Words
Grasping the Thistle
by Dennis MacLeod & Michael Russell
Why has the devolution settlement disappointed? Why do politicians seem so out of touch and their political parties appear so unattractive to ordinary people? What should be done to tackle attitudes to government and deal with deep-seated problems of poverty, under-investment and dependency? Dennis Macleod and Michael Russell - two Scots of achievement - give an honest analysis of today's Scotland and present some startling suggestions designed to prepare the country for the real and pressing challenges of the twenty first century.
Poetry
by Dennis MacLeod
Kildonan, once more
‘This poem is dedicated to the memory of all of the peoples of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland who, in the face of great adversity, sought freedom, hope and justice beyond these shores. They and their descendant’s went forth and explored continents, built great countries and cities and gave their enterprise and culture to the world. This is their legacy.
Their voices will echo forever through the empty straths and glens of their homeland.’
The following video featuring Dennis’s poem was produced by Norman Strachan, read by Calum MacDonald, with music by Duncan Chisholm.
Notes:
This is a story told in rhythm rather than a poem told in rhyme.
Kildonan and adjacent straths were cleared in stages and there were at least three ships that sailed to Hudson’s Bay with settlers at different times. All of the events described occurred at one time or other over this period.
For ease of telling the story has been written as one continuous event.
The trials and tribulations of the settlers caused by the ‘war’ between the North West Company and the Hudson Bay Company is left for another day.
Caen, pronounced as in, and presumably named after, Caen in France was the most easterly of the Kildonan townships.
1 — Seventy years have come to pass
Since first I set my eye
Its wondrous sights to see
Memories are fading fast
Memories that come and go
As they dance to seniles tune
Childhood memories that flutter by
Of tales of yesteryear
To be grasped before they die
Kildonan, once more
2 — The roar of stags and distant hinds
The clash of horns on Dhorain high
Eagles soaring on the wing
Salmon leaping in the spring
Shooting stars on winter nights
And now and then the northern lights
The wonders of the cosmic might
And on a moonlight night
So empty, eerie and alone
Kildonan, once more
3 — Upon the hillside high
In the ancient crags of time
You can hear them clear
The whispered sounds of yesteryear
Echoing from ben to ben
Echoes’ from the mists of time
Witnessing times gone by
Until the death of yesteryear
Kildonan, once more
4 — O’er the eons they did come
Ancient Britons, Pict and Gael
Vikings bold and strong
And Donan came and built his kil
And spread his gospel wide
For seven thousand years and more
They sheltered in heavens bosom
And then in just a flash of time
In but a single day , ochone
Kildonan, no more
5 — Cast in stone for all to see
Icons from the distant past
Ancient houses round and true
Silent sentinels standing tall
Pictish brochs eight in all
The bustling kirk
Where Sage did preach
Now empty and forlorn
Kildonan, ochone
6 — Donan’s god was but a myth!
Laid low by Moray’s satan son
Well versed was he in thought and deed
With Edin’s books on right and wrong
And Adam’s laws on wealth to make
With Betty’s ear and Loch’s as well
A witch’s cauldron made in hell
With pious words he set his trap
Infamous deed for infamous greed
Kildonan, no more
7 — They came in the early rays of dawn
With fire and cudgel and pistols drawn
Betty’s edict was read from afar
Then came the thugs as if to war
They fell upon her loyal clan
Young and old, the sick, the lame
Driven from heath and hame
With nothing but the clothes they wore
For Donan’s god was but a myth!
Kildonan, no more
8 — From Caen to Kinbrace
Twelve long miles and more
A dozen townships all ablaze
Billowing smoke its veil did spread
And cast a darkness o’er the land
Save for inferno’s leaping flames
Lit upon the fleeing souls
Wailing to their God on high
But Donan’s god was but a myth!
Kildonan, no more
9 — They huddled on Bunilidh’s shore
Cast adrift from kith and kin
Ne’er a hand from kirk or king
For Betty’s chattels they remain
But in this, their darkest hour
A lowland laird an offer made
A passage to a distant land
And soil to till as their own
Was Donan’s god but a myth?
Kildonan, no more
10 — And so began an epic trek
A journey straight from hell
Across the wild Atlantic
To Hudson’s mighty bay
Towering waves and icebergs too
Howling gales and arctic freeze
A typhus plague the frail laid low
To the graveyard of the deep
For Donan’s god was but a myth!
Kildonan, no more
11 — An arctic winter they endured
On Hudson’s frozen shore
Forty below and blowing snow
For six long months and more
Spade and axe did cabins make
Game and fish their strength did keep
Winter’s bears they held at bay
With every challenge that was met
Their spirits they did sore
Kildonan, once more?
12 — Those that bent to winter’s toll
They laid by Hudson’s shore
They bowed their heads in prayer
And set their faces to the west
Seven hundred miles of wilderness
Before the Promised Land
Canoe and portage by the score
Blizzards fierce and rapids wild
O’er marsh and river and forest dense
Kildonan, once more
13 — The Promised Land came in sight
By the river in the valley wide
Selkirk’s earl his vow did keep
With land upon their crops to reap
They were free and they were strong
Oppression’s dragon they had slain
They built a kirk for Donan’s god
And called the place Kildonan
For Donan’s God was not a myth?
Kildonan, once more!
14 — Kildonan’s seeds they did sow
In the face of nature’s foes
Grit and toil a miracle wrought
Golden wheat sprung to the sky
To the limits of the eye
O’er a vast and timeless land
A mighty city soon did grow
Around the kirk for Donan’s God
The gateway to the west was born
Kildonan, once more!
