WILLIAM SCOTT POEM WRITTEN ABOUT 1901 TO HIS UNCLE WALTER ON THE OCCASION OF HIS RETURN TO ASHKIRK WITH HIS BROTHER ALEXANDER IN 1900
Epistle
To a Canadian friend on his recent visit to Scotland
Dear Watt, my muse has been for lang,
Sair out o’sorts, clean off the fang,
Just like an auld red roosted pump,
Whas’ hanel fa’s wi empty thump
And droons ye wi its horrid clatter,
Yet never draws ae drop o’ water,
But a’thing comes tae them wha wait,
For noo’ its on me like a spate,
Just like oor ain auld native “Yill”
Gaun roorin doon by Ashkirk Mill,
Or jookin’ through amang the braes,
And singin’ as in by gone days
When we were young and free o’ care,
And a’thing seemed sae fresh and fair,
Sae let me sing a sang tae thee,
And speer-rae what the theme will be,
What ither theme has better claim
Than thy lang looked for visit hame,
And oh! Man, but we wearied sair,
Tae see yer kindly face ance mair,
Tae hear ye speak, tae grip yer hand,
And bid ye welcome tae the land
The fairest, rarest, land on earth,
The land o’freedom, fame and worth.
Full thirty years has passed away
Sin’ that lang, lang remembered day
When sad at heart and fevered brow
Ye left yer hame and Dimpleknowe,
And puir auld grannie in despair
Pled just tae see yer face ance mair
While kindly neebors far and near,
Shed monie a sad and silent tear
A’wished ye weel, and hoped tae see
Dame fortune kindly smile on thee,
And, though (like some) ye dinna vaunt it,
We ken their wishes hae been granted
And may ye, while ye toss lifes caber
Enjoy the harvest o’ yer labour,
And here ye are ance mair amang us,
Nae freen’ mair true could fortune brang us,
Nae truer freens could ye hae met,
Nae’ warmer welcome could ye get,
Though ye were King o’ Britain’s realm
Or steersman o’ the worlds helm
The very “papers” wide proclaim
The joyous news “Watt Scotts came hame”,
Ay hame, a hame, in my opinion
Unmatched in a’ the Queens Dominion
And though I never heard ye tell,
I’ve often thocht within mysel’
Hoo’ strange yer feelin’s must hae been,
When that auld , auld, familiar scene
Was ance again afore yer sicht,
As ye gaid ower to Langton Height,
And lookin’ far adoon the Howe,
Ye saw ance mair auld Dimpleknowe,
The Satchels, Haughhead, Sinton Mill,
Mossend, Parkhead and Ashkirk still,
Just as ye left tham years ago,
Yet monie changes, speak it low,
Father , Mother, Brothers, neebors gane,
Nought left but a memorial stane,
Tae mark the spot where they are laid,
In yonder dear and silent shade,
Such is the gait we’re a’ tae gang,
Some soon, some late, King, daiths ay thrang.
But let me noo’ yer mind divert
Tae things mair happy in the their kind,
Oor natures ne tae sit and mourne
Let fund and frolic hae a turn,
Nae doot ye mind O’Tammie Waddie
For ye were his apprentice laddie,
A strapping’ sturdy blythsome chiel,
Yet fou o’mischief as the Deil,
Man but ye kept his bluid frae freezin’
Wi’ tricks baith laughable and teasin’
And whiles I wondered if they ken’d
The price o’ glass ye had to mend
For sure as my fits in in my stockin’
It wasna little that was broken,
The yearly total I am thinkin’
Wad aften set their e’en ablinkin’
The “hoo” and the “why” I needna tell
Ye ken the hale affair yersel
But (as a joke) I’ve heard it said
There ne’er was slackness in yer trade
Yer cantrips, by daylicht and dark claim,
Could keep ye aye in plenty wark
Nae wilfu’damage ever done
But just in devilment and fun.
