The Banff and Buchan Collection

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Tape 1993.009 transcription

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[Bird song.]

Ae fine Spring day I'd taen the road fan athing wis sae bonny,
When every step alang the wey I wanered wi a crony,
Up hill, through glen we traivelled on, files restin by a lochan,
But jist the ither day ma freend I landed hame in Buchan.

[Music--moothie, piano. Tape speed strange.]

Fars a' the happy loons that play aboot Redmoss?
Or smokit secret tabbies oot o sicht in ??,
The moves that made their ?? tae try and beat the tide,
Or played yon kinda fitba far there's twenty-five aside.

The loons that ran the billie fan the herrin fleet wis sooth,
And for the sake o tippence, aye could ?? the truth,
Far are they noo? Aye, far are they the day?
The queenie loons that rode their sledges doon the wally brae.

The sooth-by loons that didnae care though mithers gave them gip,
For reest and ?? ?? and an ??? for slip,
The wild and gey ill trickit loons that bade in their ane heids,
And Buchaneers on the warpath, swingin ?? roon their heids.

The fisher squad that hid the times a rowdy wey o playin,
And toonser lads that hid nae doobt some ketters o their ain,
Like runnin wi their sheen on close ahin the water cairt,
And comin wi a story that wid brak a mither's hairt.

Far are they noo? They've surely flown like birds,
And taen their peeries wi them, and their ?? and their girds.

Fars a the lauchin quines that plowtered doon the braes,
And gaithered dolly's claesies on the bonny summer days,
The bonnie quines, the playin quines, reed heided, dark or fair,
That skirled, at's tell the teacher, if ye try tae rug their hair.

The quines that chackin beddies at the tap o the ilkae street,
And scoffled at the steenie till the sheen wis aff their feet,
The quines that sang like linties, as they played their merry games,
Wi jumpin ropes and weighin weights, and bonnie coloured ??.

At nicht aneth the lamp-post, they'd be singin wi a will,
Ten o'clock the gas goes out, for the lass o Richmond Hill,
Far are they noo? The place is nae the same withoot them,
And their fairmers dog, though Jumbo wis his name.

Far are they noo? There's some that's hine awa,
And some that's never even thocht o leavin hame at a',
But whether they be ower the sea or still a chauvin here,
Lets wish for them and a their bairns a happy guid New Year.

[Fiddle and piano. Bird song in background.]

A fish creel wi a wife aneth't, stood at wir kitchen door,
A sma quine grat at the wild like shape she'd niver seen afore,
Ye came fae anither world, Suffie. Some o his landward folk,
The sauch o the sea and the very soun o the words ye spoke.

Oor weys werenae yours. We niver vrocht wi licht nor line,
Nor guttin knife, nor staund on ??? , the staun wi the brine,
We niver hid tae fleed them intae a tub ?? yer heid,
Nor harken at the ?? at midnicht, caul wid reid.

Spring efter spring, or the teuchat storm wis passed,
Ye wannered the road. Heid till the sleety win,
And both twa ?? shouderin yer road.

Sinner parks were kindlier till ye feet than steens and stew,
But files the turkeys chased ye, far wis feart?
Them or you?

Yon richt huddery buss as wis't een yer hair,
Is drizzled noo, and ower lang scannin o the sea,
His bleached yer eens blue.

Wark and doul and widder sharpit yer face,
Till skin ower been, as the tides torment and futtle,
A sma white steen.

Weel woman, noo it's lowsin time,
Wi worse for you a filies ease, sin at the hinnermost wa gaen,
Quaet seas.

[sound of horses hooves--pulling a cart.]

There's a fairm toon up in Cairnie, it's kent baith far and wide,
It's ca'd the hash o Drumdelgie on bonny Deveronside,
At five o'clock that we get up and hurry doon the stair,
Tae get wir horses corned and fed and likewise tae stracht their hair.

Half an oor at the stable, each tae the kitchie goes,
Tae get started tae oor brakfast, which is generally brose,
We've scarcely gotten oor brose weel supped and gane wir pints a tie,
Fin the grieve he says, 'hallo my lads ye'll be nae langer nigh'.

At sax a'clock the mulls put on tae gie us a stracht work,
And there's twall o us his tae work at it, till ye could ring oor sark,
Et acht o'clock the mulls taen aff and we hurry doon the stair,
Tae get some quarter through the fan till daylicht days appear.

