A Man Alone
by Graham Donnachaidh
Sunday, January 25, 2004
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Please forgive my wanderings 'mongst the long ago battles of my kinsmen.
The last battle to be fought on British soil was on Culloden Muir...as it is commonly known as...
Drummossie Muir...is another name for it.
The battle was fought in the far north-east of Scotland..and ended forever the hopes of the Jacobite cause.
Many, wrongly assume it was between the Scots and the English...but this is a falsity which prevails in the mynds of Romantics, much to the disgust of scholars of historical truth.
The highlander has lionized as a sort of... 'Noble Savage'...when in fact he was but a bare-arsed peasant living in the wrong century....
My poem compares a town dwelling patriot...mostly unknown and never written about...to the gaelic speaking Gael who has been much romanticised by Sir Walter Scott...
Both these men fought for the same Jacobite cause..both Celts and Catholic...but typically Scots...they must argue between each other..
A Man Alone
The Gael to the Dundonian..
Och ye sae worthless o’ heroic note,
that ye be nameless on this dreary field,
naebodie kens whar ye cam fae,
nor fae ye.. o’ your name...
I canna yield..
Ye speak a strange an’ foreign eastern tongue,
an stinky smell fae ye cams ower my nost’
awa ye...an’ staun elsewhar,
an’ tak up wi’ sic’ a scunner lot
as Nick’s vile host..
Nae clan hae ye and useless dae ye stand,
as if we needed such as ye within oor ranks,
nae philabeg forfochen ‘roon yer knees,
o’ useless fart ..exuded fae between
auld withered shanks..
Gang awa fae oor battle lines drawn up....
this day, we face across Drummossie muir,
the iron-eyed ,red-coated
Gang ye back...tae yer cheap
an’ poxy Dundee ‘hoor..
We’ll win this day within oor nor'land mist.
The victorie is sure for us nae doot...
but look !!.. yon British cannon wreakin’ hellish death,
an’ me noo..struck doon by grapeshot....
Gie me yer hand guid freen’...an’ turn aboot....
The Dundonian to the Gael.
The guid lord have mercy upon your westryn soul,
as bleeding... ye will niver ken again
the joys o’ highland bare-arsed charge,
for ye get paler by the minute,
far fae your heather'd glen..
I niver will be seen in the Romance way
as you ..wha lies upon death’s open door.
I’m jist a loon wi’ keen edged scythe,
cam’ tae fecht for honour’s sake
‘mangst this gore...
I’m fae Dundee...as common as they come,
fae mirky toun as auld..as high tap La’,
but I will gether ye intae my airms
ye dying clansman...
an’ bear ye fae redcoated murder, far awa.
So... niver ever think that I am less than ye
when takin’ coont o’ native Scot
wha fought that patriotic fight
withoot a Laird or highland chief....
for less than ye I’m not.
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|Reviewed by C Smith (Reader)
|Although I am unaccustomed to reading Gaelic,
I found this piece very interesting and was
able to follow the poem story line...
Looking forward to reading more...