But come, and let us tak a turn
Across the moor and doon the burn
Whar aften stripped tae the sark
Ye’ve guddles trouts tae a’ was dark
And (aulder grown) defied the law man
My taken’ whiles a wee bit salmon
Eh! man but thae were happy days
Weel worth o’ a sang of praise
But onward still we wend oor way
By mossy glen and flowery brae
Whar ilka bush and boulder stane
Are memoirs o’ the days lang gane,
But whats gane wrang? Yer like a ghost
Man that’s the same auld wooden post
On whilk the siller sixpense lay,
That lang tae-be-remembered day
When “Rab” and “Sandy” did forgather
And wrassel’d lang wi ane anither
Disdainin’ even tae gang hame
Till some ain could the sixpence claim
And seldom was a battle focht
Whar victory was dearer bocht
But see? The sun in gouden rays
Is creepin’ doon ahint the braes
Sae let us noo retrace oor way
We’ve spent a brief but happy day
Unravelin’links o’ memories chain
And livin’ auld times ower again.
Guid mornin’ here we are again,
Fu’ snugly seated in the train
Drawn by an engine o’the best
Whilk wafts us swiftly tae the west
Tae that great city, which enrolls,
The names o’ near three million souls,
And oh! What awfu’ sights are here
Scarce room a hand or fit tae steer
A’ is hurry, clash and clamour
Snort o’ engines, clang o’ hammer,
Never endin’ whirr and rattle
Din o’ honest labours battle
Six miles doon the banks o’ Clyde,
Shipyards thick on ilka side,
Every nations flag unfurrel’d
In that shipyard o’ the world,
Railways, subways, tramways, braw,
Roond and underneath it a’
Speak o’ Klondyke , that is folly
Glasgows wealth can beat it hollow,
And nae matter whilk direction
Ye may fix on for inspection
Thirty miles and never stop,
Furnace, factory, mine or shop
Steel plate mills and iron forgin’
Monie thoosand tons disgorgin’
Frae their fearsome firy jaws
Weel may ye in wonder pause
Think, and pause and think again
Words could never half explain
What we’ve heard and what we’ve seen
Nor the places we hae been
But the day is far on the wane
And hameward we maun turn again,
Weel pleased I’m share and weel repaid
For a’ the sacrifices we’ve made
Kind hearted freens a’where we’ve met
And pairted frae them wi regret
And when yer far ayant the sea
Far frae auld Scotland and from me,
Oh! Let yer thochts in fancy glide
Back tae the bonnie banks o’Clyde
Back tae yer freens aboot Newmains
Whar still supreme yer memory reigns
Back tae auld Parkheads cosey shiel
Back tae the freens wha love ye weel.
W.M. Scott
To a Canadian friend on his recent visit to Scotland
Dear Watt, my muse has been for lang,
Sair out o’sorts, clean off the fang,
Just like an auld red roosted pump,
Whas’ hanel fa’s wi empty thump
And droons ye wi its horrid clatter,
Yet never draws ae drop o’ water,
But a’thing comes tae them wha wait,
For noo’ its on me like a spate,
Just like oor ain auld native “Yill”
Gaun roorin doon by Ashkirk Mill,
Or jookin’ through amang the braes,
And singin’ as in by gone days
When we were young and free o’ care,
And a’thing seemed sae fresh and fair,
Sae let me sing a sang tae thee,
And speer-rae what the theme will be,
What ither theme has better claim
Than thy lang looked for visit hame,
And oh! Man, but we wearied sair,
Tae see yer kindly face ance mair,
Tae hear ye speak, tae grip yer hand,
And bid ye welcome tae the land
The fairest, rarest, land on earth,
The land o’freedom, fame and worth.
Full thirty years has passed away
Sin’ that lang, lang remembered day
When sad at heart and fevered brow
Ye left yer hame and Dimpleknowe,
And puir auld grannie in despair
Pled just tae see yer face ance mair
While kindly neebors far and near,
Shed monie a sad and silent tear
A’wished ye weel, and hoped tae see
Dame fortune kindly smile on thee,
And, though (like some) ye dinna vaunt it,
We ken their wishes hae been granted
And may ye, while ye toss lifes caber
Enjoy the harvest o’ yer labour,
And here ye are ance mair amang us,
Nae freen’ mair true could fortune brang us,
Nae truer freens could ye hae met,
Nae’ warmer welcome could ye get,
Though ye were King o’ Britain’s realm
Or steersman o’ the worlds helm
The very “papers” wide proclaim
The joyous news “Watt Scotts came hame”,
Ay hame, a hame, in my opinion
Unmatched in a’ the Queens Dominion
And though I never heard ye tell,
I’ve often thocht within mysel’
Hoo’ strange yer feelin’s must hae been,
When that auld , auld, familiar scene
Was ance again afore yer sicht,
As ye gaid ower to Langton Height,
And lookin’ far adoon the Howe,
Ye saw ance mair auld Dimpleknowe,
The Satchels, Haughhead, Sinton Mill,
Mossend, Parkhead and Ashkirk still,
Just as ye left tham years ago,
Yet monie changes, speak it low,
Father , Mother, Brothers, neebors gane,
Nought left but a memorial stane,
Tae mark the spot where they are laid,
In yonder dear and silent shade,
Such is the gait we’re a’ tae gang,
Some soon, some late, King, daiths ay thrang.
