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Bonnie Joann, and other poems

Chapter 12: FOOTNOTES:
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About This Book

The collection gathers dialect songs and lyrics rooted in Angus, depicting rural and coastal life through concise, musical poems. Seasonal labor, local customs, Hallowe’en rituals, and the coming and going of ships provide recurring settings. Voices range from wry, comic sketches of small‑town behaviour to elegiac meditations on longing, loss, and memory, often anchored by vivid natural imagery and plainspoken phrasing. Short narrative pieces and lyrical fragments alternate, and the volume closes with a couple of poems presented in standard English.

PRIDE

Did iver ye see the like o’ that?
The warld’s fair fashioned to winder at!
Heuch—dinna tell me! Yon’s Fishie Pete
That cried the haddies in Ferry Street
Set up wi’ his coats an’ his grand cigars
In ane o’ they stinkin’ motor-cars!

I mind the time (an’ it’s no far past)
When he wasna for fleein’ alang sae fast
An’ doon i’ the causey his cairt wad stand
As he roared oot “Haddies!” below his hand;
Ye’d up wi’ yer windy an’ doon he’d loup
Frae the shaft o’ the cairt by the sheltie’s doup[7].

Aye, muckle cheenges an’ little sense,
A bawbee’s wut an’ a poond’s pretence!
For there’s him noo wi’ his neb to the sky
I’ yon deil’s machinery swiggit[8] by,
An’ me, that whiles gi’ed him a piece to eat,
Tramps aye to the kirk on my ain twa feet.

And, nee’bours, mind ye, the warld’s a-gley
Or we couldna see what we’ve seen the day,
Guid fortune’s blate whaur she’s weel desairv’t
The sinner fu’ an’ the godly stairv’t,
An’ fowk like me an’ my auld guidman
Jist wearied, daein’ the best we can!

I’ve kept my lips an’ my tongue frae guile
An’ kept mysel’ to mysel’ the while;
Agin a’ wastrels I’ve aye been set
And I’m no for seekin’ to thole them yet;
A grand example I’ve been through life,
A righteous liver, a thrifty wife.

But oh! the he’rt o’ a body bleeds
For favours sclarried[9] on sinfu’ heids.
Wait you a whilie! Ye needna think
They’ll no gang frae him wi’ cairds an’ drink!
They’ll bring nae blessin’, they winna bide,
For the warst sin, nee’bours, is pride, aye, pride!

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Croup.

[8] Swung, whirled.

[9] Spilt.