Wee Roge Reflects
(no' jist aff his baldy heid!)
by Roger McKillop
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Reflections in prose, verse and song on the Scottish Independence Referendum and its aftermath.
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Reflections in prose, verse and song on the Scottish Independence Referendum and its aftermath.
A
stuck my neb intae the Referendum debate, not tae try tae prove any point or
tae try tae convert anyone bit tae express my thouchts on the events o’ the
campaign. A was firmly in the Yes side o’ the argument but took nae part in the
canvassing. A must point oot, though, that at nae time did anyone canvass me
either! I had a bloody bath in August!
The first poem came about as a reaction tae the first TV debate between Alex Salmond and Alastair Darling, I was peed off with the ”politicing” and the evasion of answering questions. I quote 2 famous lines from that great repository of all Scottish Philosophy: Braveheart!
The first poem came about as a reaction tae the first TV debate between Alex Salmond and Alastair Darling, I was peed off with the ”politicing” and the evasion of answering questions. I quote 2 famous lines from that great repository of all Scottish Philosophy: Braveheart!
Shame
Gin we accept the concept’s right,
Politicians, “couldni agree oan the colour o’ shite!”
But they micht sweeten oor digestion,
Gin they “answer the fuckin’ question!”
No’ jist in the recent debates,
Yon evasive snipin, permeates.
White’er result, the Referendum,
Pit candidture oan oor agendum!
Let Holyrood, Westminster shame,
Wi’ honest debate in Scotland’s name!
Gin we accept the concept’s right,
Politicians, “couldni agree oan the colour o’ shite!”
But they micht sweeten oor digestion,
Gin they “answer the fuckin’ question!”
No’ jist in the recent debates,
Yon evasive snipin, permeates.
White’er result, the Referendum,
Pit candidture oan oor agendum!
Let Holyrood, Westminster shame,
Wi’ honest debate in Scotland’s name!
A felt a wee bit sorry for Alastair Darling, he wis the front man but wi’ nae authority. David Cameron refused Alex Salmond’s invitation tae debate, so instead we didn’t get the organ grinder, or even the monkey, we seemed tae get the flea!
The next poem was inspired by my memory of a cartoon drawn by Jim Turnbull of the Herald. I knew Jim as a member of the then Clarkston Rugby Club. Efter the first Devolution Referendum he drew a cartoon depictin’ his representation of the Scottish Lion. This was very far from rampant but a sorry “bedraggled an’ moth-eaten creature” an’ it simply said “A’ was feart!” A hoped that we’d vote from reasoned positions and we would no’ simply, as Boris Johnston put it, “bottle it” at the ballot box! (I wrote it in a Sonnet format, no’ for art but tae stoap me waffelin’ on ower much!)
Feart?
“A wis feart!” proclaimed Jim Turnbull’s lion,
A bedraggled, moth-eaten, lamentable creature,
In a Herald cartoon on oor first referendum.
Sae let’s tak’ a lesson frae history’s teacher!
The answers folk crave are ethereal chiels,
An Independence vote’s a big leap o’ faith,
Tae “reap oor ain harvests an’ ring oor ain tills!”
An’ takin’ the courage tae nurture them baith!
We’ve never walked paths, guaranteed tae succeed,
There’s nae magic sheild, agin’ staerm or barrage,
But here’s a, driech, vision tae mak’ Scotland grue,
Liberals implode; Tories, in bed wi’ Farage!
Sae vote wi’ your he’rt or vote wi’ your heid,
For how you believe oor Nation best steer’t.
Vote wi’ your convictions, if honestly held,
But dinna’ vote “Naw!” Jist because you were feart!
Only you ken gin yi fell intae this category, sae nae recriminations frae me!
“A wis feart!” proclaimed Jim Turnbull’s lion,
A bedraggled, moth-eaten, lamentable creature,
In a Herald cartoon on oor first referendum.
Sae let’s tak’ a lesson frae history’s teacher!
The answers folk crave are ethereal chiels,
An Independence vote’s a big leap o’ faith,
Tae “reap oor ain harvests an’ ring oor ain tills!”
