A COTTAGE IN THE COUNTRY
©Trev Teasdel – Norwich, August 1974
I see you as an old lady
Sat serenely in your chair
The knitting is in your hand.
In the cradle rocks the bairn.
Though you are still touched by youth
All about you is so slow.
Just as if an old lady
And a rustic. Quaint!
Chorus
And oh so slow the river flows
So (oh) slow – Oh………..
Your husband too, like a country gent
With his waist coat, pipe and stick.
His head bowed down in a book
As a lazy clock does tick.
He with his old mandolin
and Stradivarius violin
I see you as an old lady
Sat serenely in your chair
The knitting is in your hand.
In the cradle rocks the bairn.
Though you are still touched by youth
All about you is so slow.
Just as if an old lady
And a rustic. Quaint!
Chorus
And oh so slow the river flows
So (oh) slow – Oh………..
Your husband too, like a country gent
With his waist coat, pipe and stick.
His head bowed down in a book
As a lazy clock does tick.
He with his old mandolin
and Stradivarius violin
Harmonising with the breeze
Like a slow motion sneeze.
Chorus
And oh so slow the river flows
So (oh) slow oh….
“Scrub a dub dub” in an old wooden tub
Chop up the tree for fire wood.
Chop up the tree for me,
Chop up the tree for warmth and love.
Your hand tills the land
For food and for sale.
There’s a goat in your garden
That gives milk in a pail.
An old wishing well and a chemical loo.
A little way out cottage, just suits you.
Brown rice and veg and unleavened bread
You believe ‘you are what you are fed’.
Always on the sill, lie apple pies
Away with the ring, the Jackdaw flies.
A few miles away in a smoky old town
Hard to recall how time merry-goes-round
Outside in the lane, wrapped up in your shawl
Fruit and veg on sale on your stall.
Chorus
And oh so slow that river flows
So oh slow oh
It’s strange when you think, that not long away
The bairn at your bosom will be making his way
Soon to be at the stage we are now
and we – the older generation.
Chorus
And oh so slow that river flows
So oh slow oh
Like a slow motion sneeze.
Chorus
And oh so slow the river flows
So (oh) slow oh….
“Scrub a dub dub” in an old wooden tub
Chop up the tree for fire wood.
Chop up the tree for me,
Chop up the tree for warmth and love.
Your hand tills the land
For food and for sale.
There’s a goat in your garden
That gives milk in a pail.
An old wishing well and a chemical loo.
A little way out cottage, just suits you.
Brown rice and veg and unleavened bread
You believe ‘you are what you are fed’.
Always on the sill, lie apple pies
Away with the ring, the Jackdaw flies.
A few miles away in a smoky old town
Hard to recall how time merry-goes-round
Outside in the lane, wrapped up in your shawl
Fruit and veg on sale on your stall.
Chorus
And oh so slow that river flows
So oh slow oh
It’s strange when you think, that not long away
The bairn at your bosom will be making his way
Soon to be at the stage we are now
and we – the older generation.
Chorus
And oh so slow that river flows
So oh slow oh