Foggy Foggy Dew

När jag för en stund sedan travade ned till brevlådan för att hämta Dagens Pravda fick jag verkligen en mild höstattack. Dimman beslöjar Hässelbys trådgårdar så inträngande att det skulle göra en herde på Dartmoor vit av avund. Och daggen är så intensiv och saftig att den på tre sekunder söker sig genom skosulorna och belönar en småsömnig morgonvandrare med ett otempererat fotbad.

Detta får tankarna att virvla iväg till sjuttiotalets engelskalektioner i Nya Elementars gymnasium. En av de alster vi kom i kontakt med i våra bemödanden att förstå de anglosaxiska lätena var The Foggy, Foggy Dew. Den finns i flera versioner, och en av dem går så här:

When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
Part of the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she knelt close by my side
When I was fast asleep.
She threw her arms around my neck
And she began to weep.
She wept, she cried, she tore her hair
Ah, me! What could I do?
So all night long I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew.

Again I am a bachelor,
I live with my son
We work at the weaver's trade.
And every sing time I look into his eyes
He reminds me of that fair young maid.
He reminds me of the wintertime
Part of the summer, too,
And the many, many times that I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy, dew.

Gosh, it´s beautiful!