GIE'S A SONG OR SUMHIN

[Guest]

These are my Mountains


For fame and for fortune, I wandered the earth
And now I've come back to
This land of my birth
I’ve brought back my treasures
But only to find
They're less than the pleasures
I first left behind

For these are my mountains, And this is my glen
The braes of my childhood, Will know me again
No land's ever claimed me, Tho'far I did roam
For these are my mountains, And I'm going home
.
The burn by the road sings, at my going by
The whaup o’er the head wings
With welcoming cry
The loch where the scart flies
At last I can see
Its here where my heart lies
It’s here I’ll be free
Chorus
.
Kind faces will greet me
And welcome me in
And how they will greet me
My ain kith and kin
This night round the ingle
Old songs will be sung
At last I'll be hearing My ain mother tongue
Chorus

My favorite by far.Though every time we go for a visit to Mum we always drive away singing.

Oh we're no awa tae bide awa
We're no awa tae leave ye
We're no awa tae bid awa
We'll aye come back and see ye

Then of course I end up crying all the way to the ferry.Not a problem if we take the Argentia route it's only 15 minutes away.But it takes 10 hours to get to the Port au Basque ferry.
HK

[marilyn morning]

Where did they migrate, way back in their day, What was their life like, where "next" did they stay?
When were they born, where now do they rest? These families I follow, their life is my quest.

As the "new lands" were opened, in droves, did they leave, Family scattered like "drift wood", leaving old ones to grieve.
What land were they fathered, what there did they see? Were they somehow related, to both you and me?

Who were their life partners, what names will I find? Their children are many, were their faces like mine?
First names keep repeating, as surnames entwine, With descendants's so many, which John will prove mine?

Each day, by the mailbox, I hope, and I pray. Someone with more knowledge, will send answers my way.
Please Lord send and Angel, give me proof as I sort, With birth dates, speculations, and first names, "cut short". Old maps, clips and photo's I find, trade and share. All help slove this puzzle, with spaces left bare.

The lessons in history, that now I know well. From guesses to gospel, for years I did dwell. Lost memories so precious, I find now and then. At times real discouraged, then find faith again. What hardships, achievements, adventures and woe, What joys and true blessings, did "my people" know?

Family stories so treasured, memories told without doubt. Old voices and faces, from "our world" winked out. Where last did they travel my ancestors, "true". With each questions answered, the quest starts anew.

~Author Unknown~

[JustJean]

Hi Everybody

I’ve been thinking hard on something to share and I think I’ve got just the thing. The following story comes from a book that I received from an elderly 'cousin' as a birthday gift when just a girl. I can remember not liking it at the time because the words were unusual and no one I knew spoke like that. Besides…it’s wasn’t exactly the type of gift you could run and tell your friends about!! But being a lover of books I’ve held on to it through the years and it’s moved from home to home with me. I now can appreciate that it’s in the fragile little threads such as this one that us Scots in exile find a connection to their heritage. Threads from stories in books and threads from places like TalkingScot. I’m gonna change a couple words so I don’t infringe on any copyrights but the story just seemed to fit for our “Pairty”….and for the whole scheme of how TalkingScot came to be. Long may it stand….and may there always be room for wan more!

There was a wee house in the heather
‘Twas a bit o’ a but and a ben
And in it there lived all together
Lachie MacLachlan
And his good wife,
And his bairns to the number of ten.
“there’s a fire on the hearthstone to warm me,
and porridge to spare in the pot “
Said Lachie. “The weather is stormy,
So me and my wife
And our ten bairns,
Will be sharing whatever we’ve got.”

So he hailed every traveler that passed by his door.
Said Lachie MacLachlan, “There’s room galore.
Och, come awa’in! There’s room for wan more,
Always room for wan more!”

A tinker came first, then a tailor,
And a sailor with line and lead;
A gallowglass and a fishing lass,
With a creel o’fish on her head;
A merry auld wife full o’ banter,
Four peat-cutters up from the bog’
Piping Rury the Ranter,
And a shepherd laddie
Down from the brae,
With his canny wee shepherd dug.

He hailed them all in as he stood at the door.
Said Lachie Maclachlan, “There’s room galore.
Och, come awa’ in! There’s room for wan more,
Always room for wan more!”

Rury’s pipes set the rafters a –ringing
Till the clock danced a reel on the shelf,
And they all fell to dancing and singing,
And the little dug danced by himself.
Och, the walls they bulged out and bulged in then,
The walls they bulged in and out.
There will never be heard such a din, then,
As came from the folks
In the wee little house
While they rollicked and frolicked about.

They filled all the house up from door to door,
But Lachie cried out, “there’s room galore.
“twould be a tight fit, but there’s room for wan more,
Always room for wan more!”

Then the rafters they clappit like thunder,
And folks in the nearby town
Stood stock-still to listen and wonder,
When the wee little house
With it’s but and it’s ben
And it’s walls and its roof dinged down!
Then the tinker and the tailor,
And the sailor with line and lead;
The gallowglass, and the fishing lass,
With the creel o’fish on her head;
The auld wife full o’ banter,
The four peat-cutters up from the bog,
Piping Rury the Ranter
And the shepherd laddie down from the brae,
With his canny wee shepherd dug,
And Lachie Maclachlan,
His good wife,
And his bairns to the number of ten,
They all tumbled oot again!
Ans they gowked at the place where the house stood before.
“Och, Lachie,” they cried, “there was room galore,
But worry and woe, there’s no room no more,
Never no room no more!”

