Some of this is written in Scots vernacular so I have added some translation.

If we could ever go back in time
Back to the days of the washing bine. (wash tub)
The mangle, the Acme wringer clamped to the sink.
The scrubbing board and the bath made of zinc.
Baring the feet and girding the skirt
Tramping the blankets, removing the dirt. (bare feet in a tub to ‘tramp’ blankets)

Inside the house, though simply furnished
We’d see the grate, blackleaded and burnished.
The kettle on the fire, kept hot for the tea,
That was masked in the pot that sat on the swee.(breweda metal plate on a swivel attached to fireplace)
In a corner would stand, a grandfather clock
And up on the brace, there sat the knock. ( mantle shelf, there sat the clock)

We’d hear the birds, cheepin’ outside,
The Robin, the Speug and the wee Yellow Yite. (Robin, sparrow and Yellow Hammer)
You could guddle for trout ‘till caught by the grieve, (tickling trout, game keeper)
He’d gie ye a flightin’ while shaking his neive. (he’d give you a ticking off while shaking his fist)
Under a stane they’d be speeders and gullocks (spiders and black beetles)
And the fields would be riddled with wee mowdie hillocks. (mole hills)

In the back yard were clugs for the fire (logs)
The weans would be playing and they’d never tire (children)
Of kick the can or hide and go seek
Or peeries or peevers or a gird and a cleek, (spinning tops, hopscotch, hoop and stick)
Then a window would open and someone would bawl,
“Jimmy”, “Jock”, “wee Eck,” “yer tea’ll get caul”.

Hard work and poverty we never want back
But somehow there’s something our lives seem to lack.
Warmth and companionship developed through strife
Has made way for machines controlling our life.
Fond thoughts of the past, I know I would wish
That they’d be a bit more than a satellite dish.

©  Agnes M Wilson

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