The Welder and the Wolfhound by Tracey Smyth
In Harland and Wolfe, on the shores of the Lough
Worked Bradley John Maxwell, a welder from Clough.
High over the slipways he worked mightily hard
In Titanic's birthplace. Belfast's big yard.
Fergus was a wolfhound, big fuzzy and grey,
For a home he'd been waiting for a week and a day.
Brad entered the kennels to the ear splitting sound
Of all the dogs barking, except the wolfhound.
Brad walked to the end to see Fergus look up,
And Bradley John Maxwell then found his new pup.
Fergus and Brad settled down in the city,
In a wee terraced house that was tidy and pretty.
They walked side by side through the streets of Belfast.
From Royal Avenue, up to Donegall Pass.
They walked towards the Lagan, through Custom House Square,
And over Queen's Bridge, a soft breeze in the air.
They visited the shipyard and walked for a mile,
Under Samson and Goliath,they rested a while.
While watching TV, one dark Winter's eve
The friends heard a tale they could hardly believe.
The Lady Mayoress, her curlers in her hair
And her Right honorable husband had been given a scare.
The City Hall baby had gone in the night,
Bonnie Baby Belfast, what a terrible fright!
Brad looked to Fergus, who was up with a lurch,
The loyal old friends went to join in the search.
Around City Hall, amid sirens and lights
Fergus and Bradley set up their sights.
They searched for a footprint astray in the snow,
If a thief had come past here, the two friends would know.
In just a short time the two found their swag,
swaddled in blankets in an old leather bag.
Sucking his knuckles, tucked under a tree,
His nose was quite blue, he smelled slightly of wee.
The City hall baby was cold, but quite well
The Police all came running with a bark and a yell.
After poking and prodding and cuddling tight
Bonnie Baby Belfast was rushed through the night,
Examined, and changed and cuddled up warmer
The Bonnie wee man was returned to his mother.
Fergus was waiting, in the still of the night.
The Wolfhound was ready, crouched low in the dark,
To trip-up the robber afoot in the park.
The robber fell flat, his boots slipped on the ground
And on top of him pounced a big hairy wolfhound.
Fergus growled in his face, showing his teeth
The puny wee robber lay stock still beneath.
Within a short time, screech! Siren! And Light!
As the mayor's limousine cut clean through the night.
The police carted off the robber in shame,
And Fergus stretched out, shaking his mane.
"We'll call him Fergus Bradley" said the Mayoress with glee,
"And the freedom of Belfast is yours with a Key".
Later that year, early in May,
On a glorious, cheery, blossom filled day
In a City Hall chamber with all VIP's
Fergus and Bradley were given their keys.
The freedom of Belfast was theirs to enjoy,
And a sloppy wet kiss from a bonnie wee boy.