Lyrics written out in the diary.
‘Oh what a parish, a terrible parish
Oh what a parish is that of Dunkeld
They hang’d their minister
Drooned their presenter
Burned down the steeple
And fuddled the bell.
The steeple was doon, but the kirk was still standing,
They biget a lumb where the bell used to hang
A still pot they got
And they brewed Highland whiskey
On Sunday’s they drank it and ranted and sang.
Oh had you but seen how graceful they looked
To see the crammed pews so socially joined
MacDonald the piper stood up in the pulpit
He made the pipes skirl out the music divine.
Wi whiskey and beer they would curse ‘n they’d swear
they’d argue and fight like you’d dare nae tell
About Geordie and Charlie they bothered feu early
Wi whiskey they’re worse than the devil himsel’
When the hearts leering spirits had mounted their garrets
To a ball on the green they all did ajourn
The maids were coarse kilted
They skipped and they lilted
When tired they shook hands and then hame did return.
If the kirks all oor Scotland
Held like social meetings
Nay warning you’d need from a far tinkling bell,
For true love and friendship will draw you together
Far better than roaring the horrors of hell!
Oh what a parish…….’
Here is a rather wonderful link to Silly Wizard performing this song quite a wee while ago.
(2018 – Lyrics copied out into diary. I remember vividly the first time I ever heard this old Scottish song. A dear friend broke into song in the pub one night, I had had no idea, at that time, that she had such a beautiful singing voice! The whole pub fell silent.
I got the lyrics and tried to learn it, but soon found that it is an incredibly testing song to sing, using a big range. I can do a passable version, but nothing like her! Tragically that dear friend is no longer with us, taken by pancreatic cancer, unexpectedly and swiftly, leaving both a loving partner, children and young grand children behind her….she had all to live for. You are missed M. x)
The Queen of all Argyll
Gentlemen it is my duty
To inform you of one beauty,
Tho I’d ask of you a favor not to seek her for a while.
I own she is a creature of character and feature
No words can paint the picture of the Queen of all Argyll.
And if you could have seen her
Boys if you had just been there
The swan was in her movements
And the morning in her smile.
All the roses of the garden bow and beg her pardon
For none can match the beauty of the queen of all Argyll.
On the evening that I mentioned
I passed with light intention
Through a part of our dear country
Known for beauty and for style
In a place of noble thinkers
Of scholars and great drinkers
But above them all in splendor
Shone the queen of all Argyll.
So my lads I needs must leave you.
My intention’s not to grieve you,
Nor indeed would I deceive you,
I’ll see you in a while.
I must find some way to go to her.
Court her and to claim her.
I fear my heart’s in danger from the queen of all Argyll.
“Outside is all noise.
The dripping roar of rain on leaves and the top of the tin -top caravan. The flick and buzz of flies as they hit the windows panes luring, bright light.
It’s past midnight and my head hurts from premonition and the lack of ability to define.
“In this life so much magik weaving…….?
Oh muse, where have you been?”
REAL TIME……are we arriving there?
Losing the Ego……what happens if ALL people begin to evolve in this direction?
The return of Merlin to Avalon…..(recognition of our true heros/leaders that loose the ego)
Shapeshifting. Animist. Fertility.
(the Felindyrch shape-shifter that murdered the seven sons of Merlin……?)
Merlin vs Pan?
These synchronicities why are they so important and how do they fit together!?”
(2017 – Surprised by how contemporary this piece of writing feels for me now.)
‘Welcome to the restless confusion of coming into a new era.
Listen to the jangled tones of realization.
Can we evolve fast enough in this ancient new tangent?
What we have been saying for years appears to be changing the world, but not as I’d envisioned exactly.
Madness invades the integral core of my pumping brain.
Power so huge I cannot get my arms around it. Cannot grasp it.
Are there other worlds outside this idyll now that are worth exploring again?
I have reached this age when I am turning and facing myself.
And I do not see anything there at all.
And when I think of who I really am, I cannot really face it, accept it or become.
Become into being
(Desperately needing purpose still.)’
‘In the garden:-
dig and sow 4 more rows of French beans
mow back lawn
straw/mulch for strawberries (pine needles? Dunans? bags?)
weeding, watering, weediing
cut forest paths back
build bender benches/bed
dig fire pit
sow chamomile and borage….central patch?
buy carrots/beetroot/winter/spring cabbage/swedes
Dense, sensitive, slow hum,
Hum humming of life.
Flutter of butterfly wings
and chirrup of buzzing things.
The trickle chuckle river and the
warm, ticklish air.
I should throw myself down in the long, itchy grass.
I should walk, feel free and strong….
But I just will lay here, feeling good
for not doing.
What I should.
(If I cannot focus my energy into something soon I shall……..?)
Seagulls call and whirl.
Like black spots in the back of my eye.
Picked out against the blinding sky.
Swallow tail swift,
forked slender arrow.
Dove coo, ancient, wood-wise.
A car brakes through and then away.
Bleating lambs, skimble and moan for their mothers.
African music, low and happy,
Accompanies the scene.
Breezes, breezy, blowing lightly.
Yellow poppies bow and bend.
So slow and sweet.