Twas the night before Dol-y-Moch, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The rucksacks were hung by the door with care,

In hopes that the bus soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of mud danced in their heads.

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a week's nap.