Noo the cloods begin tae gently lift, the sky begins tae clear,
An the grieve he says, 'hallo my lads, ye'll be nae langer here',
Et sax o ye'll gang tae the ploo and sax tae ca the neeps,
An the yowes'll nae be efter ye fir they get on their feet.

In pittin on the harness and drawin oot tae yoke,
The drift gang on sae very thick that we wis like tae choke,
The drift gang on sae very thick, for the ploo she widnae go,
It was then that the cairtin did commence among the frost and snow.

Noo Drumdelgie keeps a Sunday skweel, he thinks it his bit richt,
Tae teach the young and the innocent the way for wey tae dae richt,
So fare ye weel, Drumdelgie, I'll bid ye a adieu,
And leave ye jist as I got ye, a maist unceevil crew.

[horse hooves fade out.]

Well div ye get fit a moggin is? A moggin wis actually a purse. And it wis a tube, eh, a tube made a claith that ye could pit coins intil. That wis the original moggin. Well fisher folk used tae hae folk haein a moggin if they hid plenty o siller ye see, they hid a fine moggin stowin awa. It wis jist something like a money belt ye ken. But the moggin that wis the fisher folk really meant wis a sleeve that wis worn by the guttin quines. Ye see fan the quines wis guttin herrin, they hid aye bare airms. So the elbows doon, their airms wis bare. And their fingers wis a in cloots, tae save their fingers fae the knife and fae the course sa't amon the herrin, because the course saat is affa course, it's like eh, it's hard ye ken, and it's a sharp edges on't and could tear the fingers tae bits. So they hid finger, finger clooties, they jist bandaged up their fingers and tied them up wi threid. That wis the first job every mornin, tae pit on their cloots. Noo if it wis a caul mornin, a richt caul mornin, at means fan they were haein tae brak the ice on a the taps o the barrels, and they were guttin herrin that kinda weather, they would haul on a pair o moggins onto their bare airms. It wis jist like a stockin withoot a fit. Jist a sleeve. And then, as the day wore up and it grew warmer, they could haul aff this moggens ye see. Noo the Peterheid quines aye wore blue moggens. And at's far the name come fae. Fae the moggins, the blue moggins. They were made o worsted. The quines wived their ane moggins, ye see, and eh, that's far the name come fae. The blue moggins.

[Clock in background.]

[Woman 1] Oh my my, I thocht it wis the soon o yer fit.

[Woman 2] Fit's is yer sae eager at noo?

[Woman 1] ? , I'm jist heelin a pair o John's hose here, did ye ever try at?

[Woman 2] Na, I've niver tried the heelin, but there's mony a time thocht o't. I aye jist fit them.

[Woman 1] Aye, aye, but ye see ?? guid's at heelin and taein hose instead o jist fittin them. Ye'll heel and tae twa pair wi a lot less worsted than ye'll put een.

[Woman 2] Dod, I'll try at an, for I div need an affa lot o worsted in sic a faimily.

[Woman 1] I've nae doobt aboot at. But sit in aboot tae the fire wi her chilly and get ?? for it's a cauld day.

[Woman 2] It's a that. And it's some like sna. There wis a muckle ring roon the meen that's reed, and that's aye the sign o a near storm.

[Woman 1] So they say onywey, and I thinks they're nae far wrang. ?? a lot o the air.

[Woman 2] Are you shoein the heel noo fan ye're daein the wivin?

[Woman 1] Aye, jist at. Ye see, if it wis ?? the heel, a body could take up the loops at the sides, but the sides is nae ready. It's jist a bit in the middle o the heelin o the sole ?? and it's aye oot in holes. I think it's ?????

[Woman 2] Weel, I wite it's jist at. For fan I used tae wear sheen, I had an affa job keepin masel in hose. I jist wear lastic beets noo for Sunday, and they dinna jack. Forby they're fine and easy pittin on fan ye're in a hurry.

[Woman 1] Aye, aye. I've a pair o lacin eens masel, but I wis thinkin I wid like lastic eens neest. But fit's the matter wi yer shackle been that ye hiv tae a rowd up.