But let me noo’ yer mind divert
Tae things mair happy in the their kind,
Oor natures ne tae sit and mourne
Let fund and frolic hae a turn,
Nae doot ye mind O’Tammie Waddie
For ye were his apprentice laddie,
A strapping’ sturdy blythsome chiel,
Yet fou o’mischief as the Deil,
Man but ye kept his bluid frae freezin’
Wi’ tricks baith laughable and teasin’
And whiles I wondered if they ken’d
The price o’ glass ye had to mend
For sure as my fits in in my stockin’
It wasna little that was broken,
The yearly total I am thinkin’
Wad aften set their e’en ablinkin’
The “hoo” and the “why” I needna tell
Ye ken the hale affair yersel
But (as a joke) I’ve heard it said
There ne’er was slackness in yer trade
Yer cantrips, by daylicht and dark claim,
Could keep ye aye in plenty wark
Nae wilfu’damage ever done
But just in devilment and fun.
But come, and let us tak a turn
Across the moor and doon the burn
Whar aften stripped tae the sark
Ye’ve guddles trouts tae a’ was dark
And (aulder grown) defied the law man
My taken’ whiles a wee bit salmon
Eh! man but thae were happy days
Weel worth o’ a sang of praise
But onward still we wend oor way
By mossy glen and flowery brae
Whar ilka bush and boulder stane
Are memoirs o’ the days lang gane,
But whats gane wrang? Yer like a ghost
Man that’s the same auld wooden post
On whilk the siller sixpense lay,
That lang tae-be-remembered day
When “Rab” and “Sandy” did forgather
And wrassel’d lang wi ane anither
Disdainin’ even tae gang hame
Till some ain could the sixpence claim
And seldom was a battle focht
Whar victory was dearer bocht
But see? The sun in gouden rays
Is creepin’ doon ahint the braes
Sae let us noo retrace oor way
We’ve spent a brief but happy day
Unravelin’links o’ memories chain
And livin’ auld times ower again.
Guid mornin’ here we are again,
Fu’ snugly seated in the train
Drawn by an engine o’the best
Whilk wafts us swiftly tae the west
Tae that great city, which enrolls,
The names o’ near three million souls,
And oh! What awfu’ sights are here
Scarce room a hand or fit tae steer
A’ is hurry, clash and clamour
Snort o’ engines, clang o’ hammer,
Never endin’ whirr and rattle
Din o’ honest labours battle
Six miles doon the banks o’ Clyde,
Shipyards thick on ilka side,
Every nations flag unfurrel’d
In that shipyard o’ the world,
Railways, subways, tramways, braw,
Roond and underneath it a’
Speak o’ Klondyke , that is folly
Glasgows wealth can beat it hollow,
And nae matter whilk direction
Ye may fix on for inspection
Thirty miles and never stop,
Furnace, factory, mine or shop
Steel plate mills and iron forgin’
Monie thoosand tons disgorgin’
Frae their fearsome firy jaws
Weel may ye in wonder pause
Think, and pause and think again
Words could never half explain
What we’ve heard and what we’ve seen
Nor the places we hae been
But the day is far on the wane
And hameward we maun turn again,
Weel pleased I’m share and weel repaid
For a’ the sacrifices we’ve made
Kind hearted freens a’where we’ve met
And pairted frae them wi regret
And when yer far ayant the sea
Far frae auld Scotland and from me,
Oh! Let yer thochts in fancy glide
Back tae the bonnie banks o’Clyde
Back tae yer freens aboot Newmains
Whar still supreme yer memory reigns
Back tae auld Parkheads cosey shiel
Back tae the freens wha love ye weel.
W.M. Scott