An’ takin’ the courage tae nurture them baith!
We’ve never walked paths, guaranteed tae succeed,
There’s nae magic sheild, agin’ staerm or barrage,
But here’s a, driech, vision tae mak’ Scotland grue,
Liberals implode; Tories, in bed wi’ Farage!
Sae vote wi’ your he’rt or vote wi’ your heid,
For how you believe oor Nation best steer’t.
Vote wi’ your convictions, if honestly held,
But dinna’ vote “Naw!” Jist because you were feart!
Only you ken gin yi fell intae this category, sae nae recriminations frae me!
A remember seein’ Jim Sillars deliverin’ an emotional eulogy at Margo McDonald’s funeral. He said that she was worried aboot her country tearin’ itself apart durin’ the campaign and no’ healin’ efter the vote. How prophetic that seemed on thon Friday nicht in George Square, when idiots high-jacked a peaceful gatherin!
Margo’s Plea
We’ve argued oor case afore the Warld,
Wi’ guid, goin’ blood an’ snotters,
Immoderate jibes an’ cogent debate,
Tae empower oor Scottish voters.
Gin oor Nation’s tae stand, wi’ dignity,
As a mature an’ ancient folk,
Embracin’, white’r result may be,
That Scotland’s will’s bespoke!
We maun unite an’ forward look,
Tae win oor people’s future,
An’ show the Warld, how honest folk,
Their divisions, heal an’ suture!
Gin we disperse dissension’s cloud,
Thegither, we’d mak’ oor Margo proud!
We’ve argued oor case afore the Warld,
Wi’ guid, goin’ blood an’ snotters,
Immoderate jibes an’ cogent debate,
Tae empower oor Scottish voters.
Gin oor Nation’s tae stand, wi’ dignity,
As a mature an’ ancient folk,
Embracin’, white’r result may be,
That Scotland’s will’s bespoke!
We maun unite an’ forward look,
Tae win oor people’s future,
An’ show the Warld, how honest folk,
Their divisions, heal an’ suture!
Gin we disperse dissension’s cloud,
Thegither, we’d mak’ oor Margo proud!
The following two poems are simply about ornithology, honestly!
The Three Craws
(Tune: Three Craws sat upon a wa’)
Three Craws cam’ tae see us aw’,
Jist platitudes an’ aw’
Their Union for tae blaw,
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
Three Craws cam’ tae see us aw’,
In belated desperation!
The Blue Craw, nae mandate, had at aw’!
His Perty’s aw’fi’ sma’!
An’ it micht blaw awa’!
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
The Blue Craw, nae mandate, had at aw’!
Wi’ yin M.P. in Scotland!
The Rid Craw, wants oor seats, that’s aw’!
An’ is he Rid at aw’?
A Socialist made o’ straw?
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
The Rid Craw, wants oor seats, that’s aw’!
Or get gubbed at the Election!
The Yella’ Craw, kept the Tories ower us aw’,
His back’s agin the wa’,
He has nae power at aw’!
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
The Yella’ Craw, kept the Tories ower us aw’,
Whoo’r, doon at false Westminster?
Still Scots Craws, whitever hew at aw’,
Shouldna’ preen or blaw!
Gin Scotland flee or fa’!
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
Still Scots Craws, whitever hew at aw’,
Would be Oor Ain wee burdies!
(Tune: Three Craws sat upon a wa’)
Three Craws cam’ tae see us aw’,
Jist platitudes an’ aw’
Their Union for tae blaw,
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
Three Craws cam’ tae see us aw’,
In belated desperation!
The Blue Craw, nae mandate, had at aw’!
His Perty’s aw’fi’ sma’!
An’ it micht blaw awa’!
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
The Blue Craw, nae mandate, had at aw’!
Wi’ yin M.P. in Scotland!
The Rid Craw, wants oor seats, that’s aw’!
An’ is he Rid at aw’?
A Socialist made o’ straw?
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
The Rid Craw, wants oor seats, that’s aw’!
Or get gubbed at the Election!