[Woman 2] Dod, I gaed it a thra. ?? stair. I came ower thinkin tae hud it in aneth yer spoot a whilie. It's a grand cuir, a spring water for a strain.

[Woman 1] Aye, there's ??? anither, and you could get onybody't could dae't. But for a the learnin folk gets noo, there's nae mony can dae't. I min my granny daen it tae een o mine fan I wis a quine.

[Woman 2] Dod aye.

[Woman 1] It jist need a ?? but it wis still sair the time that she wis daein it.

[Woman 2] Nae doobt. But ye jist hid tae thole the pain for the profit.

[Woman 1] Jist it. Foo's yer washin staunin up at the ?? at the mill, hiv ye daen a whitened yet.

[Woman 2] Eh, na, nae freely, I've aboot a dizen o cuts yet.

[Woman 1] Och, that's nae muckle oot o forty cuts. Ye've hid a gey shank?? Till ye managed tae wey sae muckle?

[Woman 2] Och aye, but it's been maistly wivin intae sarkits and dra'ers and gravets. And wi the muckle wears, ye're nae lang in wyvin a cut. And dod save masel, I'm a guid wyver.

[Woman 1] Aye, I ken at. But ye canna get muckle time tae sit, for I files winner fit wey ye manage tae full a kiddie.

[Woman 2] Weel ?? , far there's a wull, there's aye a wey. And folk that gets guid worsted can mak it weir langer. And sin there's nae sae muckle wyvin tae dae. Ye see I bocht the ?? masel, afore I pit it tae the mull, so t'would be a bitter better o that.

[Woman 1] Hm. Weel ye'd think it. But I heard it say that ye dinna aye get yer ane noo ava, and they jist pit it a throw the gither and sin pairt it oot aifter it's a ready, and gie ilky een a share accordin tae foo muckle loom they hid.

[Woman 2] Well, a witer wouldnae wonner. But gan I thocht that I ?? chav teasin at the ??, for it's a weary job.

[Woman 1] Aye is't. But there's nae muckle lot daen noo as fit it eens wis. Aboot the time that folk did a their ane spinnin themselves. And it wisnae sae muckle new goons at aboot at at time as there is noo.

[Woman 2] Na. And a new fancy goon wis thocht somethin o than. I been at I min wyvin yet at belanged tae John's mither. Hard her tellin, she spans the time he wis at the beast, and at's half a century seen.

[Woman 1] Dod, I maun at's a lang time. She surely hidnae worn it muckle.

[Woman 2] Weel, I'd warrant she'd keep it a trim ?? for a gey file. But she wore't a lot afore she deid.

[Woman 1] Aye, but it'll be linen, and hame spun ?? tae the auld folk, could hardly hae daen yon.

[Woman 2] It looks some like it. But I think folks is wearin mair ?? clothes than they dae in this country. There's a nonsense ower muckle cotton claes form. If they wid stick tae the claes that's produced in the country they bide in, I dinna think we'd hear o sae mony folk die'in o caul, or die'in wi decline.

[Woman 1] Weel, aye, it's a fact. Ye see, ?? came intae fashion and it's like tae bide. And lots o folks thocht there wis ?? by the name o't. But I'm sure ??? and nae worth the makin.

[Woman 2] Dod, I stoppet it a the gither and jist fell back on cotton for sarks. I'm sure it's mair thrifty. And ye see fit aul flannen near their skin, and seen they've a got guid warm hamewyved sarkits, and dra'ers, and we're nae muckle bothered!

[Fiddle and piano. Milking noise, cow noise.]

I winna loo the laddie that ca's the cairt and ploo,
Though he should own that tender love that's only ?? for you,
To he that is bosom ?? , fondest love betrayed,
Is the faithful shepherd laddie that bears the crook and plaid,
For he's aye true to his lassie, aye true tae his lassie,
Aye true tae me.

If ?? climbs the mountains weel tae ?? folks with you,
While ower in sweet the laverock sings news from ?? among the dew,
The ?? croonin roon and roon and may not weel be staid,
Sae blithe it is the laddie that wears the crook and plaid,
For he's aye true to his lassie, aye true tae his lassie,
Aye true tae me.

?? spreadin hawthorn raidit growin in the glen,
He meets me in the gloamin aye fan neen on earth can ken,
To wooin rowan there I ?? whatever may be said,
He aye kens I'm ?? weel the wey tae row me in his plaid,
For he's aye true to his lassie, aye true tae his lassie,
Aye true tae me.

