My Pony

By Bill Riley

I have a great workmate; his name is Fleck,
I harness him before we start the trek.
We go from the stables as quickly as we can,
Inbye we must rush, to Jack, the filler man.

Jack fills his coal tubs faster, than anyone alive.
Supplying him with tubs, we battle and we strive.
We speed inbye with ease, taking in the chummin’s,
Coming out is not so good; Fleck has to pull the fullin’s.

All shift we move the tubs, first in and then back out,
I don’t have to hit my pony; I only have to shout.
“Haway me bonny lad”; is all I have to say,
My mate Fleck, starts off, and we’re swiftly on our way.

When the shift is over, to the stables we return,
I wash Fleck down and pat him, again he’s earned his corn.
I fill his trough with choppy, which he certainly enjoys,
I wish that I could take him home, and give him to my boys.

One day I hope to see Fleck retired on some farm,
Where he’ll be well looked after and kept away from harm.
I could visit him and I’d recall the time we spent together,
It’s far better for Fleck there, running wild beside the heather.


Chummin is an empty tub.
Fullin is a full tub.
Choppy is the pony’s food.

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