IF the “big man”, looking down on us “makin’ a hell of his braw birlin earth” decided to “droon oot the hale hypothec and dicht the sklate” (from Gin I was God by Charles Murray) I would not climb aboard the Brexit bus but would be “chappin’ at the ark’s muckle door and speerin gin Noah had room” (from The Deluge by W.D. Cocker) to let me in. Poetry seems to have better answers than politics ... sometimes.

Thelma Edwards,

Old Comrades Hall,

Hume, Kelso.