The Yella’ Craw, kept the Tories ower us aw’,
His back’s agin the wa’,
He has nae power at aw’!
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
The Yella’ Craw, kept the Tories ower us aw’,
Whoo’r, doon at false Westminster?
Still Scots Craws, whitever hew at aw’,
Shouldna’ preen or blaw!
Gin Scotland flee or fa’!
Aw’, Aw’, Aw’, Aw’,
Still Scots Craws, whitever hew at aw’,
Would be Oor Ain wee burdies!
A posted “The Three Craws” oan the Yes website. A lady asked me “Whaur’s the 4th Craw?” an’ low an’ behold he migrated in the very next day!
The Fourth Craw?
The burd that strayed up North the day,
Frae it’s insular, driech flock,
Let Scotland be nae breedin’ ground,
For the Xenophobic Keich-Hawk!
But let him sing his, poisoned, sang,
An’ may aw’ Scots reject it!
Fascist rhetoric we maun scorn,
Whenever we detect it!
The Gold-Headed Southern Booby,
Wi’ an offensive, raucous cry,
Flits frae hawf completed nests,
Tae whaur self-interests lie!
If ‘er these burdies, were cross-bred,
Makin’ Xenophobic Boobies,
Tae oor, Independence, cause,
It would be worth mair nor Rubys!
A “Murder o’ Craws” came through the week,
A collective noun, absurd!
A “Boak o’ Boobies”, marming’ roond?
Wid be the very word!
The burd that strayed up North the day,
Frae it’s insular, driech flock,
Let Scotland be nae breedin’ ground,
For the Xenophobic Keich-Hawk!
But let him sing his, poisoned, sang,
An’ may aw’ Scots reject it!
Fascist rhetoric we maun scorn,
Whenever we detect it!
The Gold-Headed Southern Booby,
Wi’ an offensive, raucous cry,
Flits frae hawf completed nests,
Tae whaur self-interests lie!
If ‘er these burdies, were cross-bred,
Makin’ Xenophobic Boobies,
Tae oor, Independence, cause,
It would be worth mair nor Rubys!
A “Murder o’ Craws” came through the week,
A collective noun, absurd!
A “Boak o’ Boobies”, marming’ roond?
Wid be the very word!
Jist ornithology!
After the result was declared, I admit tae being disappointed but if I meant what I had preached I had tae accept the will of the Scottish public. I was immensely proud of our young new voters and wanted tae praise them and advocate that they must be allowed tae vote in all elections from now on. I also saw that the “Vow” was starting tae unravel in murky Westminster party politics. We might have lost the first battle but maybe not the war?
Youth, Pride an’ Determination!
Young Flowers o’ Scotland,
Let youthfu’ dreams remain,
Wha focht an’ strived for,
The future o’ your hame.
An’ confounded aw’ them,
The cynic’s army,
An’ earned your rights,
Tae vote again!
The votes are aw’ cast now,
There’s nae need for strife or blame!
The ba’s in ”No’s” court now!
Gin their “Vows” be late or lame?
Young “Yes” should lead then,
Auld apathy distain,
An’ encourage oor people,
Tae rise again!
The campaign’s done now,
But oor folk are no’ the same!
We’ve found oor voice now,
That will be gie hard tae tame!
We’ve set the agenda,
Oor people will obtain,
Wi’ an empowered Scotland,
“A Nation again!”
Young Flowers o’ Scotland,
Let youthfu’ dreams remain,
Wha focht an’ strived for,
The future o’ your hame.
An’ confounded aw’ them,
The cynic’s army,
An’ earned your rights,
Tae vote again!
The votes are aw’ cast now,
There’s nae need for strife or blame!
The ba’s in ”No’s” court now!
Gin their “Vows” be late or lame?
Young “Yes” should lead then,
Auld apathy distain,
An’ encourage oor people,
Tae rise again!
The campaign’s done now,
But oor folk are no’ the same!
We’ve found oor voice now,
That will be gie hard tae tame!
