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Numbers in parentheses ( ) relate to footnotes. These can be found on
the last page ' Tae Sister Jean'
The
British Cavalry
Ye
Lancers, Greys, an' Scottish Horse,
An' a' you mounted men,
We'll buy you horse, (10) an' sen'
you oot:
We'll dae oor best at hame.
We
drive oor motors ilka day
Fae North, Sooth, East, and West:
But ilka horse they winna ha'e:
They a' maun stan' the test.
Fae
cairrage doon tae cairty anes,
We'd like tae buy them a';
The anes that winna chase the Huns,
They will your transports draw.
The
horse I truly like the best:
Be kind tae him yersel';
Nae doot at times his he'rt is sad
Altho' he canna tell.
Yer
horse is wise an' kens his wark
An' fat he hes tae dae;
He'll chase the Germans aff the earth;
We'll fecht them on the sea.
An
Appeal
I'm
only a cavalry charger,
And I'm dying as fast as I can
(For my body is riddled with bullets-
They've potted both me and my man);
And
though I've no words to express it,
I'm trying this message to tell
To kind folks who work for the Red Cross-
Oh, please help the Blue (11) one
as well!
My
master was one in a thousand,
And I loved him with all this poor heart
(For horses are built just like humans;
Be kind to them-they'll do their part);
I'm
only a cavalry charger,
And my eyes are becoming quite dim
(I really don't mind though I'm "done for",
So long as I'm going to him);-
But
first I would plead for my comrades,
Who're dying and suffering too-
Oh, please help the poor wounded horses!
I'm sure that you would-if you knew.
Verses
on Mr. J. Ramsay, (12) Waterside.
Noo,
Jamie, man, I miss ye sair;
I never see ye noo.
Fan are ye comin' owre aboot
Tae gi'e's a word o' mou'?
The
place ye used to stan' on here,
There's naething on't ava:
We sometimes see a motor car,
But aftener Sandy Shaw (13) .
I liked
tae see ye turnin' roun'
Wi' the black horse in yer han':
Fan he wes on his majesty,
Ye hedna lang tae stan'.
He
tossed his forelock owre his mane,
An' crossed the brig just like a train;
The fire flew fae his vera sheen-
Tho' sometimes they were gey near deen.
The
pails did clatter i' the cairt,
An' sometimes they did fa',
Fan the black horse took it in his heid
That he wad rin awa'.
But
noo he's hame; his wark is deen;-
Alas! he's gaun awa';-
(I'll gi'e ye a feed o' corn yet;
Stan' up intae your sta').
But
noo, my frien', I'll hae tae stop;
Ye'll be owre by-and-by:
Ye winna hae the trauchle noo,
Sin' yer dairy days are by.
Verses on Mr. A. Fowler, (14)
Aboyne. Noo,
Alick, man, I'm sittin' here'
An' crookin' at the fire,
I'm gaun to try a verse on you,
Whase work I do admire.
Ye've
been a gaffer at a toon
That wad nearly ta'en a pair,
But ye could pit them tae their wark,
An' work yersel', that's mair.
An'
ye could fairly big a ruck,
An' k-nee it owre the croon;
Nae like the rucks we're seein' noo
As we gang traivellin' roun'.
At
plooin' matches ye've been seen
Tae scarcely hae an error;
At hyowin' matches ye wes aye
Tae men a holy terror.
Ye
grun' yer hyowie on the stane,
Threw on yer Sunday's jacket;
It didna maitter far it wes,
The prize ye could aye tak' it
An'
ye're the man tae sink their pump,
Or mak' their barrow-wheel;
An' if the snaw comes throu' the reef,
Ye'd thack their hoose as weel.
Ye
raised a fence at Lyss-na-Greyne
That gart fowk stan' an' stare:
They could eas'y see the eemost post,
But they could see nae mair.
But,
noo, I think I'll ha'e to stop-
(My wife she's cryin' for me)-
Sae I'm awa' up tae my bed,
For I'm getting' sleepy tae..
Christmas
Holidays
Come,
a' ye loons aboot Aboyne,
An' by the silv'ry Dee!
I'm gaun tae try a verse or twa,
If ye wad lat me be.
The
loons I'm gaun tae speak aboot
Are dreidfu' loons, ye see:
They've got a fortnicht's holidays,
Sae that means trouble tae me.
The
water at the smiddy door,
They gither roun' it in galore;
They weet their hose an' spile their claes,
Forgettin' a' their mither says.
But,
noo, they're roun' an' up the back:
They've got some new game on the track:
"Fitba'". they say; !we'll ha'e a game;
We'll choose oor sidesan' pick oor men.
(15) "
See,
noo the game they hae begun,
An' their clase they've thrown awa';
The Aboyne loons they ha'e scored a goal,
The Mill-Burner's nane ava.
But
noo the ba' they've centred,
An' they'll tak' anither goal-
Lo! the ba's shot thro' the window,
An' made a great big hole!
Their
mither noo's ta'en them in han'
For the remainder o' their play;
She say-"I howp the squeel's ta'en up
Afore anither day".
"I'm
sure the wyes ye've cairriet on,
An' ye're haudin' sic a din ;-
Ye've worn my bonnie waxcloth thro'
Wi' yer rinnin' oot an' in.
"They've
broke the backs clean aff the cheirs,
They wye they sit an' sway;
It's a rockin' horse the loons wad need
The time they hae their "play".
But
noo the squeel it is ta'en up,
An' the loons they're a' awa';
They've a' their baggies on their backs,
An' they're trottin' thro' the snaw.
But
may health an' wealth atten' the loons!
We like them ane an' a';
They've had their troubles o' the past;
The neist they never saw.
Ye
ken we ha'e a High Grade squeel,
Sae we can puff an' blaw;
An' we've got teachers o' the best-
The best ye ever saw.
There's
nine o'oors gaen tae that squeel-
The same squeel a' the time;
An' never got a complaint sent hame,
Nor ever had ane tae sign.
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