They wailed for a while in the heather,
As glum as a grumpetie grouse,
Then they shouted, “Have done with this blether!
For Lachie MacLachlan,
His wife and bairns,
We’ll raise up a bonny new house.”
The house that they raised from the auld wan
Was double as wide and as high.
Should an army come by it could hauld wan,
With Lachie MacLachlan,
His wife and bairns,
And whoever else happened by.

And then the whole lot of them stood at the door,
And merrily shouted, “There’s room galore!
Now there will always be room for wan more,
Always room for wan more!”

Jean

[Guest]

Loved it Jean and indeed very apt for the 'pairty'

Take care

Annette

[Linda Malpass]

Genealogy Grandma

There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed her of late. She always reading history or jotting down some date.

She's tracking back the family, we'll all have pedigrees.

Oh, Grandma's got a hobby - she's climbing FAMILY TREES.

Poor Grandpa does the cooking, and now, or so he states, That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.

Grandma can't be bothered, she busy as a bee, Compiling genealogy for the FAMILY TREE. She has no time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright, No buttons left on Grandpa's shirt, the flower bed's a sight. She's given up her club work and the soaps on TV, The only thing she does nowadays is climb the FAMILY TREE.

She goes down to the courthouse and studies ancient lore, We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before. The books are old and dusty, they make poor Grandma sneeze, A minor irritation when you're climbing the FAMILY TREE.

The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far, Last week she got the proof she needs to join the D.A.R.

A monumental project all do agree, All from climbing up the FAMILY TREE. Now some folks came from Scotland, some from Galway Bay, Some were French as pastry, some German all the way. Some went west to stake their claims, some stayed there by the sea. Grandma hopes to find them all, as she climbs the FAMILY TREE.

She wanders through the graveyard in search of date and name, The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same. She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze, That blows above the Fathers of all our FAMILY TREES.

There are pioneers and patriots, mixed in our kith and kin, Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin. But none more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee, Each time she finds a missing branch for the FAMILY TREE.

Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook, And one, alas, the records show, was hopelessly a crook. Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge - some tutored for a fee. Once lost in time, now all recorded on the FAMILY TREE. To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more, She learns the joys and heartaches of those that went before. They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept - and now, for you and me, They live again in spirit, around the FAMILY TREE.

At last she's nearly finished and we are each exposed, Life will be the same again, this we all supposed. Grandma will cook and sew, serve cookies with our tea. We'll all be fat, just as before the wretched FAMILY TREE.

Sad to relate, the preacher called and visited for a spell. We talked about the Gospel, and other things as well. The heathen folk, the poor and then - 'twas fate, it had to be, Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma and the FAMILY TREE. He never knew his Grandpa, his mother's name was.....Clark?

He and Grandma talked and talked, while outside it grew dark. We'd hoped our fears were groundless, but just like some disease, Grandma's become an addict - she's hooked on FAMILY TREES.

Our souls are filled with sorrow, our hearts sad with dismay.
Our ears could scarce believe the words we heard our Grandma say, "It sure is a lucky thing that you have come to me, I know exactly how it's done. I'll climb your FAMILY TREE."

Author Unknown

[mesklin]

Ally, bally, ally bally bee,
Sittin' on yer mammy's knee
Greetin' for anither bawbee,
Tae buy mair Coulter's candy.

Ally. bally, ally, bally bee,
When you grow up you'll go to sea,
Makin' pennies for your daddy and me,
Tae buy mair Coulter's Candy.

Mammy gie me ma thrifty doon
Here's auld Coulter comin' roon
Wi' a basket on his croon
Selling Coulter's Candy.

Little Annie's greetin' tae
Sae whit can puir wee Mammy dae
But gie them a penny atween them twae
Tae buy mair Coulter's Candy.

Poor wee Jeannie's lookin' affa thin,
A rickle o' banes covered ower wi' skin,
Noo she's gettin' a double chin
Wi' sookin' Coulter's Candy.

[Guest]

How about playin'wi'the bairns?

Rund abut ,rund abut ran a wee moose,
up a bit ,up a bit an' into his hoose.
HK

[BobG]

No songs to sing or poems to write
But I found this surfing the web one night.
I’d like to contribute this worthy find
To share with my friends of like mind.

THE CENSUS TAKER
It was the first day of census, and all through the land
The pollster was ready…a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride
His book and some quills were tucked close by his side.

A long winding ride down a road barely there
Toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air.
The woman was tired, with lines on her face
And wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.

She gave him some water…as they sat at the table
And she answered his questions…the best she was able.
He asked of her children…Yes, she had quite a few
The oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.

She held up a toddler with checks round and red
His sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride
And she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.

He noted the sex, the color, the age…
The marks from the quill soon filled up the page.
At the number of children, she nodded her head
And he saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.