[Hums. Birdsong, running water.]

'The Aul Wa'
Come oot o that, ye puddlin vratch,
Scraichs the girnie wife at me,
Ye'll tummel in and droon yersel,
Ye'll catch yer death o caul,
Losh quine, fit div ye get tae watch,
In that aul wall?

Fit div I watch, see yon spoot,
Hear the watter trinklin oot,
And kept some in yon roosty mull,
Naebody badders, gaen ye spall,
Be doon by the aul wall.

I'm fear't at yon dark naisty place,
Laich o'er there at the back,
Far green and slivery tangles dreep,
And emertines and gollachs creep,
And puddocks loup and slaters cra'l,
Roon the eesins o the wall.

But I like at place far it's shinin blue,
The colour o the sky,
Far little pansies faces teet,
Atween the stanes, and prudent aul pink foxgloves,
Bo' to see themselves in their lookin gless,
The wall.

And fyles, on a still hairst aifterneen,
Nae braith o win' tae stir,
The sma fyte dukies feather curled,
Roon the dry carl doddie flo'er,
I see doon ere, the muckle fower twa fa'l,
Clood fleein bird and the toosie heids at me,
The big whirl, and the little whirl,
The wall.

Come oot a that, ye puddlin vratch,
Scraichs the gurnie wife at me,
Come awa fae that aul wall,
There's nothin there tae see,
Says she.

[Moothie and piano.]

It's Logie o Buchan, it's Logie the laird,
He has taen awa Jimmy the delight in the yaird,
Wha played on the pipe and the viole so sma',
He his taen awa Jimmy the flo'er o them a'.

He said, think nae lang lassie though I gang awa',
For I'll come and see ye in spite o them a'.

Oh Sandy has houses and gear and has kye,
A hoose and a headin and lands and siller forby,
Yet I'd ma ane lad wi his staff in his hand,
Afore I'd gan yon wi his hooses and land.

He said, think nae lang lassie though I gang awa',
For I'll come and see ye in spite o them a'.

My daddy looks sulky my mamy looks sour,
They flight upon Jimmy because he is poor,
Tho I loo them as weel as a dauchter should do,
They're nae half sae dear tae me, Jimmy, as you.

He said, think nae lang lassie though I gang awa',
For I'll come and see ye in spite o them a'.

[Birdsong, country sounds.]

It wis jist a skelp o the muckle firth, a spliter o roch grun,
Fan grandfather's father a broke it in, fae the header and the faun,
Grandfather's sklaitit barn and byre, brocht watter tae the close,
Built fell dykes ben the bare brae face, and a cairt road till the moss.

But we're father'd sotter tae the yard, and scraped among ??,
And keepit fancy dyeukes and doos, that werenae muckle ees,
He bocht aul wizened horse and kye, and scrimpit muck and seed,
Sin cloocherin wi a craichly hoast, he dwined awa and died.

Mither's growin aul and daen, dilet and sma' looket tae,
But still she's maister o her work, my work, it maisters me,
Och I'm tired o pliterin oot and in, a ma hens and swine and kye,
Kirnin amon brooky pots and yirnin croots and ??.

I look far ower the Ythanside, tae Fyvie's laich lithe lands,
Tae Auchterless and Bennachie and the mist blue Grampians,
Sair tae the hull o Benagoak and scunnered o the fairm,
Gan I bit dark, gan I bit dark, I'd flit the comin term.

O it's ill to thole on the first spring day, when the black earth lies in clods,
And the teuchet's ?? tae the ploo, and the sna' dreer ins on the roads,
O it's ill to thole on the still hairst gloam, fin the lifts ableez wi fire,
I staund and glower at the pail in my haund, on the road oot till the byre.

But it's worst ava aboot Whitsun day, fan the nichts are quiat and clear,
And the flooerin ?? by the yard, and the green corn's at the rear,
And the birds at give this hull it's name, yon bird ye nivver see,
Sits doon the wid, by the watter side, and lauchs leechin at me.

Flit, flit ye feel, says the unco bird. There's finer, couthier folk,
And kindlier country hine awa fae the hull o Benagoak,
But ma mither's growin auld and daen and likes her ane fireside,
T'would brak her hairt tae leave the hull, it's brakkin mine tae bide.

