The Banff and Buchan Collection

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Tape 1993.020 transcription

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[RS] We're all here tonight as you know, most of us anyway, for the common cause of preserving our heritage and we make no apologies once again at the Buchan Heritage Society concert that youth will get it's fling, and get a fair old fling tonight cause that's where the heritage stems from if it's going to continue.

And in that context a lady in Aberdeen does tremendous work in encouraging youngsters to play the accordion--that's Mrs Gerrard. My pleasure now in welcoming Mrs Gerrard's members of the accordion orchestra--and there's Mrs Gerrard! [Applause.]


[RS] On with the first of our competition winners, and this is the 8 and under Doric Verse competition and it was won by Charlene Henry of St Combs, young Charlene, can you come in please? [Applause.] Lovely, at's it. 8 and under remember, Charlene Henry of St Combs, and she's going to recite a poem called 'Voodoo for Miss Marwick'. Charlene [Applause.]

[CH] 'Voodoo for Miss Marwick'

I dinna like Miss Marwick,
Is cushion's for her heid,
I'm jumpin a ma weight on't [does action].
Yer deid, yer deid Miss Marwick,
And niver mair you'll say,
I dance like a herd o Ayrshire key,
On a mairket day.

I'll pitch a blow es so far,
Yer deid and yearded baith,
And nivver mair ye'll misca me,
Ye've drawn yer hindmaist braith.

[Laughs, applause.]

[RS] Lovely, absolutely lovely. I hope I hinna drawn my hindmost breath!

Now we come to the Junior Fiddler, and that was won by a young girl from Netherley, Claire Telfor. Claire! Claire Telfor [Applause.] Claire's ganna play that fine slow air by the late Tom Anderson of Lerwick 'The Auld Resting Chair', and that's to be followed by 'The Miller o Hirn' and 'Rachel Rae'.



[RS] Well done Claire, that was Claire Telfer of Netherley playing 'The Auld Resting Chair', 'The Miller o Hirn' and 'Rachel Rae'.

Junior winner of the ballad, and the lad at's competed here before, and won before, he's going to tell us all about the Ian Middleton tale o 'The Dumplin'. Please welcome Scott Gardiner from Forfar (applause).

[SG] 'The Dumplin'

Well when Jeannie's auldest sister taen a dwamie ae aifterneen,
Her man agreed she'd better gyang tae see fit could be daen,
So she packed twa, three thingies in her case and aff she gaed,
Leavin Wullie tae get on wi things, tae cope as best he cuid.

When he rose the followin mornin and gaed ben tae licht the fire,
He foon the boo'in akward wi his muckle spare tyre,
And he used the plastic tattie pail tae put the cinders in,
And it melted wi a gush o reek that left him ticht o win.

When eens he got it conquered, and sat doon tae hae his tae,
Aye, and feelin noo in better bone, began tae plan his day,
He lookit for an easy wey, when inspiration came!
He would mak as big a dumplin at wid last ere Jean came hame.

He lookit oot a basin at wid hud the stuff he nyot,
And onythin twould boost it's size, this dumplin got the lot,
O the quantities required o each he wisnae affa sure,
But raither than be ticht he aye held in anither stoor.

The result fan steered the gither wis a clarty grey knot,
And he shoved it in a pilla slip and stapped it in a pot,
Syne he gave it a suppie watter and he pit it on tae bile,
And decided jist tae leave it to get on wit for a fyle.

He left the water hotter, and gaed ben tae mak the bed,
Nae fancy weys for Wullie, jist a quick throw up instead,
When he flypit up the blankets they let loose wi sic a wuff,
That he cowpit a Jeans pooder pots and jars o coloured stuff.

He gaed oot tae day the orra work, ere dinner time had come,
And a this time he thocht aboot he appetisin hum,
That hid wafted ootan the kitchie door when laist he'd hin a look,
The smell it fair gaed roon his hairt, twas a credit to the cook.

Dinner time had come at last, and in he gaed tae dine,
But the dumplin he'd imagined wis a duff o a different kind,
For the dollop it had swelled sae much its girth had burst the cloot,
And in twa three different places half it's guts wis hinging oot.

Wullie wouldn't hae thocht it possible tae swall at sic a speed,
It wis achteen inch aben the pot wi the lid perched on it's heid,
And as he stood there watchin't, the heicher aye it rose,
And spotted lumps were stickin oot like a springer spaniel's nose.

