Oot O' the Mooth O' Bairns

The sun wis splitting the sky in the sea toun o’ Ayr. Ma faithful schule freend Agnes hud cam tae veesit us, in oor new wee councell hoose in the new beild scheme namit Kincaidston.

‘It’s sae guid tae see ye’

We baith blootered oot tae yin anither, as we cooreyed each ither oan ma doorstep.

‘Cam awa in Agnes, an sit yer sel doun’.

‘Ah’ll awa an mak us a nyce poat o tea, an ye can watch ma bairn fir me in the gairden.’

‘Jist ye sit an gawk oot ma bonny big airtist windae’.

Ma twa year auld bairn wis michty braw wae his broun eyne an fair hair. His wee rid schorts waur haudit up wae blue galluses that hud prints o’ wee white aeroplanes, ower a white cottoun tee shirt. Happy as a pig in muck oan his wee red tricycle, he races aboot the square whaur a’ oor hoosies faced in. His wee Spurtle-legs waur working ten tae the dozen tae hurl him roun’ the square in jig time. Suddenly he stoaped tae a haut. Wee skinnymalinky Barry rins lik’ a whippitie stourie tae chap the livin’ room windae, jist as ah wis pitten the teapot doun oan the coffee table.

‘Tell me when it’s time for a cuppa tea, Mammy.’

‘Ay, well, ye better cam in the noo.’

Ma pal went tae open the front door. Ma bairn, hivven been brocht up properly, gied ma freend a big hug roun her left spurtle. An’ as she bent doun tae lift him up, she wis gien a smacker o’ a kiss oan the cheek. Ah wis sae prude, o ma haun knittit boy. Ah wis fit tae burstin.

‘Oh, he is sic a bonnie boy’ sniffles Agnes’, wiping hir tears, o’ hairty felt emotion, wae hir snifter- dichter.

‘Gie that wean his tea first afore me.’

We a’ laid intae a Tunnock’s tea cake an ah widnae recommend hivven yin oan a hoat simmer’s day, e’er agane. Agnes drapt an spleutered hirs intae her tea. The face o’ ma bairn wis noo luiken lik she’d bin kissed by a sunstruck stranger. An’ me, well, ah didnae hae the time tae tak’ the wrapper aff mine.

Nae sooner haud ma bairn went oot efter a wipe wae a face clout, when a’ ah cuid hear wis an awfie stooshie. Ma airtist windae wis being pummelled.

‘Let me in mammy, let me in!’

Ah rin tae opin the door. Ma wee laddie wis greetin his hert oot.

‘Mammy the sun is meltyne’

Ah nearly belyved him masel fir a meenit whin ah saw a’ the yella yeuk oan his hauns. Then Agnes frae nae whaur blootered oot,

‘In the name o’ the Wee Man.’

‘It isnae the sun meltyne laddie, luik up thaur, yon’s the culprit’.

Then Agnes clairtit the air agane.

‘Nae sun meltyne here wee man, that muckle big seagull hus jist plopped oan yer haun’.

An amang oor great relefe an gaulfs o’ laughter, a’ ma bairn cuid say wae his tear staned face an sma’ yella cackie hauns, wis, ‘whit fir?’