James 'Our Jimmy' Young Poem

A poem by Our Jimmy. Very moving and well acted- showing that he wasn't just a brilliant Comedy actor.

The transcript (taken from the subtitles of the DVD)

They have given me me notice. I must pack me sticks an go
It's part of this slum clearance scheme an it must be done a know
because, a house is like a person, it gets run down an oul
an it suffers like the rest o us from the years aheed an coul.
The talk is all o housin trusts an flats an new estates,
have bathrooms an wee gardens an subsidies for rates.
but down near at the City Hall uner the big green dome,
that the minage place their pullin down is some poor crater's home.
It seems like only yesterday since my Mary dear an me
come to this house from our honeymoon it was a trip to Cardeley
an this wee house bit us welcome, we knew that this was home
an always we would mind it no matter who would rome.
The front door had a knocker with a shine that would blin your eye
an the winda's got a lick o paint each year around July.
With paper an its temper, we would always kept it neat
an sure Mary scrubbed the front door step half roads across the street.
We had the wee back yard well white washed an as neat as it could be
o nastursium's an bergonia's an some ferns ecarnity.
There's a wee hout who's placed down the yard it often makes me grin.
The doors still got the chisel marks where wee shoey got shut in.
The childer grew up roun us six fine sturdy sons we had.
This wee house bid them welcome, it was home till every lad.
It'll linger in their memories still, though far they had to rome.
The waters call it just a slum, till them it's, it's home.
We had no television then, but ach, sure we'd never lack
lots of good company round the fire an a bit of friendly craic.
An ja know this wee house seemed ta listen. When a neighboured toul a joke
an, somehow it would hear it laughin back when I'm given the fire a poke.
We had one wee golden lassy were we'd be watchin smile.
we thought her light the brightest for it shone that short a while.
an on the day she left us, it was as if this house knew
for with silent sadness this wee house, mourned her to.
Soon Mary was to follow after, the man above knows best,
I'll be content till I'm beside them when it comes my time to rest.
But I wish they'd let me stay a while till the master bids me come.
An the wee house bright with memories, an they call it just a slum.