A Memory Of St Davids

In St Davids in Wales i picked potatoes in my early twenties And though that was more than thirty years ago On looking back in time it doesn't seem that long The months and years did not drag on that slow. The picking season lasted three to four weeks And in the farmer's galvanized pickers shed we stayed The work was hard you well might say back breaking And by the bag the farmer always paid. In St Davids by the sea the nights are chilly The weather there is never warm in May And though i had but one blanket for cover I did sleep sound tired from the tiring day. There's easier ways by far of making money And potato picking only for the young and strong And the rewards of our labour went too quickly A few nights drinking it did not last long. I won't be hurrying back to old St Davids For till the day i die I will recall A sign that read 'Potato pickers here not welcome' On notice board nailed to the restaurant wall. The ignorance of class discrimination All 'Tatie hokers' were inferior they implied I never darkened the door of that restaurant For i too have my sense of worth and pride. But i met some nice people in St Davids Can't knock a whole village for the snobbish few They showed a genuine warmth towards tatie hokers And our mutual admiration for them grew. It's been a while since i was in St Davids And from where i now live it seems far away I picked potatoes there when in my early twenties And by the bag the farmer used to pay.