Tam the Chanter

TAM THE CHANTER by ian thomson

When clarty wellies leave cauld feet

And lack o’ bonus makes ye greet

Wi’ overtime you’ve worked till eight

That puts a square meal on yer plate

These worries stop some being happy

But nane o’ us - we’re happy chappies!

We think nae mair on a’the miles

Between the pub and wifely smiles

Decide instead tae hae another

(While fearin’ she might phone her mother)

This truth occurred tae Tam the Chanter

(Thrown out the pub for foul-mouthed banter)

As he lay dazed out in the street

Gazin’pie-eyed at big polis feet

(Ayr polis look like Strathclyde’s finest

But only if you’ve failed an eye test)

Tam should’ve taken Kate’s advice

That loving wife, who’s told him twice:

A day:at least: that he’s a waster

A drunken, gamblin’ woman-chaser

Destined for a pauper’s grave

His soul in hell, too black to save

(Ah, gentle wives ye make me greet

Recalling your instructions sweet

Yon lengthy, multiple commands

To husbands who don’t give a damn!)

But Tam had got back in the pub

His bruises soothed by “Ready Rub”

Applied by barmaid, smiles and giggles

Tam thought his charms had made her wiggle

But truth was she’d been in Tam’s jacket

And clocked the size o’ his pay packet!

Outside the wind and rain both clamoured

But Tam cared not a whit, got hammered

Laughing with barmaid on his knee

Till the landlord called out “Time boys, please”

Soon Tam was outside, in the rain

Just another drunk tryin’ to get hame

As for a taxi, he’d no chance

Staggerin’ like a zombie in a trance.

But his luck was in - across the street

A bike would save his sodden feet

He picked the lock - his party trick

Swung onto the saddle, made off quick

Wobbled towards the high street in soakin’ claes

Reached the Bobby Jones nightclub - all ablaze!

Polis and firemen were everywhere

But Braveheart Tam he didna care　

In his befuddled, drunken state

He thought he’d square things up wi’ Kate

So he staggered into the burning hall

Pulled a one-armed bandit off the wall

And as the flaming ceiling fell

Tam, clutching puggy, ran pell-mell

Across to where the bike he’d parked, yes

Heading for the safety of the darkness

But a polis saw Tam pedal away

And the chase was on - Tam would make their day.

Flyin’ doon the High street, past gallous young ladies

Pursued by cops in three Mercedes

As the cars closed up to half-a-yard

He swung for the Auld Brig, pedallin’hard

Where bollards meant the cars were halted

Tam laughed, but oot wan car there vaulted

A polis-woman, built like a fridge

Caught up wi’ Tam upon the bridge

And his luck held! this female bobby

Slipped upon a big dug’s jobby

And fell with a resounding crash

On ancient cobbles, covered in trash

But her flailing hand grabbed the puggy arm

Which snapped off, much to Tam’s alarm

His prize was ruined, worthless junk….

Though the reels had spun- stopped- -clunk--- clunk--- clunk!

Next day, Tam was in Kate’s good books

She favoured him with sighs and looks

He’d bought his wife a golden locket

From the puggy money in his pocket

For though the bandit’s days were o’er

Its last spin had hit the jackpot store
 

And even now, when tide’s just right

And river glints in full moon’s light

From bridge, a look, at near midnight

Might see, through peaty depths, the sight

Of Tam’s good fortune, as this tale tells,

A puggy, reels stuck on three bells
 

Is there a moral to this tale?

Perhaps “Beware of too much ale!”

But even with its twists and turns

It’s more Mcgonigall than Burns!