We’ve set the agenda,
Oor people will obtain,
Wi’ an empowered Scotland,
“A Nation again!”
This poem suggests that we are in a hiatus while the “Extra powers” are being decided. For many nothing less than “Devo Max” will serve. This should be given tae the rest of the UK as well, according tae their needs and desires. I called this a wee Rugby poem wi’ referendum overtones!
Scrummage?
The ba’s put in, the forwards shove,
The hookers strike, the ba’ is won,
But there, the contest disni’ end,
Baith packs push, till the scrum is done.
The ba’ maun be delivered safe,
Afore the team can pass or run.
But gin they fumble their control,
Possession’s chances, then they shun!
Gin they mak’ their advantage tell,
An’ by, honest, skill the ba’ retain,
The opposition then maun unite,
Wi’ staeut defence the ba’ regain.
Advantage ebbs an’ chances come,
Tae win oor ba’, in anither scrum!
The ba’s put in, the forwards shove,
The hookers strike, the ba’ is won,
But there, the contest disni’ end,
Baith packs push, till the scrum is done.
The ba’ maun be delivered safe,
Afore the team can pass or run.
But gin they fumble their control,
Possession’s chances, then they shun!
Gin they mak’ their advantage tell,
An’ by, honest, skill the ba’ retain,
The opposition then maun unite,
Wi’ staeut defence the ba’ regain.
Advantage ebbs an’ chances come,
Tae win oor ba’, in anither scrum!
Aye weel, we lost the Referendum but surely 45% of a Nation votin’ tae become independent had tae be respected an’ considered by the UK Government! Naw, the very mornin’ o’ the result David Cameron starts tae play politics tae salve English sensibilities! Federalism is the obvious answer tae the “EVEL” question but entrenched Westminster thinkin’ seems blinkered. Sae whit are we?
A Union or Whit?
“We’re better thegither, oor faimily o’ Nations!”
Providin’ the Celts, remember their stations?
“We’re stronger an’ safer gin we unite!”
Wi’ a dominant England, her, natural, right?
“There’s a rouch wind blawin’ through the” country th’day,
An’ Establishment’s game, we, nae langer, we’ll play!
The nature o’ Britain, gin Westminster admit,
Are we subjugated? Or a Union? Or Whit?
Gin Scot’s mauna’ vote tae mak’ English law,
Which nae, honest, man could argue at aw’!
Empower each Nation tae look tae it’s ain,
Tae cherish tradition an’ prosperity gain.
But by definition this seems tae suggest,
Fower Nations, united, I strangly attest!
Sae gin oor borders are entrenched an’ clear,
It isni’ for yin, the ‘hale craft, tae steer!
Ride rough-shod tactics an’ politicians will see,
Whit happens tae them, “Wha daur meddle wi’ me!”
“We’re better thegither, oor faimily o’ Nations!”
Providin’ the Celts, remember their stations?
“We’re stronger an’ safer gin we unite!”
Wi’ a dominant England, her, natural, right?
“There’s a rouch wind blawin’ through the” country th’day,
An’ Establishment’s game, we, nae langer, we’ll play!
The nature o’ Britain, gin Westminster admit,
Are we subjugated? Or a Union? Or Whit?
Gin Scot’s mauna’ vote tae mak’ English law,
Which nae, honest, man could argue at aw’!
Empower each Nation tae look tae it’s ain,
Tae cherish tradition an’ prosperity gain.
But by definition this seems tae suggest,
Fower Nations, united, I strangly attest!
Sae gin oor borders are entrenched an’ clear,
It isni’ for yin, the ‘hale craft, tae steer!
Ride rough-shod tactics an’ politicians will see,
Whit happens tae them, “Wha daur meddle wi’ me!”
I read an article in the Herald where Alastair Carmichael warned Nicola Sturgeon about splitting Scotland. I feel that it is his fellow “Better Together” colleagues who will do that if they do not deliver adequate new powers. The poem now bears it’s 3rd title, the first was “Alastair Whae?” (tae whom, I sent a copy; nae answer!) the 2nd “Haun’s aff oor Hobbit!” but I decided, big fearty, it was safer tae name it;
Popular Sovereignty
You hae, the referendum, won,
Wi’ promises an’ aw’ that,
The ba’s noo, firmly, in your court,
Tae keep your word an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
We hae nae faith, for aw’ that,
You’ll pit aside your Party ploys,
For Scotland’s guid, an’ aw’ that!