He turned aff the gas and gaed tae lift the pot ootside,
But the hannel o it wis burried wi the pudden bein sae wide,
And he couldnae get a hud o't, till he'd hacket affa dad,
So Wullie did it the quickest wey, he skimmed it wi the spad.

And he threw the surplus puddin tae the collie in the close,
It walkit roon stiff legged and it gart at unco sauce,
Aben it's back it's hair stood up as if it gotten a fleg,
And syne the final insult is the damn cocked it's leg.

It's still a muckle potful left, he tried tae eat himsel,
And he had it three, fower times a day, till he coulda seen't in hell,
For he fried it, and he stewed it, and he had it cauld and het,
And o, afore a week went by he wis scunnered wi his mait.

The sicht o it gar'd him shudder, every time he sat tae dine,
And he felt he'd hae the jandies, ere he reached it's inner rin,
Till he swore that nae anither drap wid ever reach his mou,
And he cowped it in the orra pail and gaed it tae the soo.

Yer affa peely-wally like, says Jean fan she come hame,
Ye'll no hae made a diet, noo I'll bet that's fit tae blame,
I'm glad fair Meg wis feel eneuch tae let ye hame the day,
I'll jist awa and make a bonnie dumplin tae yer tae!

[Applause, laughs.]

[RS] Scott Gardiner of Forfar with 'The Dumplin'. Well this young lad comin on noo is nae a dumplin, cause he's a little wee loon and he hisnae reached the dumplin stage like me, he's jist a little loon of 9 years old.

He won the Junior Accordion today, he comes from Hatton and his name is Stephen Penny. Stephen! [Applause.] Stephen played today, he's only playing the accordion one year and Liz Stewart is his teacher. And he's going to play 'Scotland the Brave', 'The Rowan Tree', and 'Mairi's Wedding'.


[RS] At's where the young talent comes from and it assures our future indeed. Here's the 12 and under Doric verse today, and it's affa nice that he did win because eh, the poem he'd going to recite for us is by our late beloved Peter Buchan. Did so much for the Heritage, Buchan Heritage and editor of the Heirskip as well. So the 12 and under Doric verse, one of Peter's poems, the Reekin Lum--here's Robert Dunbar of St Combs.

[RD] 'The Rikin Lum,' by Peter Buchan

Jock come oot till his gavel end, and he leaned against the wa,
He lifted the snoot o his aul daen cape and he gaed his pow a cla,
He lichted his pipe wi a sook and a smack and then traivelled back and forth,
The same aul wey he'd daen for years, fae the hoose till the sheddie door.

The watch keeper's stars were bricht and clear abeen the frosty dark,
But the wind's cauld nose wisnae slow to learn that Jock's hid a gey thin sark,
It wis five steps east. It wis five steps wast. Wi a thocht aboot this and that,
And nivver a craiter to look near haun, but a myowling, prowling cat,
And nivver a soun but the sooch o the win, and the girn o the wintry sea,
For the bairns that had played in the street a nicht, were far sleepy bairns should be.

It wis five steps east. It wis five steps wast. Wi a thocht aboot this and that,
Fin up fae the shore came a weel kent fit, twas his crony aul Dod Watt,
A lang thin chiel, wi his neck weel rowd in a gravit sax fit lang,
And throw the stumps o his broken teeth he wis whistlin an aul Scotch sang,
A tune that wis aul as the hielan hills, although he couldnae gie it a name,
And he wis gey sair made at the twirlie bits, but he fustled them just the same.

S'is! Says Dod when he sees oor Jock at his pacin up and doon,
Ye're the only driftin sowel I've seen this nicht in a the toon,
Hiv ye nae a hame, are ye short o coal that ye're bird alone oot here,
Ye'd be jist as warm if ye stood a file at the pint of the convict here.

Man, says Jock, I wis sittin fine in ma cosy ingle neuk,
Readin a bit and sing a bit and beatin an ?? heuk,
The dog wis straitched oot on the fender steel, wi a sleepy heid on ma feet,
And I life's wi its ups and doons I thocht wis unco sweet.

Fen doon the lum came a muckle ? and it filled the hoose wi reek,
And I hosted sair and I cowkit mair like a first year loon at sic,
My een wis waterin thick and fast, and my nose is full a sit,
So I've jist come oot for a breath noo, cause the air in ere's nae fit.

S'is, says Dod, at's a pity noo. And he fell in step wi Jock,
But nivver a word did he believe cause Jock wis lee'in folk,
Since ever they sail'd the stormy seas, the cod they'd aye fower heids,
And the hens o them that wis fairmin folk laid eggs wi twa big reeds.

