Odes/Tributes to Caithness Fowk

[Moira]

This thread is a follow-up to Trix's "Div ye mind...." and was suggested by a stalwart of the Literary forum here.

Unicorn has agreed to her poem being a start-off point to what I hope will be another interesting thread.

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!”

Can you remember any more? All contributions welcome, but please keep it clean and respectful

[Sporran]

Great idea, Moira! Does anyone know who wrote "Oor Dan's Dream', by the way? And the approximate date of when it was written?

[unicorn]

I have what I assume to be the original here, it is not out of a newspaper as the back is blank. There is no name on it at all.

[Moira]

Sporran - Do you have any originals or any particular favourites?

[Sporran]

Sporran - Do you have any originals or any particular favourites?

I will have to see what I can come up with, Moira!

[trinkie]

To Alexander Bain
by the Caithness Violinist.
aka Robert MacKay.

Inventions live, Inventors die!
Science must search again
To see perchance if she can spy
Another Sandy Bain.

I fear her search will fail to find
A man with such a brain
For 'twas but once to help mankind
God sent them Sandy Bain.


The renowned Caithness Electrician and Inventor of the Electric Clock etc. a hundred years ago.


The above was taken from the John O' Groat Journal c. 1941

with thanks to my good friend who keeps me well supplied with such interesting snippets !

[Cedric Farthsbottom III]

This is a tribute to ma favourite Caithness poet
Ma heart it will never sinkie
Cos ma favourite Caithness poet
Will always be the Trinkie

Cos I have heard her majestic prose
Whether by her or by others
But I confess I like her way
Her prose it makes me full of shudders

Alexander Bain,ye are a pub
An inventor,whit de ye want me full of whoons
Naw write a letter of complainament
And address it to the Spoons

[Sporran]

"Dowpy Dan" - Written by Sporran

Dowpy Dan wis 'e beeg mannie's name
Dressed lek a tramp, he always looked 'e same
Rusty broon coat tied wi' a bit o' rope
He wis a character o' ould Thirsa fame

Dan wis swarthy skinned wi' dark hair an' a beard
Looked a bit scary, but nae need til be feart
He wis a gentle giant fa did nae harm
Even though his appearance could cause alarm

He walked everywhere upon his ain two feet
Dunlop soled plimsolls that Dan thought really neat
He could be seen walkin' 'e road fur mony a mile
Sometimes fowk wid wave an' gi'e him a smile

He smoked a pipe an' a cigarette dowp or two
Dinna think he smoked a cig that wis brand new
He seemed contented in his ain sort o' way
An' that's fits important, at 'e end o' 'e day!

[trinkie]

A few lines written by Anon on the death of
ROBERT MacKAY aka The Caithness Violinist.
Sent to me some time ago by a Caithness friend.

Gone to his rest is Bob, the friend
Of Caithness hearts, e’en at the world’s end,
Humble, sincere, this gifted man,
Fulfilled his place in nature’s plan.

Bard, mystic, minstrel, a winner
On platform, social night or dinner,
His Caithness wit, his native lore,
Produced full many a fevered encore.

His kindly heart, his pen so deft,
Helped soothe the cares of those bereft,
His simple wishes, thoughts sincere,
To all who knew him, did endear.

He leaves a blank, so hard to fill,
With word, or poem, music quill,
Forgotten many men shall be,
Not so, Bob, our own CV.

Poor lines of mine cannot portray,
The thoughts of him that with us stay,
Oh, where is left a Caithness pen,
Could compose a filling requiem.
Anon