One night as I lay sleeping, a dream so sweetly came
I dreamt that I was back again, at my Granny’s in Calhame
I found myself standing, at my Granny’s old back door
And the hogue that I encountered, nearly put me on the floor
For 20 yards away, And honest I’m not fibbing
That’s where my Granda decided, to put a massive midden
I suppose he didn't realize, when he started it years before
That the midden would get much bigger, and now it was nearly in the door
With dung from cows and pigs, and dung from geese and hens
If my Granda was still alive, it would've reached the five road ends
Thankfully in my dream, I gently moved along
Past the old dung midden, And the heavy pong
As I walked down the back, my heart began to throb
For coming up the yard, I met my Granda Bob
I was really pleased to see him, and thought this would be such fun
Then I noticed under his arm, my Granda had a gun
As my Granda got much closer, I couldn't help but stare
For round my Granda’s neck, I saw a big dead hare
As my Granda walked on past me, my heart was filled with joy
For I hadn't seen my Granda, since I was just a boy
I slowly walked behind him, to see where he would go
I couldn't help but notice, He was clabbered from head to toe
He passed the old dung midden, and headed round the front
Then I quickly realized, He was heading for the pump
There he washed his feet, and gave his face a rub
Then he went inside, to see if there was any grub
I followed close behind him, and slowly walked through the door
I heard familiar laughter, I had heard years before
I saw familiar faces, of neighbours all gathered in
I stood there in amazement, as I listened to all the din
They were talking about the corncrake, her call sadly now is still
They were telling of the fun they had, around the old threshing mill
They mentioned pulling lint, and tramping it in the dam
They talked of walking the hedgerows, and picking raspberries for making jam
But sadly all these things, are never mentioned today
The hum of the thresher is silent, the corncrake has gone away
The lint is sadly history, the dams are all filled in
If you were seen picking raspberries, they would say you were a loony bin
But 50 years ago these things were the norm, it was a privilege at that time to be born
But how swiftly the years have flown, and things are not the same
Since those happy days, at my Granny’s in Calhame
But sometimes I think of the words, Our Saviour did say
Your life is like a vapour, and soon it is passed away
I really thank my Lord, for the things I have done and seen
And I thank Him especially, for giving me such a dream
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