This was an ode to Dan Murray, a much renowned fisherman of his time
OOR DANS DREAM



Let this be a warning to all those who may be contemplating
Taking up fishing as a hobby:

Oor Dan had a dream that he had quitted this life,
Said guid-bye tae the fishin’ and guid-bye tae the wife:
Before passing away he packed rod, line and reel,
Spinners, flees, and his baits, he took them as weel.

But when Peter espied all this fishin’ gear,
He said tae oor Dan “You’re a fisher, I fear,
And as fishers are leers, of course, you must go,
And join your fishin’ mates, “way doon below.”

But when they were standin’ by Jordan’s fair river,
Dan saw a troot rise, it fair made him quiver;
He got mounted fu’ haste, Peter gazed on in wonder,
As Dan hooked and landed a bonny fower punder.

Then Peter tae Dan said “ I wish you’d show me
How tae catch troots wi’ what ye ca’ a dry flee.”
But Dan said tae Peter, “Man, wi’ this hae a go,”
And he handed tae him a wee pot of roe.

Peter thought it was jam, but his very first cast,
Saw him intae a whopper, aye firm and fast,
And when it was landed, Peter danced round in glee,
And shouted tae Dan, “Man, this bates your dry flee.”

Then Dan shouted to Peter, “ye’ve naething at a’.
I’ve something tae bate roe, dry flees an’ a,”
So oot in the boat went the saint and the sinner,
Peter managed the oars, while Dan spun the spinner,

Then all of a sudden, Dan saw a tail swish,
He struck and cried—“ Hell, I’m intae a fish!”
It towed the boat here, it towed the boat there,
Sometimes it jumped nigh ten feet in the air:

The boat kept gan round, Peter felt kind o’ seek,
But Dan kept on fechtin’ and got oot his cleek,
Twa oors now had passed, and the fish it was game,
But came yince ower near, and Dan sent the gaff hame.

And when at land last, on the bank it lay still,
Dan felt in his pocket and took oot a gill,
He gave Peter a dram (a wee ane, nae doot),
But a sixty pund salmon deserves mair than a troot.

Then Peter said, Dan the law ye ken states,
Nae fisher can enter the Pearly Gates.”

“Nae fishin’ in Heaven,” quoth Dan, “ Then by heck,
Gie’s my ticket tae Hell, and a pass-oot check,
I never could sing and I never could flee,
So a harp and wings wid be nae guid tae me.”

Said Peter, “Right o’, for spinners, roe and flees,
I,ll gie ye a pass tae come oot when ye please:
Ye’ll act as my boatman, and teach me tae fish,
What mair can a man that’s damned ever wish?”

“ Right ye are, then,” said Dan, “That’ll suit me just fine,
I’m begginin’ tae wish that I’d died lang, lang syne!”