Netherton's Grieve (Scots) 1919 Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The grieve cam back tae Netherton, slaw fittit
Lauchter hid deed in him his wife jeloused
Altho he cairriet on his daily warssles
Whyles, at the slichtest thing, Jock Thamson roosed.

His bairns still hottered roon him for a bosie
(Thon spirk o faither-feelin wisna smored)
He wadna spikk o Flanders or the fechtin
Bit, in the byre, alane, he stood an roared
At shaddas nane aroon could catch a glisk o
The anely breet aboot the place he lued
Wis Sodjer, the ex-airmy shelt he plooed wi
Auld Sodjer, wi his hin hoch scarred an booed.

They'd plytered ben the dubs o Hell thegither
In different battlefields, bit baith coored aa
Fin Nichtmares clawed his craig, oot tae the stable
Jock slippit aff tae bide in Sodjer's staa
The wife, the bairns, the fermer'd read the papers
In prent it lookit coorse. Fit wid they ken?
Nane bit the shelt an him had seen the horrors
The hairst bi shell an gas, o leevin men