The places of birth “never forgot”
Was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon…or not?
They came from Scotland, of that she was clear
But she wasn’t quite sure how long they’d been here.

They spoke of employment, of schooling and such
They could read some and write some…though really not much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done
So he mounted his horse and he rode towards the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear
“May God bless you all for another ten years.”

Now picture a time warp…it’s now you and me
As we search for the people on our family tree.

We squint at the census and scroll down so slow;
As we search for that entry from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine on that long ago day
That the entries they made would effect us this way?

If they knew, would they wonder at the yearning we feel
And the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen the words they impart
Through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.

Author Unknown

[Guest]

I'd like to share a wee bit of my adopted home with you.In Newfoundland at any time during the 12 days of christmas your likely to get a visit from Mummers.This is a cross between first footin'and Halloween.
You'll answer the door to find any number of people in costume come to share the spirit of the holidays and whatever else is on the go in exchange for some entertainment.The highlight is trying to guess who the Mummers are.
When we were first posted to Greenwood in the Annapolis Valley,Nova Scotia there were a number of Newfoundlanders living near us so my husband and some friends got rigged up and went Mummering something the good people of Greenwood had never seen but enjoyed greatly.They ended up quite far from home and toddled in at about midnight with guitar in hand and costumes falling off and proceeded to demolish my Christmas baking.This must be how our ancestors shared there old world culture with their new neighbors.
You can get a fell for the Mummers in the song often sung in Newfoundland kitchens at Christmas.(Has anyone heard of a similar custom fron their ancesters that might explain this .Newf's are made up of English,Scottish and Irish immagrants.)

Mummers Song

Hark, what's the noise out by the porch door?
Dear Granny, dis mummers, there's twenty or more.
Her old weathered face lightens up with a grin.
Any mummers, nice mummers 'lowed in?

Come in lovely mummers, don't bother the snow,
We'll wipe up the water sure after you go.
And sit if you can or on some mummer's knee.
We'll see if we knows who ye be.

There's big ones and small ones, tall ones and thin,
There's boys dressed as women and girls dressed as men,
With humps on their backs and mitts on their feet,
My blessed we'll die with the heat.

Well, there's only one there that I think that I know,
That tall fellow standing alongside the stove.
He's shaking his fist for to make me not tell.
Must be Willy from out on the hill.

Oh, but that one's a stranger, if ever was one
With his underwear stuffed and his trapdoor undone.
Is he wearing his mother's big forty-two bra?
I knows, but I'm not going to say.

Don't 'spose you fine mummers would turn down a drop
"No, home brew or alky, whatever you got!"
Sure, the one with his rubber boots on the wrong feet
Ate enough for to do him all week.

I 'spose you can dance? Yes, they all nod their heads.
They've been tapping their feet ever since they came in.
And now that the drinks have been all passed around,
The mummers are plankin 'er down.

Be careful the lamp! Now hold on to the stove.
Don't swing Granny hard, 'cause you know that she's old.
No need for to care how you buckle the floor
'Cause the mummers have danced here before.

Oh my God, how hot is it? We'll never know.
I allow that we'll all get the devil's own cold.
Good night and good Christmas, mummers me dear
Please God, we will see you next year

Good night and good Christmas, mummers me dear
Please God, we will see you next year.

HK

[Andy]

Another from my sing song days:

THE BARRAS
(Jim McLean)

There’s a spot in Glasgow City that’s well ken’t the whole world o’er
It’s mare famous than the Mona Lisa’s face
It is visited by royalty and rascals by the score
Everybody kens the barras is the place

Did you ken St. Peter lost the keys to yon big pearly gates
And he thought that he’d get flung oot o’ his job
But a clever angel telt him, ach St. Peter dinnae greet
You can buy one at the barras for a bob

Chorus:
Oh the barras, oh the barras, there’s nane in Rome or Paris
You’ll have tae go tae Glasgow’s Gallowgate
They sell tickets tae the moon, a return for half-a-crown
And five bob guarantees a first class place

You’ve heard how Samson lost his strength, Delilah cut his hair
He was left as weak and baldy as a wean
So he traveled o’er to Scotland, to the barras for a cure
And noo he's strang and hairy once again

Wan day a Frenchman noticed that the Eiffel Tower was gone
And the president when notified grew pale
So he called oot all his soldiers and they hunted high and low
Till they found it at the barras up for sale

When the Romans came tae Scotland, many donkeys years ago
They got nae further than the Gallowgate
For the lads who ran the Barras swapped them souvenirs for swords
Then the fly wee Glasgow keelies had them bate (beat)

In a school nae far frae Partick Cross the teacher asked the class
Tell me what do you know about the missing link
Then a wee lad in the front row shot his hand up in the air
You will find one at the Barras, sir, I think

When oor Prince Charlie had tae flee away frae Scotia’s shores
Seek refuge far across the friendly main
For the tears ran streaming frae his e'en, hushed words he did speak
Ach, I love to see the Barras once again

So before I close my story let me give you some advice
If you’re after something cheap or second-hand
Take a trip up to the barras for there’s none that can compare
Tae the things they sell in Glasgow’s barrowland