Local Songs and Poetry

IF you want to find out more about the local history of Kintyre or post some interesting stories then here is the place! All contributors welcome! You can also check out the Historic Kintyre and Down Memory Lane websites.

Re: Local Songs and Poetry

Postby EMDEE » Thu May 08, 2008 10:14 pm

Here’s another of Grandfather John McShannon’s songs:

The Girls o’ Suthen’

O come all you good people and listen a while,
In the snug little spot in the shire o’ Argyll,
And if your attention to me you will lend,
I will sing you the praise o’ the girls o’ Suthen’.

Chorus:
O the lads are sae blythe, the lasses sae fair,
Hooch I wish I was back in the village ance mair,
In the whole o’ Kintyre there’s few that I ken,
Could ever compare wae the girls o’ Suthen’.


I ance took a notion tae step doon a wee,
Amang the green glens kind faces tae see,
At Corrieglen Smithy my he’rt took a sten,
I met the blythe face o’ a girl fae Suthen’.

Chorus:
O the lads are sae blythe, the lasses sae fair,
Hooch I wish I was back in the village ance mair,
In the whole o’ Kintyre there’s few that I ken,
Could ever compare wae the girls o’ Suthen’.


In the days o’ lang syne our poets did sing,
O the lass o’ Glenbreckrie that gar’t the hills ring,
In the whole o’ their sangs they forgot, honest men,
To mention the kind-hearted girls o’ Suthen’.

Chorus:
O the lads are sae blythe, the lasses sae fair,
Hooch I wish I was back in the village ance mair,
In the whole o’ Kintyre there’s few that I ken,
Could ever compare wae the girls o’ Suthen’.


In the days when the daisies are spread o’er the lea,
And lambkins are sporting sae happy and free,
The lads o’ Coalhill will go doon nine or ten,
And play a’ lang syne tae the girls o’ Suthen’.

Chorus:
O the lads are sae blythe, the lasses sae fair,
Hooch I wish I was back in the village ance mair,
In the whole o’ Kintyre there’s few that I ken,
Could ever compare wae the girls o’ Suthen’.


This song has its own original tune, again set to the words by John himself, but unfortunately the forum does not have any facility for communicating music.

Apparently my granny didn’t like him singing this song because she was from Machrihanish.
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Re: Local Songs and Poetry

Postby bill » Fri May 09, 2008 1:52 pm

Great songs Emdee,even more so in the fact that you have actually heard them being sung by an older member of your family(whereas most of the ones I have posted have been lifted from other sites).
I know my Summer'll never come
I know I'll cry until my dying day has come
Let the Winter roll along
I've got nothing left but song
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Re: Local Songs and Poetry

Postby EMDEE » Sun May 25, 2008 1:33 am

I've noticed that nobody has posted the words of "Carradale Glen", the other well known Carradale song. Anybody got a copy? I used to have them, but they got lost in the mists of time. :roll:
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Re: Local Songs and Poetry

Postby bill » Sun May 25, 2008 10:46 am

Carradale Glen

Thro’ Highlands, thro’ Lowlands
On moorland and ben,
Oh give me the wander
In Carradale Glen.

By Carra’s clear waters,
Mong tall rustling trees,
The birds-song are swelling
The cool morning breeze.

Dewy bluebells are sighing
Farewells from yon den,
O come back to wander
In Carradale Glen.

I leave you with grieving
And sadness of mind,
While memories linger
Of hearts warm and kind.

For ever and ever
Beyond human ken,
My spirit shall wander
In Carradale Glen.
I know my Summer'll never come
I know I'll cry until my dying day has come
Let the Winter roll along
I've got nothing left but song
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Re: Local Songs and Poetry

Postby Govangirl » Mon May 26, 2008 10:05 pm

Just wanted to say how wonderful this thread has been. Thank you Bill and Emdee - and how I agree with Bill that it is more amazing that Emdee has actually heard them being sung by older members of his family. That's just awesome (as Bobbie would no doubt say but it's the best word to use!!)
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted
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Re: Local Songs and Poetry

Postby EMDEE » Sat Jul 05, 2008 9:03 pm

I don't know if it's a local poem or not, but I used to hear my grandfather reciting a poem called "Sandy Gray's Jackdaw". It is quite a long and humorous poem about a man who had a pet jackdaw, which he had taught to swear, and I also remember there was a minister involved.

