Too shy for dancing

Dae yi mind o the pipe smoke

Frae an auld briar bowl,

The smell o the sharn

The boots in the hall.

Jimmy fired up the squeeze box

Man, he’d laugh like a loon,

Sing o quines and their laddies

Trysting under the moon.

I was too shy for dancing,

Ow’re shy to sing too

Jist whit was a ferm loon tae do.

Noo the bothies is over

The lads and the song,

The hoose is a gap where

The street passes on.

I moved tae the Broch,

You worked at the store,

Fifty years wondering

And I’m back at your door.

I was too shy for dancing,

Ow’re shy to sing too

Whit was a ferm loon tae do.

You’ve a cheek on you laddie

Coming here like a loon

Wi your bunnet sae brave

And the shine on yir shoon.

But we’ll aff tae the Fishie

Like its spring seventy-two?

A box plays in the corner,

I’m dancing with you.

You were too shy for dancing,

Ow’re shy to sing too, but…

Wha cares whit an auld loon might do.


The Horseman’s Dochter

Her faither was a travelling man.

Mair fist than hert tae offer.

Cam swingin in tae the Aikey fair

On his arm the horseman’s dochter.

I watched her ow’re the colt’s fair mane.

As she led the grey tae water

Says I, my lass ‘I’ll guide ye doun,’

Fell in by the horseman’s dochter.

Aifter derk, by the traveller’s fire

As the fiddler’s chased the gloom

She danced ae tune sae fine an fair.

Een the auld grey stanes turned roon.

Late and late, I touched her hand.

It seemed the ground did shiver.

Her eyes sae wild they caught my breath.

I kissed the horseman’s dochter.

I swear she turned the auld mune’s heid

For it sillered a’ the brae.

I thocht the morn would never break.

And the horseman’s lass would stay.

But early on this young quine rose.

Her voice like stormy water

She cries ‘My lad tak me away,

Run awa wi the horsemen’s dochter.’

I looked out ow’re the cotter’s row,

The parks sae hard an thron,

Turned around tae meet her eyes.

The horseman’ s lass was gone.

She haunts my deams maist every nicht.

Fur there is nae peace without her.

Man, I’d tear the stanes frae Aikey’s brae

For ae kiss frae the horseman’s dochter.

Break

The horseman was a travelling man.

Mair fist than hert tae offer.

Were I a gallous loon ance mair

I’d hae the arm the horseman’s dochter.

The Wretch That Holds the Pen

The snows still falling as it turns to rain

The roofs still leaking near the Abbot’s drain

My hand keeps moving on the vellum square

And I’ve worn a patch on the screvin chair.

Outside the cold starts to howl again

God bless the wretch that holds the pen.

The words of the lord are a holy key

From Drostan’s hand cross the icy sea.

Find old John the Baptist at the Ugie Burn

As we sow the gospel on the Abbey farm.

Outside the cold starts to howl again

God bless the wretch that holds the pen.

If I sketch my dog by my favourite line

Draw a face ow’re the key, will they know it’s mine?

If the meek do inherit, I want my share in shoes

Or a warm winter cape that would be of use.

Outside the cold starts to howl again

God bless the wretch that holds the pen.

The Latin script, like my bed of stone

Sings of love and mercy, in a soldier’s tone.

Yet the words on my tongue never seem to fail

Are scratched on the edge of the holy tale.

Outside the cold starts to howl again

God bless the wretch that holds the pen.

There’s sheep on the grass by the chestnut tree

Buzzards rise ow’re far Benachie

As the winter light lifts the drifting rook

Save a prayer for old Colm who wrote this book.

Outside the cold starts to howl again

God bless the wretch that holds the pen.

Inscription in Gaelic written at the end of the Book of Deer

‘Let it be on the conscience of everyone who uses this splendid book, that they say a blessing for the soul of the wretch that wrote it.’