We hi’na’ jist been rattlin’ gums,
Verbal flatulence, an’ aw’ that,
The Scots hae been politicised,
We’ll hae oor say, for aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
Scot’s sovereignty, an’ aw’ that,
But gin you try tae fob us aff,
You’ll pay the price, for aw’ that!
Nae, posturin’, Politicians,
Wha strut an’ preen an’ aw’ that,
Though they be o’ the great an’ guid,
They’ll no’ dictate, an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
Their shallow words, an’ aw’ that,
Aw’ Scots’ll judge, delivered, powers,
An’ May’s verdict gie, for aw’ that!
Tae the “55” wha voted “No”,
You “Vowed” for change, an’ aw’ that,
How mony will feel, fell, betrayed,
Wi’ your politics an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
An’ chinge their minds, an’ aw’ that,
Gin the “45,” bide resolute,
You’ll be wiped oot, for aw’ that!
Sae let there be a federal State,
Wi’ “Devo Max,” an’ aw’ that,
The fower Nations wi’ Home Rule,
Ain tills tae mind, an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
It’s your last chance, an’ aw’ that,
Westminster reformed? The Union saved?
Britain, Great again, an’ aw’ that?
You hae, the referendum, won,
Wi’ promises an’ aw’ that,
The ba’s noo, firmly, in your court,
Tae keep your word an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
We hae nae faith, for aw’ that,
You’ll pit aside your Party ploys,
For Scotland’s guid, an’ aw’ that!
We hi’na’ jist been rattlin’ gums,
Verbal flatulence, an’ aw’ that,
The Scots hae been politicised,
We’ll hae oor say, for aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
Scot’s sovereignty, an’ aw’ that,
But gin you try tae fob us aff,
You’ll pay the price, for aw’ that!
Nae, posturin’, Politicians,
Wha strut an’ preen an’ aw’ that,
Though they be o’ the great an’ guid,
They’ll no’ dictate, an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
Their shallow words, an’ aw’ that,
Aw’ Scots’ll judge, delivered, powers,
An’ May’s verdict gie, for aw’ that!
Tae the “55” wha voted “No”,
You “Vowed” for change, an’ aw’ that,
How mony will feel, fell, betrayed,
Wi’ your politics an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
An’ chinge their minds, an’ aw’ that,
Gin the “45,” bide resolute,
You’ll be wiped oot, for aw’ that!
Sae let there be a federal State,
Wi’ “Devo Max,” an’ aw’ that,
The fower Nations wi’ Home Rule,
Ain tills tae mind, an’ aw’ that.
For aw’ that an’ aw’ that.
It’s your last chance, an’ aw’ that,
Westminster reformed? The Union saved?
Britain, Great again, an’ aw’ that?
If we achieve Devo Max for all the UK, does that not mean that it is Westminster that is redundant? A useless layer of Government, ouotmoded an’ oot o’ touch! Perhaps we need a Council of Ministers tae deal with Foreign affairs and Defence. These could be delegates frae the National Parliaments/local assemblies, sent by proportional representation. Perhaps then we can work as a British Federation an’ hae the best o’ baith warlds. Is it no’ a pity that petty party politics refused tae put this sensible solution afore the people of Scotland. Because they thocht we would vote for it wholesale. If we voted “NO” they could shelf Scottish Independence and go back tae their tired auld bickering.
They also aw’ said how much they were lookin’ forward tae harnessin’ the popular passion the Referendum debate generated. I offer this auld warning;
There was a young lady from Niger,
Who smiled, as she rode on a Tiger.
When they returned from the ride,
The girl was inside,
And the smile, on the face of the Tiger!
Who smiled, as she rode on a Tiger.
