The coming of the wee malkies

July 2013 update - This is one of my most 'hit' posts, so for completeness, because that's what I think people are searching for, the poem is at the end of this post.

Now I don't know about anyone else, and I'm probably just a reactionary old fart who just can't keep pace, but I find people who shorten my name really annoying; for possibly the same reason that I find text messaging using 'c u l8er' type language and bl**dy Twitter annoying. Even my assistant finds Twitter horrible and he's a typical 'anything new and I'll use it' kind of guy.

I suppose it's a little like one of the penguin's first posts, the one about debasing language; it just irritates me that what is so rich and expressive is reduced down to the equivalent of Neanderthal-like grunts, "mammoth goooood", "aim at danglee bits", "work evry time". (Apologies to any Neanderthals reading this but, seriously, you never really got the hang of expressive communication, did you? Isn't that why we're all over the planet and you're confined to tiny enclaves in the Himalayas?) As opposed to: "Yes, I too like mammoth meat but they're very big and the males can be dangerous. We find that if you aim your spear at the large ovoids hanging between the legs below the tail then you will have, in general, more success than if you aim at the flanks, which simply seems to annoy them." (Thank you Gary Larson and the Far Side)

Now I'm fairly certain that my parents didn't name me in full cogniscience of where the name comes from, its associations with Scottish royalty and the Shakespearean connections nor how it's supposed to be pronounced (Mollcomm) but nonetheless reducing it to 'Mal' or 'Malc' just seems lazy in the extreme and does actually irritate me no end. The usual punishment is to be the target for a lobbed OED, all twenty volumes! I think, at root, it probably has more to do with those 'shortenings' sounding like diminutives and me being somewhat diminutive :) It's a pride thing. Would it ever be anything else? :)

Now a good few years ago, not long after I first joined the actual working class, instead of merely being a junior non-working member of it, a particular individual took great delight in calling me 'Malcy' Now she was a little like I imagine some of Harriet Beecher Stowe's characters to be. A very rounded frame:) She was just 'winding me up', she could see what was behind my eyes every time she said it (tho' as the Virginian would like, always with a smile). After a couple of months, it intensified; she started calling me 'Malcy Babes'. At this point I'm tuning my ears out of circuit, I was new and it seemed silly to react as I would later do; with firm admonishments not to repeat the diminuation.

Well, I came across this the other day when a Scot, who'd been reminded of it, asked: "Have you ever been called Malky?" and then explained why he was asking the question. It's this poem, 'The Coming of the wee Malkies' which he'd been reminded of - it's very popular with Scottish children, dealing as it does with 'anti social' behaviour so beloved of male children old enough to cause mischief but not quite old enough to know what causing real damage or injury would be.

It's written in Glaswegian dialect and so will take me some time to work out what it means :) Some I can do, I used to live with a Scot whose sister was married to an unintelligible, outside Glasgow, Glaswegian, so I have a little understanding but I will have to ask around for a few, I think. But it made me think. I am going to have to learn this poem by heart and store it in one of those 'permanent memory pods' in my brain. Just so that I can start reciting it in a broad, cod Scottish accent. It seems to me the perfect rejoinder to 'Malcy', especially as it's completely unintelligble to your average English speaking person. Oh, if only I had this all those years ago! Where were you Stephen Mulrine when I needed you the most!


There's a wee side text to this. Over the past month, my employer's been running a 'voluntary severance' drive; that's redundancy by another name. The deadline for applications is midnight tomorrow. (Why voluntary severance? Why not redundancy? Well, management think it will be cheaper. They don't have to stay in line with the formal agreements. Us? Our agreement has a 'maximum' for redundancy. We think we'll get a better deal if we play 'severance'. And they have agreed to the latter. Oh, if I wasn't so busy, I'd be enjoying myself so much! It's been a long time since I've done this. It has its downside, viz last year, but it has it ups too! And we just got one! Partial climb down on staffing levels. Oh so gratifying!)

Anyways, I'm having lunch with an old 'mucker'; someone I used to deal with at Apple before the suits took over. We are spotted, for the second time in a week. I go into the garden for a cigarette and immediately the question is asked: "Are you going for voluntary severance?" "My business, not yours." "It's just that's twice in a week, you've met with 'K'." I smile :) "We're putting together a scheme to pull pennies per member per direct debit extract and redirect them to another account. Should get a few bob!"

About an hour later, one of the parties involved in the garden discussion comes to my office and indicates that he is troubled by my non commital reply. Why? "Because if you go, we almost certainly could not replace you with anybody remotely so good." I thought that those words, coming from a more senior individual, was the ONLY 'encouragement' I've ever had there. I told him to go tell it to management! Oh I thanked him profusely for the kind words as well! So what do you do?

Your colleagues, if pushed, might deem you the best since sliced bread. The people who control policy, budgets etc don't. You're just an IT bullshitter.

Me, I'm going with colleagues!

THE COMING OF THE WEE MALKIES
(Stephen Mulrine)
Haw missis, whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
If they dreep doon affy the wash-hoose dyke,
An pit the hems oan the sterrheid light,
An play wee heidies oan the clean close wa,
Missis, whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
If they chap yir door an choke yir drains,
An caw the feet fae yir sapsy weans,
An tummle thur wulkies through yir sheets,
An tim thur ahes oot in the street,
Missis, whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the wee Malkies come,
If they chuck thur screwtaps doon the pan,
An stick the heid oan the sanitry man,
When ye hear thum shauchlin doon yir loaby,
Chanting, "Wee Malkies! The gemme's a bogey!"
Haw, missis, whit'll ye dae?