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.’