It wis five steps east. It wis five steps wast. Wi a word aboot this and that,
Jock wi the reek fleein ower his heid, and Dod he jist chowed and spat,
And ilka drag wis a double lift and in every heuk a skate,
And herrin ran doon ?? lids like a hieland burn in spate.

So they shot and hauled, and they dodged and ran through fair and conter seas,
And aye the later hoor greater grew, aye, greater grew the lies.
Till oot o the nicht a fearsome yowl it came dirlin, wild and clear,
It still'd their speech, it stive'd their speak, it froze their hairts wi fear.
It wis Isie oot at the kitchen door, on the hunt for her guid man Jock.

Then she gyarded him up and she gyarded him doon, baith him and a his folk,
Lood, aye looder grew her note and hicher grew her skirl,
And gard the cat take sheet wi fright, it gard the windaes dirl,
He wis this, he wis that, he wis idle tae the bone,
And the only thing that brocht a smile wis the sicht o the southerly cone.

He wis nivver oot, he wis nivver in, he wis jist an orra drooth,
Fine did she ken wey he wis aye sae keen on a berth forsooth,
And aye her tongue gaed clatter clak, like the star'n o a crippled chook,
And the names that she ca'd her man that night wis niver in the beuk.

Guid nicht, says Dod, till his leein freen. I see the reek that's tae blame,
But it's time I wisnae here mysel, I've a reekin lum at hame!


[RS] Well done! Well done. Well deserved too, because tae me that's a lad that understands fully, and this is what heritage is a aboot, the reekin lums and the steam tra'lers and what hiv ye, but there's a loon at jist pit his hairt intil it, and every word he uttered he understood every word, and that counts indeed.

Let's go on to the Junior Group Winners tonight, they are called 'Bits and Pieces', presumably because they just met here the day I dinna ken. From Banchory, Inverurie, Tarland and Stonehaven. They start off with 'Ross Memorial Hospital', after that 'Sunset over Foula', and they finish aff wi 'The Hen's March ower the Midden'. The winners of the Junior group--Bits and Pieces [applause].


[RS] Thank you Bits and Pieces, and Heather, Heather, Heather Anderson well done on piano too.

One of the great supporters of the different festivals is a lad fae Kirriemuir. He comes up and whether he wins or whether disnae win, it neither puts him up nor down. The most disappointing thing that we can say on behalf of the Buchan Heritage Society is that he arrived today with a Keith Festival jersey. And so impoverished is the man that he hisna taen it aff since. In spite of the fact that he won both the bothy ballad--I bet he's takin the damn thing aff right noo!--in spite of the fact that he won both the main ballad competition and bothy ballad competition, a great favourite here and he wis affa good today, will you please welcome Joe Aitken.

[JA] Well ye see--

[RS] Excuse me! [laughs].

[JA] Well ye see I'm ae workin that wee bit in advance. Aye, Keith festival's in a month's time, so I'm jist getting my jersey looked oot in plenty o time [laughs].

Ae Whitsuntide at Huntly toon,
Twas there I did agree
Wi aul Bogie side the fairmer,
a six-month for tae fee
Auld Bogie wis a surly curl,
And this I knew fu well
But he had a lovely dauchter
And her name was Isabel.

Noo, Belle she wis the bonniest lass,
In a' the countryside,
And very soon I lost ma hairt,
Tae the belle o Bogieside.
And aft times in a summer's nicht,
I'd wander wi ma dear,
Tae watch the trooties loupin,
By Bogie's watter clear.

Though well I kent I wis nae match,
For Bogie's Bonnie Belle,
When ere she turned her een on me,
She fairly cast a spell.
I tried in vain tae keep awa,
When it cam tae even tide,
But in the dream I'd wander,
Till we met on Bogieside.

Twas jist afore the term time,
Auld Bogie sent tae me,
And says wi face as black as nicht,
It's you I want tae see.
If what my daughter says is true,
We can nae langer agree,
And it's doon the road ye'll withoot,
A penny o yer fee.

Says, aye, auld man, yer fairly richt,
I hung ma heid in shame,
But I will mairry Belle the morn,
And gie tae her my name.
He cursed and swore and in his rage,
He said that raither he would see,
His daughter lyin deid than mairried unto me.

Though I wis bit a plooman chiel,
I thocht he wis gey sair,
Though hard it wis tae part wi her,
I didnae say nae mair,
But packed my kist and left the toon,
Ere Bell I didnae see,
I wis that mad I niver saught the wages due to me.

