For Rory sang, an' leuch, an' drank, But Rory had a lowin' drouth, To tell the wives that sell't guid ale; Saw ye Rory, etc. But whisky proved to him a fae, That killed him deid for certain. Farewell, Rory Murphy, Piper o' Dumbarton. There is an old song in the Tea-Table Miscellany, which tells that "Dumbarton drums beat bonnie, O," but whether these or the pipes of Rory Murphy were the first to give musical celebrity to the Royal Burgh it would be difficult to say. Mr. Donald Macleod, the veteran historian of the town and shire, in his Past Worthies of the Lennox: A Garland of their Droll Sayings and Doings, Clubs, and Election Incidents, says :-"I have not been able to obtain THE AULD QUARRY KNOWE 141 information from the burgh records that our good town ever had a piper it could call its own. However, tradition has it that in a far back period in its history it could boast a piper hight Rory Murphy, a rantin' rovin', clever, drucken cratur, who, on account o' his lowin' drooth, came to a bad end. I have in my time seen what purported to be a portrait of the illustrious Rory, and intended at one time to have inserted it here, but as I think it a spurious production, I do not give it a place in this veracious chronicle. As far as Dumbarton is concerned, the long line of those whose duty it was to blow the pipes, tuck the drum, and ring the bell, the latter dating from 1634 according to the Town's Records, ceased and determined when John Orme in 1889 was deprived of his office as town's drummer and bellman." 66 This means that it must be a long time since Rory Murphy screwed his pipes and gar't them skirl." Anyway, he was doubtless a real character, and a kenspeckle one to boot, if the author of the song is to be trusted--and who would doubt him? It was written, I have discovered, by David Webster, the author of "Tak' it, man, tak it." THE AULD QUARRY KNOWE. Oн, weel I mind the joys we had, We'd watch the water-wagtail, On the auld quarry knowe. I used to think on summer nichts And I ne'er could say guid nicht intil alas! But noo these days are gane, Tho' my heid be like the tow, Two versions of this happy, natural, and sweetly reminiscent song have appeared, but the present, which is the older and better lyric of the pair, is the one generally sung. It has not hitherto won its way into any collection of importance; has not been much seen in print, indeed; and the author, who may still be living, has not been revealed. BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL. AN auld Hieland couple sat lane by the Angle, an' a'. To his wife Donald bragg'd o' his bauldest o' actions, When he was a sodger wi' Geordie the Third ; Hoo his foes fell afore him, the leader o' factions, And Donald he grat as his faes bit the yird. BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL 143 Sae up wi' the kilties and bonnie blue bonnets, When put to their mettle they're ne'er kent to fail: For a Highlandman's heart is upheld wi' a haggis And weel-buttered bannocks o' barley meal. Thus Donald was blessed, an' his wife heard wi' pleasure 66 His stories o' danger, his troubles, an' toils; My country," he cried, "is my heart's dearest treasure, And, Mary, thou'rt next, for I lo'e thy saft smiles." This puir, happy couple, their broom-covered dwelling Stood lane frae the world, its tidings, and cares, And the news never reached their snug little hallan Unless when a packman stapp'd in wi' his wares. Sae up wi' the kilties, etc. The Romans lang syne loot a clacht at oor bannock, The Danes and the Normans they tried the same game, But Donald cam' doon wi' his claymore and crummack, Maul'd maist o' them stark, chased the lave o' them hame, An' should ony mair ever play sic a plisky, She vows by her dirk an' the Laird o' Kintail That she'll pairt wi' her bluid, or she'll pairt wi' her whisky, Ay, or pairt wi' her bannocks o' barley meal. Sae up wi' the kilties, etc. There's Mungo M'Farlane, the Laird o' Drumgarlan, A birsy auld carle o' three-score an' five, He'll wield his lang airm, an' he'll gie them a haurlin', And keep his ain grund wi' the glegest alive. There's Michael, the sodger, wha foucht wi' the rebels, And lost his left leg just a wee ere they ran; He has got ane o' wud, an' he gars it play thud, And whaur there's a row Michael's aye in the van. Sae up wi' the kilties, etc. Then fill up a glass, let us hae a guid waucht o't, Oor Mither Meg's mutch be't oor care to keep clean; And the foul silly loon that wad try to lay claucht on't, May Clootie's lang claws haul oot baith o' his een. She's auld, an' she's runkled, she'll no bide their scorning, She'll beat them whan tried in a battle, I'll bail ; So we'll ne'er lat her want Athole brose i' the morning, Nor weel-buttered bannocks o' barley meal. Sae up wi' the kilties, etc. There is a song with this title, said to have been written by the celebrated John, Duke of Argyll and Greenwich, who figures favourably in the Heart of Midlothian as the patron of Jeanie Deans; and Robert Burns picked up a fragment of a still older ditty, the owerturn of which was Bannocks o' bere meal, bannocks o' barley! Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley! These have been often printed. But here is a song, a very worthy one of its kind-which, though it has seldom seen the light of the printed page, has been sung by several generations of country people in Scotland. |