When they returned from the ride,
The girl was inside,
And the smile, on the face of the Tiger!
2014 will lang bide in oor Country’s consciousness, it was as the title proclaims, A Year like nar other! The anniversary of the start of WW1, in which my Gran’faither foucht. 3 pals left left The Pend in Musselburgh thegithir. My Gran’faither, Duncan Fisher, survivin’ the horrors, was standin’ in a London train station, efter being De-Mobed, met, for the first time since they were parted, 1 of the aforesaid pals. They walked back up The Pend thegithir, a sicht the unfortunate widow of the 3rd never really forgave.
As a much younger man I made a vow that I would be on the field of Bannockburn for the 700th anniversary. I chose 23rd June tae visit the new Centre, this would have been the first day of the battle and the subject of a song/poem I had written about the Burce-De Bouhn encounter.
I have rarely been so proud of our country than durin’ the Commonwealth Games as was said in the closing ceremony “Glasgow was, pure, dead brilliant!” apart from the fantastic sport (eg the whole o’ Ibrox chantin’ U-gan-da! An’ Usaine Bolt dancin’ tae 500 Miles!) I loved the black girl singin’ “Freedom come all ye!”
I ken the Referendum wisni’ aw’ a bed o’ roses but we as a Nation, had oor say, blood an’ snotters flew, we voted and democratically accepted the result. How many other Nations could hae done that without violence an’ riot? Wi’ pride I jist repeat Alba gu brath
“A Year Like Nae Other” National
Though oor great year’s come an’ gain,
Let Scotland remember wi’ pride,
Oor Commonwealth cousins, revealin’ in games,
An’ the friendship they found by the Clyde!
We honoured oor fallen’ wi’ sad dignity,
In Battle or War through death, fear an’ pain,
Frae Bannockburn, Ypres an’ mud o’ the Somme,
“When will we see their likes again?”
The ‘hale Warld viewed oor Great Debate,
Weel Informed cases, argued wi’ passion,
A National engagement n’er seen afore,
Maist had their say, in mature, Scottish fashion!
My dream isni’ deid, sae ‘till we are free,
Bithidh Alba, gu brath, anns mo chridhe!
Though oor great year’s come an’ gain,
Let Scotland remember wi’ pride,
Oor Commonwealth cousins, revealin’ in games,
An’ the friendship they found by the Clyde!
We honoured oor fallen’ wi’ sad dignity,
In Battle or War through death, fear an’ pain,
Frae Bannockburn, Ypres an’ mud o’ the Somme,
“When will we see their likes again?”
The ‘hale Warld viewed oor Great Debate,
Weel Informed cases, argued wi’ passion,
A National engagement n’er seen afore,
Maist had their say, in mature, Scottish fashion!
My dream isni’ deid, sae ‘till we are free,
Bithidh Alba, gu brath, anns mo chridhe!
This wis anithir reflection oan 2014 but A had tae comment on the tragic events in George Square.
Bliadhna Mhath Ur
Here’s tae the year that’s gone by,
Wi’ aw’ it’s pride, it’s passion an’ pain,
Tae oor land sae fully engaged,
An’ the dreams that may yet come again.
Here’s tae oor recent bereaved,
A Nations mourns for their loss.
The fragility o’ life, sadly shown,
Wha kens whit dangers we cross!
Here’s tae time an’ the ease o’ their grief,
Wi’ support o’ family an’ freen’s,
Sma’ oor comfort thoughts may be,
For them, oor Country’s he’rt keens!
Let aw’ Scotland then, shed a tear,
An’ may they find, a better New Year!
Here’s tae the year that’s gone by,
Wi’ aw’ it’s pride, it’s passion an’ pain,
Tae oor land sae fully engaged,
An’ the dreams that may yet come again.
Here’s tae oor recent bereaved,
A Nations mourns for their loss.
The fragility o’ life, sadly shown,
Wha kens whit dangers we cross!
Here’s tae time an’ the ease o’ their grief,
Wi’ support o’ family an’ freen’s,
Sma’ oor comfort thoughts may be,
For them, oor Country’s he’rt keens!