And noo she's awa tae a tinkler chap,
His nickname's Sowder John,
She hawks his pans and roosers,
Aroon by Fogie loan.
They say Aul Bogie rues the day
That he did rave and yell
But twas me wha won the maidenheid
O Bogie's Bonnie Belle.

Thank you very much


[RS] Well done Joe. Don't leave yet. I've just spoken to Sandy Ritchie, the president o the Buchan Heritage Society, and he's so ashamed a you wearin a Keith Festival jersey that you are being presented tonight with a Buchan Heritage Society jersey on the understanding that you will wear that at Keith Festival [laughs]. Here you go.


[End of Side A.]

[RS] On we go to our winners at the festival today, the Intermediate Doric Verse, tae tell us a aboot J. C. Milne's 'Oh for Friday Nicht,' Angela Ogg o Huntly.

[AO] 'Oh for Friday Nicht' by J. C. Milne

Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday--hame and hummin!
Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday's lang o comin!

Noo lat's hae Geography!
Fut's the toun for jute?
Sit at peace Jemima!
Kirsty, dra yer snoot!
Hey there, Wullie Wabster!
Stop powkin in yer breist!
Fut? a horny-gollach!
Gweed be here, fut neist!

Faur's the Granite City?
Weel, Georgina Broon?
Glaisga? Haud yer weesht, quine!
Glaisga's just a toun!
Buckie? Hoots an havers!
The Broch? Preserve us a'!
Hey there, Geordie Gammie!
Pit that preen awa!

Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday--hame and hummin'
Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday's lang o comin!

Noo lat's hear yer spellin's!
Fut? Ye got nane oot!
A'richt--Nature Study!
Fut gars tatties sproot?
Heat and moisture--fairly!
Fut mair, Wullie Gowk?
Fairmers! Gweed preserve's man!
Fairmers dinna work!

Dod, tak in the bottles!
Fa wants milk the day?
Gweed be here, fut's wrang, Jock?
Needin anither strae?
No! Weel, man, fut gars ye
Stan there and gowp and glower?
Twa deid fleas in ye bottle!
Be thankfu there's nae fower!

Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday--hame and hummin!
Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday's land o comin!

Noo for Table Mainners!
Specially you, Jock Broon!
Dyod, man, fin ye're suppin,
Sic a slubberin soun!
And you Bill Bowie Baxter!
As far's ye're mebbe able
Try and haud yer elbucks
And spleeters aff the table!

Govie Dick--the Register!
Fa's nae here the day?
Jamie Tough--the nickum!
Granny's washin day!
Jeannie--German measles!
Tammas--twa blin lumps!
Jamie Tough? Fut's that, Jean?
His mither's takin mumps?

Noo the aucht times table!
Weel deen, Wullie Flett!
Man, ye'll be Director
O' the coonty yet!
Fut's that? No ye winna!
Weel, weel, please yersel!
Dyod, it's time for lowsin!
Wullie, ring the bell!

Geordie, shak the duster!
Jean, pit past the chack!
Fut's that, Wullie Wabster?
A wyver on my back!
Jock, the aspidistra!
Tak it tae the sink!
Canny wi't, ye gommeril!
It's auler then ye think!

Noo, a word o warnin
Afore ye tak the road!
There's twa Inspectors comin
Haud yer tongue, Jock Todd!
Twa Inspectors comin
Tae--fut's adee, Jean Squires?
Yer mither's mebbe comin?
Wha the deevil cares!

Oh for Friday nicht!
Friday--hame and hummin!
Oh for Friday nicht!
It's been gey lang o comin!


[RS] Now we come onto the Junior Bothy Ballad competition, and I did mention a wee bit earlier on that the wee lad playin the accordion doon there, I would mention him a wee bit later on, because he wis in Mrs Gerrard's accordion orchestra. Take a look o him, because I didnae recognise him, because ony time he's been recitin he kinda weers a bonnet, I dinnae ken if he his just now, but he wore the bonnet and he didna look the same lad at a'. But he is indeed, now 12 years old, winning the Junior Bothy Ballad, will you please welcome Gordon Carroll of Gartly. I thocht ye'd find the bonnet somewey!

I wis only a halflin when I left the glen,
To work as an orra loon doon at Culglen,
Twas fairly a change for a laddie like me ,
Tae hae brose for ma breakfast, ma dinner and tea.

Noo brose in the mornin is a very weel,
It dinna need cha'in, yer milk it could sweel,
But at dinner time losh, I would raither hae bree,
Than brose for ma breakfast, ma dinner and tea.