[Piano and harmonica.]

[Noise of sea on shore; background noise makes it hard to hear words.]

There's a canny lee fae the ?? wind, at the fit o the middle street,
And the neuk at the Battle o ?? bite, on a lang, low ?? seat,
Looks oot ower the pier at the half sunk rocks wi their skirts o dark broon weed,
Tae the bonny sweep o yella sand, and the licht ? aheid.

It's a ??? and it's there ye'll see at the close of a summer's day,
When the storm and the sun dried ?? o the beach come stealin up the brae,
The auld men gaitherin roon aboot, for a smoke and a yarn forby,
As they watch the ships sped oot o sicht ower the hazy line o sky.

There's mair than ?? wi the ?? on and there micht be a ?? or twa,
Noo the first address wi the ?? capes on misty morn awa,
There's twa, three men wi their haunds weel dug in the taps o their ?? breeks,
And the ?? daem that ?? is a ??????.

And there while the suns through the mist, but hing fae the dryin poles,
They yarm as they sit on their ?? seat, for ??,
And fits a the dubbin, jist staund tae for they'll soon forget ye're there,
And ye'll hear the tale o a ?? lorry, or a reid fish, or a hare.

Auld Donald fills his ?? pipe wi the silver knob o it's dowp,
And spins a yarn o the happy days fan the ?? roup were ?? deep,
And the ??,
Sin ends his tale wi a shak o his heid, it's a different story noo.

Ye'll hear how the wimmen lang, lang ?? could cairry the heavy creel,
And ilka een in the hut and ?? had tae ??,
? the old quines gaed tae the ?? ??,
And gaithered bait fae the frozen lochs till their darned haunds were torn.

Ye'll hear aboot distant ?? days ??,
And it's doon the boats wi their pinted stars and the ?? sae blunt and roon,
??? and speed and ruled the seas supreme,
How the modern boats, though poor at first, brought an end to the days o steam.

The names crop up that ye hear nae mair, though bonny names they are,
Sweet lilies, ?? and ?? Bydand and Guiding Start,
And so in the orra twa ye've stood on the Buchan Haven shorie,
Ye've covered sixty year and more, in the aul ?? story.

And man, though ye've never said a word, they'll ??,
It's aye fan ye leave tae whistle hame, guid nicht, and haste ye back.

Hiv ye iver seen a tinkers camp upon a simmer's nicht,
On the nicht afore the market fan athin's gang richt,
Fan a the tramps and ha'kers they come fae hill and dale,
Jist tae gither in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

Jock Stewart thocht hed hae a fecht, and tore his jacket aff,
But squeakin Annie settled him, we a got sich a lauch,
She run ower him on the tilly pans for a wee fite iron pail,
And she skelpit him like a swarm o bees at the moss o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

Noo little Jimmy Docherty a horseman great wis he,
So he lowpit on a sheltie's back some tricks tae let us see,
But a cullen put some prickly whins aneath the sheltie's tail,
Off he shot in a mossie pot ower the moss o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

By this time Jock hid got the pail torn off his achin heid,
And he kickit up an affa soon, enouch tae wak the deid,
So Annie roared, come on MacDuff, though I should get the jail,
Put them up ma mannie, ye're nae fit for Annie, the rose o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

But Annie wisnae langer heard fan muckle Jock McQueen,
Hid started dirlin up the pipes he bocht in Aiberdeen,
He blew sae hard, the skin wis thin, the bag began tae sweell,
And awa flew Jock wi his sheepskin pyoke ower the moss o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

The dogs they started barkin, the cuddies roared, hee-haw,
The trumps and ha'kers a turned roon and sich a sight they sa,
Twis Docherty, as black's auld Nick, the bairns leet oot o yell,
So we shou'dered wir packs and we a made tracks for the moss o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

But noo the spring cairts oot o date, the sheltie yet's ower slow,
The tramps and ha'kers nooadays hiv langer roads to go,
Oh we a maun hae motor cars we want oor goods tae sell,
But we'll never forget the nichts that we spent on the moss o Burreldale.