Let aw’ Scotland then, shed a tear,
An’ may they find, a better New Year!
They consulted, pontificated and came up wi’ an incomplete fudge. “Home Rule?” “Near Federalism?” Naw a haun’ fu’ o’ geegaws which have tae be approved by oor Masters afore we are allowed tae date onythin’! They didni’ even enshrine or richt tae hae oor ain Parliament. The ba’ wis in their court an’ they dropped it. Sae another wee Rugby poem.
The Fumbled Pass?
You won the ba’ frae yon last scrum,
An’ passed it aw’ aroond,
But failed tae cross oor goal line,
Nor penetrate oor groond!
You could hae drawn oor defence,
An’ made the scorin’ pass,
But your conflictin’ tactics,
Hae landed oan their ass!
Oor side noo play advantage,
Frae your fumbled ba’,
Your “Vow” tae play an open game,
Nae watter, ho’ds at aw’!
Oor pack’s much mair cohesive,
When compititions comes,
We’ll shove you richt aff the ba’,
In the nixt twa scrums!
You won the ba’ frae yon last scrum,
An’ passed it aw’ aroond,
But failed tae cross oor goal line,
Nor penetrate oor groond!
You could hae drawn oor defence,
An’ made the scorin’ pass,
But your conflictin’ tactics,
Hae landed oan their ass!
Oor side noo play advantage,
Frae your fumbled ba’,
Your “Vow” tae play an open game,
Nae watter, ho’ds at aw’!
Oor pack’s much mair cohesive,
When compititions comes,
We’ll shove you richt aff the ba’,
In the nixt twa scrums!
Aye weel, I wis gie peed aff wi’ yin particular politician, no’ sayin’ which yin, bit he bears a strang resemblance wi’ Mr bean! As I started this diatribe, I realised that he wisnae the only yin, wha wis getting’ richt up ma nose, yin o’ them worked wi’ him an’ sounds noo as if he’s oan a “Coo Pie” diet! I decided tae jist write the first verse an’ let you sweer the rest accordin’ tae your ain convictions!
Address tae an offal-stuffed skin!
(jist no’ sure which yin!)
Foul fa’ your sleekit, smarmy face,
Great puddin’ o’ the Chieftan race,
Devoid o’ empathy an’ grace,
Ay’ causin’ herm!
May Scots irradiate you're every trace,
This comin’ term!
(jist no’ sure which yin!)
Foul fa’ your sleekit, smarmy face,
Great puddin’ o’ the Chieftan race,
Devoid o’ empathy an’ grace,
Ay’ causin’ herm!
May Scots irradiate you're every trace,
This comin’ term!
A dinni ken aboot you, bit A filled up wi’ pride an’ admiration every time Nicola Sturgeon appeared during the General Election campaign. She put forward an infinitely sensible set of moderate policies which put the others tae, entrenched, shame. She put her case fearlessly but reached out tae embrace aw’b’dy. She was the star o’ the campaign, an’ a true Flower o’ Scotland!
Straight talkin’ an’ Common sense!
(Tune: Cod Liver Oil and the Orange Juice)
Oot o’ the West there cam’ a Hobbit,
Oh ho, aw’ the wy’ frae Irvine!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Aw’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
In Holyrood she wis a nippy sweetie!
Oh ho, an’ no’ a wee soor ploom!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Mair Apple tarts an’ Acid drops!
Mak’s her case withoot fear or favour,
Oh ho, she tak’s nae bluidy prisoners!
Ah ha ha’ glory hallelujah,
Aw’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
She slappit doon thon fower posh boys,
Oh ho, they fairly filled their Huggies!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
“Project fear” right up their jaxies!
Hobbits rule an’ aw’ the Smurphs are greetin’,
Oh ho, their erse’s oot the windi’!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Wi’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
Deputy Dug, she gied a richt guid skelpin’!
Oh ho, sent take bed withoot her supper,
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
“Pit yir hoose, furst, in order!”
