Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Music with EUMS

Primary 7 enjoyed Edinburgh University Music Students' (EUMS) Outreach programme at James Gillespie's High School this morning.

They learned about the different instruments in an orchestra, and about voices in a choir, in a lively and engaging presentation. There were opportunities for some pupils to have a go at either playing percussion or conducting.







Monday, 9 January 2017

P7 Performance Poetry - homework for Monday 16th January

This week your homework task is to select one of the given poems to learn and to prepare for our poetry recital session next week (week beginning Monday 16th January).
You may choose to perform your poem by yourself or with a partner.

Remember to practise in front of at least one other person.
If you scroll down beyond the poems you will find a short video to help you prepare for your performance.

Here are the poems:

Sic A Wife As Willie Had

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a
wabster gude,
Could
stown a clue wi' ony body:
He had a wife was dour and din,
O
Tinkler Maidgie was her mither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad
na gie a button for her!

She has
an e'e, she has but ane,
The cat has
twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,
A clapper tongue wad
deave a miller:
A whiskin beard about her mou',
Her nose and chin they threaten ither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wadna gie a button for her!

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shin'd,
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:
She has a lump upon her breast,
The
twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wadna gie a button for her!

Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin;
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,
She dights her
grunzie wi' a hushion;
Her
walie nieves like midden-creels,
Her face
wad fyle the Logan Water;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I
wadna gie a button for her!

Description: http://wittybizgal.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/dog-walk-clip-art.gif?w=241&h=300Robert Burns


   

A Dug, A Dug (could be learned in pairs)

Hey, daddy, wid yi get us a dug?
A big broon alsatian? Ur a wee white pug,
Ur a skinny wee terrier ur a big fat bull.
Aw, daddy. Get us a dug. Wull ye?

N whose dug’ll it be when it durties the flerr?
and pees’n the carpet, and messes the sterr?
It’s me ur yur mammy’ll be taen fur a mug.
Away oot an play. Yur no needin a dug.
floor
stair
Bit, daddy! Thur gien thum away
doon therr at the RSPCA.
Yu’ll get wan fur nothing so ye wull.
Aw, daddy. Get us a dug. Wull ye?

Doon therr at the RSPCA!
Dae ye hink ah’ve goat nothing else tae dae
bit get you a dug that ah’ll huftae mind?
Yur no needin a dug. Ye urny blind!

Bit, daddy, thur rerr fur guardin the hoose
an thur better’n cats fur catchin a moose,
an wee Danny’s dug gies is barra a pull.
Aw, hey daddy. Get us a dug. Wull ye?


barrow
Dae ye hear im? Oan aboot dugs again?
Ah hink that yin’s goat dugsn the brain.
Ah know whit ye’ll get; a skiten the lug
if ah hear any merr aboot this bliddy dug.


slap, ear
Bit, daddy, it widnae be dear tae keep
N ah’d make it a basket fur it tae sleep
N ah’d take it fur runs away orr the hull.
Aw, daddy. Get us a dug. Wull ye?

Ah don’t hink thur’s ever been emdy like you.
Ye could wheedle the twist oot a flaming coarkscrew.
Noo get doon aff mah neck. Ah don’t want a hug.
Awright. That’s anuff. Ah’ll get ye a dug.
anybody

Aw, daddy! A dug! A dug!


Bill Keys

    

The Ballad of Janitor MacKay by Margaret Green

I wis playin keepie uppie
in the street outside the schule,
when Jock McCann’s big brither
who’s an idjit an a fule,
went an tuk ma fitba aff me
an he dunted it too hard
an it stated ower the railins
inty the janny’s yard.

Aw, Mackay’s a mean auld scunner.
He wis dossin in the sun,
an when ma fitba pit wan oan him
big McCann beganty run,
an Mackay picked up ma fitba
an he looked at me an glowered
but I stood ma ground, fur naebody
will say that I’m a coward.
But when he lowped the palins
an he fell an skint his nose
I tukty ma heels an beltit
right up ma granny’s close.
I could feel the sterrwell shakin
as efter me he tore,
an he nearly cracked his wallies
as he cursed at me an swore.

 ‘O save me gran,’ I stuttered
as I reached ma granny’s hoose,
fur Mackay wis getting nearer
an his face wis turnin puce.
Noo, my gran wis hivin tea
wi Effie Bruce and Mrs Scobie,
an when she heard the stushie
she cam beltin through the loaby.
Ma gran is only fower fit ten
but she kens whit she’s aboot,
‘Yev hud it noo, Mackay,’ I cried,
‘Ma gran will sort ye oot!’

See the janny? See ma granny?
Ma granny hit um wi a sanny
then she timmed the bucket owerum
an he tummelt doon the sterr
an he landed in the dunny
wi the baikie in his herr.
Fortune changes awfy sudden –
imagine he cried me a midden!
(I goat ma ba back but.)


    

The Bogle

There’s a bogle by the bour-tree at the lang
loan heid,
I canna thole the thocht o him, he fills ma hert
wi dreid;
He skirls like a hoolet, an he rattles aa his
banes,
An gies himsel an unco fash to fricht wee
weans.
He’s never there by daylicht, but ance the
gloamin faas
He creeps alang the heid-rig, an through the
tattie shaws,
Syne splairges through the burn, an comes
sprachlin ower the stanes
Then coories doun ahint the dyke to fricht
wee weans.
I canna say I’ve seen him, an it’s no that I am
blin,
But, wheneer I pass the bour-tree, I steek ma
een an rin;
An though I get a tummle whiles I’d rather
thole sic pains,
Than look upon the likes o yon that frichts wee
weans.
I daurna gang that gait ma lane by
munelicht or by mirk,

Oor Tam’s no feart, but then he’s big; an
strang as ony stirk;  
He says the bogle’s juist the win that through
the bour-tree maens.
The muckle gowk! It’s no the win that frichts
wee weans.

W. D. Cocker



Address to a Haggis  (Note: You are not required to learn the entire poem, only the verses given below.)

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis

Robert Burns

To access the poems on Mrs Barker's Wikispace, use the following link:
When you are asked to log in, use the username Pupil-User and the password MrsBarker99

Here is a short video to help you prepare for your performance:


We're looking forward to hearing all your performances next week!