I've done an internet search for it which produced nothing. If my grandfather had this poem, it's likely others in the area would have it as well.

I can remember the first line quite clearly; "Since stately ravens, doos an' craws"

Anybody heard of it or got the words? :?:
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DAVAAR Island Poetry by Klothild de Baar (Canadian author)

Postby Margret Allen » Mon Oct 12, 2015 11:13 pm

THE WILD GOATS AND GHOSTS OF DAVAAR

I saw the wild goats grazing
High up on the cliffs of Davaar---
Escaped, some say, from the Vikings
Their berserks readied with tar.

A thousand years or more now,
Their wild-hearted freedom endured;
They looked down on the Lady’s forlorn bow,
To the proud demeanor of lords.

They thought the ramparts of boulders
Would keep them from strangers and foes,
They counted not on the Lady
Whose stout-hearted will matched their own.

The wild winds and gales from the Ocean
Pounded and whipped stern Davaar,
But the wild goats, the Lady, and Someone,
Knew they were playing at par.

The ghost that wailed---pained and eerie,
From the top of his haunt on Davaar,
Heard the laughter and tunes of the Lady,
All sweetness and light in her art.

Oh, may God grant their bold spirits
A rest in due course from the world
And keep wild Davaar as their refuge
From unending haunting on earth.

I saw the wild goats grazing
High up on the cliffs of Davaar.
They mind not the presence and graveyard
Of uneasy sleepers from far.


---------------------

The Royal, Campbeltown, Friday, August 21, 2015



THE ISLAND OF DAVAAR

The Island of Davaar, you say,
Is full of gentle sheep,
And that is true, my dear friend,
But would be far from all.

As it emerges from afar
Out of a shrouded sea,
It looketh like a beaver caught
And tethered to the shore.

It cannot swim to Canada,
As once a maid had thought,
To rescue her from fetters strong
And mend a broken heart.

For at its top, a mystery sleeps
In all eternity.
Two petriefy’ed hearts lay there
Entwined with locks of hair.

They rest not who have much to do
Beyond the gentle grave,
And legend has it that time, too,
Will not stand still for Death.

But easy sleep their spirits, ghosts,
Who could not rest in life.
Enlaced, they giggle, laugh, and cry
‘’Till a’ the seas gang dry.’’

The Island of Davaar will keep
Full many a gentle sheep,
To guard their restless spirits, freed,
On the Island of Davaar.

Davaar, Saturday, August 22, 2015


THE BALLAD OF DAVAAR


Among the heather, bracken fern,
High up on the Isle of Davaar,
Below green mosses, forty-four,
A grave holds him and her.

Encircled by ancient boulders four,
Protected by the simplest of cross,
And guarded by Golden Eagles, in pairs,
Their sepulchre ‘s fit for a Lord.

The Lady had almost forgotten
The spot where they once loved life,
But the Sire of ancient Scotland,
Held her to it before he died.

Black Guillemots are their voices,
Gannets their haunting cry,
Shearwaters echo Her queries---
The Herring Gulls scream His reply.

But the Fulmar, down from Kintyre
Responds to their every demand,
So that Machrihannish O’Catcher
Can order their Space Command.

The Buzzards high up in their lookout
See into the Universe,
Screech dangers from Orion to Zion
To the Perigrine---their freedom’s horse.

The Doirlinn bars access to strangers,
Who come to Davaar with ill will,
The Basking Shark gives ‘m fair warning;
If angered, the Clyde will kill.

Down in the Mighty Sea’s waters,
Surrounding the Isle of Davaar,
Cruise Shark, Minke Whale and quick Otters,
Pay tribute to the sleepers from far.

But the Purpoise, the Seals, and the Dolphins
Swim up for the ghosties’ delight,
To entertain and amuse them,
On quiet northern nights.

While the ghosts of Davaar haunt old Zion
And amble through the vast Universe
And dance off to distant Orion,
They return to sleep on Davaar.

Among the heather, bracken fern,
High up on the Isle of Davaar,
Below green mosses, forty-four,
A grave holds him and her.
- Klothild de Baar

Davaar, August 23, 2015
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