Fan the ale wis only tuppence, and a tanner boucht a gill,
A besom or a tilly pan, or a shelt ye aye could sell,
And we a got foo the gither ower a forty o sma ale,
Fan we gaithered in the gloamin at the moss o Burreldale.

Weel Geordie Wabster fit excuse today?
Please sir, please sir, it wis ma muckle tae!
For comin doon by Meerton wi' naether hose nor sheen,
A muckle loupin puddock gart me stotter ower a stane.

I doot Geordie Wabster, that winna tell,
Please sir, please sir, I didnae hear the bell!
For I trampit on a bees' byke, nae far fae Nedderbos,
And I couldna hear the clapper for the bizzin in ma lugs!

Losh, Geordie Wabster, fits this tae me noo!
Please sir, please sir, it wis the grunny soo!
For I wis barely roadit, fin oot ma mither come ,
'Rin, Geordie, for the fusky, Aul Stinker's taen a dwam!

Hoots, Geordie Wabster, are ye gan gyte?
Please sir, please sir, twis a ma mither's wyte!
For she hid a maist byordnar caul when she rose,
And she couldna get ma porridge steert for dichtin at her nose.

I doot, Geordie Wabster, I doot ye're tellin lees,
Please sir, please sir, twas mither's new cheese,
For it connacht a' ma stomach, and it came tae sic a heicht,
I wis rowin like a bowie in the riggin o the nicht.

Guid be here Geordie, this winna dae ava!
Please sir, please sir, I widna like tae bla',
But the verra morn's mornin, I'll waken wi the cock,
And come skelpin doon tae Memsie, fin it's ringin acht o'clock.

Aricht Geordie, ye'll be on time the morn!
Aye, sir, as sure's the boodie's watchin Hilly's corn,
And please sir, please sir, that's nae lee ava,
We'll lat that flea, Geordie, stick tae the wa'!

[Fiddles and piano play.]

She promised weel eneuch, I hiv ae crap,
But a dull mochy simmer it wis wi affa little drouth,
Some o us ye'll min, gey forcey, cut it ower green,
And sin the widder broke.

Cauld rauch sho'ers drift doon on a Nor-east win,
The cattle oot on the girse, wannered wi their backs up roon the dykes,
Nivver restin.

Aye the on-ding, aye the clourty dubs a the Howe o Ythan,
Wik aifter weary wik, the stooks stade tashed and watter-logged,
Mornin aifter mornin, yon fite har, came blain in fae the coast.

But ae foreneen, the win swang roon tae the West,
The cloods were hich and licht,
the sky wis bluer than we'd seen't a simmer.

The howes firmed up, the strae began to re-sow.
Shafe aifter shafe, we turned the stooks wi wir haunds,
Intill the face o a strong sunshiney breeze.

The cornyards, the smell o the ripened grain we worket hard.
Files by the licht o the meen Files on the Sabbath day. And we got her aff the grun,
Ae mair hairst.

And noo fae Mornin hill as far's Bennachie,
The rakits stibble parks lie teem and quaet,
Witin for the ploo.

[Sounds of Geese, crows, birds.]

'The Dyin Ploughboy'

The gloamin winds are sighin saft,
Aroond my lonely stable laft,
Amid the sky lights dusky red,
The sunbeams wander roond my bed.

The doctor left me in good cheer,
But something tells me death is near,
Ma time on earth his nae been lang,
My time is come and I maun gang.

I min tis but a week the morn,
Since I was weel and hairstin corn,
As foo o health and strength and fun,
As ony man among the throng.

But something in my briest gaed wrang,
A vessel burst and blood it sprang,
And as the sun sets in the sky ,
They'll lay me doon nae mair tae rise.

Fareweel my horse, my bonnie pair ,
It's you I'll yoke and lows wi you nae mair,
Fareweel my ploo, wi you this hand,
Will turn over nae mair fresh land.

Fareweel my friends my comrades dear,
This voice ye shall nae langer hear,
Fareweel tae yonder setting sun,
My time has come and I maun gang.

I've served my maister weel and true,
My weel daen work he'll nivver rue,
And yet forby, I micht hae striven,
Tae reach the pearly gates o hivven.

It's weel my maker knows my name,
Will he gie me a welcome hame,
As I should help in need afford,
Receive me in thy mercy Lord.

[Lord is my Shepherd, faint, accompanied by piano and fiddle.]


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