Monday, 22 September 2014

Mibbe ah'm deid, mibbe ah'm no...

Mibbe ah'm deid, mibbe ah'm no... but ah am only a character in some puir sowel's addled heid, born oot o ower much whisky an no enough guid sense, so dinnae greet, jist heave awa lads, ah'm no deid yet... or mibbe ah am...

Onyway, if ah am deid, ah'm the only yin. The indyref's ower, the lies were selt an boucht, the votes cast an counted, an fer the time bein we Scots hae been pit back in oor box. Actually, we climbed in, but the point's the same, naebody's deid. It wis a noisy battle, a messy yin, but no a bloody yin. Noo that it's ower, an we lost, oor priority is ta protect oorsels, oor kin, an oor nation. We hae tae build a wa tae defend whit's oors...

The bells are tolling fiercely,
And the cry comes louder in,
Mothers wailing for their children,
Sisters for their slaughtered kin.
All is terror and disorder,
Till the Provost rises up,
Calm as though he had not tasted,
Of the fell and bitter cup;
All so stately from his sorrow,
Rose the old undaunted chief,
That you had not deemed to see him,
His was more than common grief.
'Let them cease that dismal yelling
It is time enough to ring
When the fortress-strength of Scotland
Stoops to ruin, like its king.
Let the bells be kept for warning,
Not for terror or alarm;
When they next are heard to thunder
Let each man and stripling arm.
Bid the women cease their wailing:
Do they think that woeful strain
From the bloody heaps of Flodden
Can redeem their dearest slain?
Bid them cease, or rather hasten
To the churches, every one,
There to pray to Mary Mother,
And to her Anointed Son,
That the thunderbolt above us
May not fall in ruin yet,
That in fire and blood and rapine
Scotland's glory may not set.'

Noo look, ah ken it's a tad dramatic, an ah'm no suggestin fer a meenit that we send aw oor wummen tae the Kirk tae pray, no when the wummen o Scotland are some o oor best fighters, an fer the life o me ah cannae see whit guid prayin'll dae, but taen aw in aw, it fits wi whit ah'm feelin. We've lost, we've aw got wounds tae lick, but sae long as there's fight left in us, even if it's only a hundred o us, we're no aboot tae roll ower an show oor bellies, we're a fightin bunch, an Scotland's glory will not set, no yet...

This wis a message fae the other side...


  1. By the blighted hopes of Scotland,

    By your injuries and mine –

    Strike this day as if Jim Murphy

    Lay beneath your blows the while...

  2. Ah dinnae hink wur ower wae just yit, there's a new 45 tae sing a sang aboot noo; the 45 wha held strang an tru.

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  4. Thank you Sophia. I really needed that. It really is a deep wound, but like you say, we're doon, but we're no done.