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GEORGE REID 1755-1859
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GEORGE REID 1755-1859

GEORGE REID 1755-1859

I have often heard of one George Reid
In Rousay he did dwell
That long he worked with plough and spade
The truth I mean to tell

His name in print had lately been
When some account was given
That George the wondrous age had seen
One hundred years and seven.

I therefore to that house did go
And climbed up the hill
And there I found old George
Who was hale and hearty still.

My man went in to break the tale
Which was by my desire
And George was sipping milk and meal
As sitting by the fire.

I went into the house also
And there beheld the scene
And told George I should like to show
Him to our gracious Queen.

The snow had fell the day before
Which rather troubled me
Yet he agreed to come out doors
And sit just as you see.

The second time I asked him out
He said he was quite willing
He knew that what he was about
So he asked me for a shlling.

When out of doors the sun and snow
That in his eyes brought tears
In all respect he looked as though
He still might live for years.

His cheeks were full his colour good
With some teeth strange to say
With which to masticate his food
His beard was searly grey.

And when he sat down on his chair
I did his portrait take
I must confess it made me stare
His head nor hand did shake.

Two days before that I came there
He travelled up the hill
Unto a neighbouring house that’s near
And that of his own will.
To beg a little weed so dear
You may think this a joke
But since he’s turned his hundredth year
Old George had learned to smoke.

His sight and hearing are quite good
His intellect also
He spoke of things he understood
An hundred years ago.

He said that he from Westray came
And made me understand
The year that he was born the same
Was famine in the land.

A castle in that isle yet stands
I asked him also
If he remembered that North land
An hundred years ago.

He told me yes and gave the name
Of people who lived there
From others I have learned the same
It is an hundred years.

His calling I desired to know
He let me understand
His business was to plough and sow
And help to till the land.

His food was on a moderate scale
And that his humble dish
A few potatoes, milk and meal
Sometimes a little fish.

I asked him how his health was still
He said he had been queer
And had indeed been very ill
When in his hundredth year.

For five years past as he told me
Much better he had been
It was a pleasant sight to see
He looked so neat and clean.

I now had carried out my plan
That had much pleasure given
A took my leave of this old man
An hundred years and seven
Author Unknown


Picture added on 16 November 2017 at 19:51
I was told he was a ancestor of mine and started smoking at 100 years old. Wonder why. Probably kids playing up.
Added by W Watters on 16 November 2017
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