15 — The silent straths of Sutherland
Their sons and daughters gone
Bear witness to the folly
Of a tyrant’s heavy hand
The prairies vast and wide
Where riches now abide
And the nation they begot
Steeped in freedom’s ways
Bear witness to these words
Kildonan, once more!
Kildonan, once more!
The Bonny, Bonny Broom
Harbinger of summer
With yellow oh so bright
A garland by the roadside
And by the water’s edge
Hillside’s glowing gold
And hedgerows to behold
Nature’s sister’s bow
For ‘tis you that has the stage
Oh bonny, bonny broom
Scotia’s golden gift
From days of yesteryear
A treasure to Van-Isle
Alive for evermore
Revered by natures lovers
Reviled by eco knaves.
Jellicoe Express
Wake up son look after mam
Your only four but you’re a man
I’m going to war it won’t be long
The Jellicoe will bring me home
Away to war brave crofter man
He’s gone to fight the mighty Hun
He’s gone to war to save our land
He’s gone to fight for me and Mam
It’s so lonely nights are long
But I am brave and I am strong
Each night we hear the thunderous roar
The Jellicoe goes by once more
In the early morning light
Marrel lies in peace and quiet
Dad is fighting for our rights
Mama’s on her own tonight
‘We’ll go gatherin’ in the glen
We’ll go fishing to the sea
Burning bracken on the Ben
Son watch o’er your Mam for me’
War is over Dad come home
Lord don’t leave us on our own
The Jellicoe crawls up the glen
Without our brave Highland men
And on the night when all is lost
The train creeps quietly by the croft
On foreign fields he proudly dies
And all I hear is Mama’s cries
My mother now lies on her own
I hear her crying all alone
Death has chilled us to the bone
Oh Jellicoe please bring him home
‘We’ll go gatherin’ in the glen
We’ll go fishing to the sea
Burning bracken on the Ben
Son watch o’er your Mam for me’
Now fifty years have slowly passed
And my dying dreams are fading fast
With a heavy heart I’ve left the strath
And gone to my Dad’s grave at last
Reichweld’s quiet and peacefull now
Dad is lying in the forest calm
With seven thousand saintly men
All waiting bravely for the train
As I touch his sacred grave
I quietly hum a peaceful psalm
And tell him not to worry now
For I have kept watch o’er Mam
And when I walk away
I hear my father say
‘You’ll go gatherin’ in the glen
You’ll go sailing to the sea
Don’t sit alone on yonder Ben
Son you’ll always’s be with me’
Aye, and so are they!
I wander in the morning light
In the streets along the Ness,
An alien in my native land,
Straining for a Highland lilt
Amongst the foreign babble,
The polished tones of Eton
And the charming Cockney phrase,
Edinburgh toffs, oh so posh
And Glasgow chiels, with humour too,
Warsaw lasses that turn your eye
And Urdu flowing as in song,
But where are you my Heilan lad
And where are you my bonnie lass?
So who are you who writes these words
Eight thousand miles from Ness?
A citizen of the world says he!
‘Aye, and so are they!’
A Day at the Peats
Wading the river
From Marrel to Caen,
On my father’s broad back,
With a stick in his hand,
Lest we both,
Swimmers none,
Taken full by the spate
To the old Marrel pool,
Where the sea serpents wait.
But strong are his arms
And legs to whit,
So Caen’s haven
We soon do make.
An eye we raise
To yonder hill
A sight to behold,
Afloat in the mist
With ears alert
And statue still,
A host of ghostly deer.
And then,
As if to order,
They are fleet of foot
A ballet in motion,
Prancing in unison
To the hilltop high,
And in a flash
O’er the crest and gone,
On to Cnoc na Maoile
And the hills of gold beyond,
A ghostly host no more
An illusion of the mind?
Now hear me lad
And hear me well
This is no place to dwell
For with the dusk
Or so the saga’s say
The sounds of battle loud
Abound in Caen’s glen
And Olvir can be seen
In full flight
By Caen’s ford
Across the river wide
To be heard no more
In the saga’s of the time.
Terror grips the night
And Caen’s burn turns red,
As Sveinn’s revenge
Leaves no quarter given.
A stop to say a prayer
And shed a tear
By Caen’s ruined crofts,
Brought low just yesteryear
By the Vikings of the day,
Dressed in euphemism’s guise
With Westminster’s laws in hand,
And an army to uphold,
Terror by another name
But terror just the same
So let us to the hill
While the days still young,
Along the trodden path,
With stone circles by the score,
Our ancestral homes
In the days of yore.
We tarry by the burn
Our thirst to slay,
While salmon hug the bank
Their eggs to lay
And geese go flying by
With a plaintive cry.
A moment’s pause
To gaze in awe,
Across the valley wide,
The beauty to behold
Of Marrel’s gentle slopes
Where in Viking days
The mares did graze
Memories sweet memories
As we opened Mam’s piece,
A banquet for a king
As only she can serve.
But haste you on
There’s work to do.
So to the bog on high
And winter’s fuel,
Wet, wet peat,
Cut to size
With aching arm,
And stacked on high,
With creaking back,
To dry,
And maybe not,
If autumns sun
Is shy to show,
And autumns winds
Are slow to blow,
Or the raft across the river
Is not high and dry,
Or the lean-to
By the byre wall
A better day has seen.
Then nature’s laws,
A lesson gives,
When heat to dry the peat
Leaves nothing for the room.
But ponder not
On such gloom,
For blessed am I
To spend a day
In such a wondrous place,
With my dad,
At the peats!