At nicht I wis hungry, I gaed tae ma bed,
I dreamt I bought bannocks and butter instead,
But ae in the mornin, I wakened tae see,
The brose for ma breakfast, ma dinner and tea.

At the ploo I'd made pictures I plucked fae the neeps,
And we winnered foo lang in the brose they would keeps,
But fan lowsin time come we a tear in the ee,
I gaed in tae the brose for ma dinner and tea.

In the lang summer days in the castin the peats,
I'd often been famished, I'd a eaten ma beets,
I nibbled the carrots I'll nae tell a lee,
It's a long time wi brose for ma denner and tea.

Noo that wis the wey that I fell in wi Jean,
She wis kitchie at Killie's and jist turned sixteen,
She took pitie an fylies a cookie she wid gie,
As a change as brose for ma denner and tea.

Oh they say that the wey tae the hairt o man,
Is tae feed him up just as weel as you can,
Well wi Jeannie thocht that for she said she'd agree,
Tae gae brose for ma breakfast but nae for ma tea.

Noo fowk that have thriven and huddin and hose,
Fa says it's nae work as a boolfu o brose,
I dinna misdoot it, but fit aboot three,
Bowls o brose for ma breakfast, ma dinner and tea.


[RS] We go on now to the Intermediate Piano and Fiddle. I couple this together because it was the same winner, the piano and the fiddle. So to play a piano selection first of all, let's welcome Keith Anderson of Westhill. Keith is going to play the Lone Highland Glen as his first tune, Gavin Greig as his second one and George Riddell as his third. Keith Anderson of Westhill, Intermediate Winner on Piano.



[RS] Oh, he's nae far oot, he's comin back this time tae play the fiddle. It's 'The Dean Brig of Edinburgh,' followed by 'The First House,' and then 'Mrs Forbes Leith.'



[RS] Well done Keith! Winning not only the piano but the fiddle competition there in the Intermediate.

The next step in the winning competitors is the Intermediate Accordion and that is a competitor from Turriff and that is Audrey Steele. Audrey! In you come and she is going to play for you 'Madame de Longley,' 'Rita Duncan' and 'Errol Reel.' The Intermediate Accordion winner, Audrey Steele [applause].




[RS] Thank you very much. Banana Bunch of Banchory.

And now we move on from music back to Doric verse. A lad from Edinburgh won the Senior Doric Verse competition and he won with a poem today 'Not such a grand tour' in English, 'Nae sic a grand tour'. John Milligan from Edinburgh.

[JM] 'Nae sic a grand tour'

If ye maun be a sicht seer o famous places far and near,
Tae enjoy the very atmosphere o the scene,
Then never ever go in wi a builder fae Aberdeen,
I mind on the Acropolis and standing there in utter bliss,
While he was half oblivious,
I mean we would hae finished this in granite, in Aiberdeen!

A scorching day in Pompeii, oor souls enriched, oor spirits high,
Ower which marvel he casts an eye, keen,
We widnae used jist quite sae much infill in Aiberdeen!
And yin hale day we did o Rome, the mason's spiritual home,
The basin shell in ancient stone if it had a been,
But we'd hid this aw renovated the noo in Aiberdeen!

And Venice, we're a struck dumb by sinkin buildins aff their plumb,
While he gauns and tells everyone at the scene,
We'd hae built this tae last in Aiberdeen!

Paris passed, the Arc de Triomphe, ??? and clean!
But we widnae leave the stove burnin away all day in Aiberdeen!

The last straw came at Barcelona, at the progress o Gaudie's Segrada Familia,
The rising stonework a modren wonder tae be seen,
But we'd a haen the roofie on by noo, in Aiberdeen!

At last, the second week on the beach,
He's disappeared and oot o reach,
But by some half-big site he'll teach some Spaniard ??,
See here min, this is how ye dae the Spanish adobe in Aiberdeen!


[RS] Now please welcome a smashing fiddler from Tarland, Paul Anderson. [Applause.]

[PA] Well, I'll play the tunes that I competed wi this afterneen, which is the slow air, 'Prince Charles' Last View o Scotland,' followed by the Strathspey, 'The Marquis o Huntly's Farewell,' and the reel, 'Big John MacNeill.'


[RS] We have the Open Mouth Organ section, and that was won by Dod Murray of Stuartfield. [Applause.] And once I vacate this mike he'll play 'Bonnie Stratheyre,' and 'The Bearsden Fiddlers.'


[RS] This is the Senior Group winners today, they are a ready to play--The Mormonsiders!



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