee Pete, so he ate the parsons nose.

So ma gathered up the carcass, an well licked bones in one fowl swoop

Says she “They’ll do a turn the marra, for I’ll make a pot of soup”

Da said “The next day after that, sure it won’t do any harm,

We’ll hang them roun’ our necks, an they’ll do for lucky charms”

Now we’re back roun’ where we started, an it’s time to end this ode,

For we’re all fed an watered, an I’m ready for the road.

But I’m feelin’ slightly puckish, so as Granny Ding Dong used to say,

“I think I’ll try a cabbage sangwich, before I hit the hay”