Noo oor Hobbit’s famous own ra telly,
Oh oh, charmin’ aw’ ta punters,
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Wi’ her straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
She towers ower aw’ the opposition,
Oh ho, oan a giant pair o’ heels,
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Fir keekin’ ower the lecturen!
Her Country’s prood o’ their ain wee Hobbit,
Oh ho, wi’ her “Hope ower Fear!”
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Aw’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
(Tune: Cod Liver Oil and the Orange Juice)
Oot o’ the West there cam’ a Hobbit,
Oh ho, aw’ the wy’ frae Irvine!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Aw’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
In Holyrood she wis a nippy sweetie!
Oh ho, an’ no’ a wee soor ploom!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Mair Apple tarts an’ Acid drops!
Mak’s her case withoot fear or favour,
Oh ho, she tak’s nae bluidy prisoners!
Ah ha ha’ glory hallelujah,
Aw’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
She slappit doon thon fower posh boys,
Oh ho, they fairly filled their Huggies!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
“Project fear” right up their jaxies!
Hobbits rule an’ aw’ the Smurphs are greetin’,
Oh ho, their erse’s oot the windi’!
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Wi’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
Deputy Dug, she gied a richt guid skelpin’!
Oh ho, sent take bed withoot her supper,
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
“Pit yir hoose, furst, in order!”
Noo oor Hobbit’s famous own ra telly,
Oh oh, charmin’ aw’ ta punters,
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Wi’ her straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
She towers ower aw’ the opposition,
Oh ho, oan a giant pair o’ heels,
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Fir keekin’ ower the lecturen!
Her Country’s prood o’ their ain wee Hobbit,
Oh ho, wi’ her “Hope ower Fear!”
Ah ha ha, glory hallelujah,
Aw’ straight talkin’ an’ common sense!
Whit a night, A sat up till 6:00 and whooped at every result but the pleesure wis tainted by the exit poll’s prediction of, first the Tories being the largest party, then as a small overall majority. The hope that Scotland could steer the country in a mair progressive direction, was gone. Though the SNP victory was magnificent it could leave us, tae continue the Rugby metaphor, as powerless as we used tae be against the English rugby forwards, whose rumblin’ rollin’ maul swept everythin’ afore it. How do you make them play a better game, by beatin’ them, showin’ open, excitin’ play that forces them tae change! We wait at the restart o’ the game tae see their tactics, power play ignorin’ us or tak’ heed o’ oor strengths an’ play a fairer game? As we wait fir the ba’ tae be kicked intake play, we can plan fir The Nixt Scrum!
The Nixt Scrum!
Twa even packs, are fu’ engaged,
An’ oor front row win the ba’,
Bit the opposition drive us back,
Oor second row collapse an’ fa’!
Oor Props maun be strang an’ sure,
Oor Hooker,fast wi’ flashin’ foot.
Tae gie mair he’rt tae aw’ the pack,
Gin the nixt scrum, we turn aboot!
By playin’ tae oor ain team’s strength,
We maun compete tae win the Game!,
Hunt doon the ba’ whaur er’t may be,
Till, at last, we bring it hame!
Tae hook thon ba’s a fell proud feat.
Bit tae loose the scrum, is bitter-sweet!
Twa even packs, are fu’ engaged,
An’ oor front row win the ba’,
Bit the opposition drive us back,
Oor second row collapse an’ fa’!
Oor Props maun be strang an’ sure,
Oor Hooker,fast wi’ flashin’ foot.
Tae gie mair he’rt tae aw’ the pack,
Gin the nixt scrum, we turn aboot!
By playin’ tae oor ain team’s strength,
We maun compete tae win the Game!,
Hunt doon the ba’ whaur er’t may be,
Till, at last, we bring it hame!
Tae hook thon ba’s a fell proud feat.
Bit tae loose the scrum, is bitter-sweet!
About the Author
Edinburgh-born Roger McKillop is a retired Sports Studies lecturer. He has been writing poetry in Scots for many years and has had his work published in The Scots Magazine. His pen name is Roger Ceann Maol Beag, which means Wee Roger with the Bald Head!