Meet Me On The Moor

At the tap edge o’ the moor, whaur it’s sae thickly wooded,
There’s a perfect place for us tae meet, sae quiet and secluded.
Whaur I will tak ye in my airms, and kiss yer lips sae saftly.
Amang the trees whaur nane can see, wi you my bonny lassie.

Meet me on the moor my love, will ye meet me on the moor,
And I’ll lay ye doon sae canny, amang the wild, summer floo’ers.
But nae wild floo’er in creation, could be lovelier than you,
Meet me on the moor my love, and I swear I’ll aye be true.

We’ll walk hand in hand, ‘tween the bonny broom and heather,
And I’ll slip my airm aroon yer waist, tae draw us close thegither.
And ilky time ye turn tae me, I will kiss ye tenderly,
Tae let ye ken I love ye, and ye mean the world tae me.


Will ye tak a chance wi me, tae see whaur this micht lead,
For I think o’ you baith day and nicht, you’re ayewis in my heid.
But if ye feel I’m nae the man, for you, jist tell me noo,
And nae mair I’ll venture tae the moor, in hopes o’ meeting you.



I woke up this mornin’ and a thocht popped in my heid,
Tae dae some exercise this very day,
Then I went and lay back doon, in a darkened room,
Until that silly notion passed away.

So if you’re desperate tae be fit,
Put on your running kit,
Get oot and dae some exercise.

Noo fin a fat man up and dies naebody is surprised,
They jist say he wiz too fat and shak their heids.
But fin it happens tae a man wha’s always cycled, swam and ran,
It seems richt tragic – that the silly bugger’s deid.


Fin yer climbing in the hills, oh the view can be a thrill,
But slippin’ aff a cliff can be a shock.
It’s nae the fleein through the air that leaves ye in despair,
It’s the impact as ye splatter on the rocks.


Noo I cannae swim a stroke, and I’m nae aboot tae learn,
Tae my deficiencies I’m very well attuned.
For I ken I cannae swim, so I never venture in,
And it’s the eejits that can swim that aye get drooned.


But even exercise that’s gentle, can be quite detrimental,
So tak it easy fin ye exercise.
Oh tak it easy fin ye exercise.

Twa Hairts Entwined

I seems like it wis yesterday, beneath this shady tree,
Whaur I lay doon wi’ my love, and she gave hersel tae me.
And there upon the silvery bark, I carved her name and mine,
Oor names writ there for a’ tae see, within twa hairts entwined.

T’was there I kissed my love fareweel, beneath this ancient tree,
And telt her I’d come back for her, if she wid wait for me.
Had I but kent the years between, that kiss and comin’ hame,
I never wid hae left my love, in search o’ wealth and fame.

Twa hairts entwined, her hairt and mine,
Tae show the world twa lovers passed, this wye wi’ hairts entwined.

And every place I went I carved oor names upon a tree,
In remembrance o the lass I loved, for a’ the world tae see,
Fae Canada tae Queensland, tae Rio in Brazil,
There’s a tree oot on the Transvaal, wi oor names upon it still.

And then one day I turned aroon, and set my face for hame,
Spurred on by thochts that I would soon be seeing her again.
But sad tae say she wis engaged, tae wed anither man,
‘Til I turned up on her doorstep, and ruined a’ their plans.


For days and weeks I mourned my loss and dwelt on whit she’d done,
‘Til I resolved tae leave this toon, never tae return.
But I sent a note tae ask if she wid meet me one last time,
Beneath this tree whaur lang ago, I’d carved her name and mine.

I came upon her standing there, tears rinnin fae her een,
And I kent then the lass I loved, was still in love wi me.
So I held her close and kissed her lips, until her struggles waned,
Syne we lay doon beneath this tree, twa hairts entwined again.


The Fermers Wife And Me

On the Castlegate in Aiberdeen, ae day I took a fee,
At a place a bit ootside the toon, atween the Don and Dee,
The fermer’s wife wha fee’d me, said there’s plenty tae be done,
Though it’d jist a wee bit placie, wi’ scarce work eneuch for one.

Weel, if that’s the case said I tae her, fit need hae you o’ me?
She said, the fermer’s hurt his back, and there’s too much for me tae dee,
So I agreed tae gyang wi’ her, and loaded up my gear,
And I bid fareweel tae Aiberdeen, ‘til the hin’ end o’ the year.

T’was early the next mornin’ fin I rose up wi’ the sun,
Tae hae a look aboot the place, tae see fit must be done,
Weel, fit she said wis richt eneuch, hard work I widnae lack,
For the place wis sair neglectit since the fermer broke his back.

A month or twa went by and I soon had the place in hand,
She left me tae get on wi’ it, and we got on jist grand,
She wis a bonnie lassie, aboot twenty echt or nine,
And bein’ wi’ her every day, I soon fell for the quine.

I wis workin’ in the barn ae day, fin she comes in aboot,
She says, ‘I’ve seen ye watchin’ me, we’ll need tae hae this oot.’
But I taen her aboot the waist, and pulled her close tae me,
Syne we lay doon among the hey, the fairmers wife and me.

That summer was a happy time, but soon the hairst was by,
And a storm wis gaithering in the East, for a war wis on the wye,
Tae world affairs I peyed nae heed, my world wis on the fairm,
And I never thocht I’d hae tae leave at the November term.

Til ae day she said, “I like ye fine, I ken we’ve had rare fun,
But ye’ll need tae find anither fee ye’re job for me is done,”
A merried lass whit could I dae, though it nearly broke my hairt,
Fin she drove me intae Aiberdeen, and my love and I did pairt.

T’was nearly six month later fin I heard she had a son,
And I kent fit she wis meaning noo, fin she said my job wis done,
But afore that I could gyang tae her, the bairnie for tae see,
I wis called up tae the Gordons, for my king and country.

Fin I come hame efter the war, fairm work wis hard tae find,
So I drove an Alexander’s bus, a’ roon the countryside,
Syne she got on my bus ae day we baith got sic a shock,
And she sat wordless a’ the wye, ‘til jist before her stop.

She said I am a widow noo, my man’s lang passed away,
I think it’s time ye met yer loon, come oot on Sunday,
And gettin’ aff the bus she turned, wi’ a tear in her ‘ee,
Sayin’ niver a day went by I didnae think o’ you and me,

Aye, niver a day, in a’ the years, but I thocht o’ you and me.

The Ground She Walks Upon

I love her eyes sae broon and warm, I love her lang dark hair,
I love the wye she smiles when, she turns and sees me there,
The wye she has o’ telling me, she’s mine and mine alone,
And I love the very ground she walks upon.

The first time I set eyes on her, I kent she was for me,
Sitting in a lecture hall, at the University,
I niver heard a single word, o’ what was said that day,
For I couldnae tak my eyes aff her, in case she slipped away.


The lesson ower we a’ filed oot, and I was close behind,
She turned and gave a smile tae me, but the words I couldnae find,
And I stuttered oot, ‘You’re lovely,’ she jist smiled and said, ‘Thank you,’
As we walked alang she took my hand, and said, ‘I like ye too.’


The years hae passed, and nithing’s changed, I love her mair each day,
I loved her then, and I love her noo, and fin we’re auld and grey,
Though youth be gone, I ken she’ll still be beautiful to me,
And I’ll bless the day I met my love at the University.


My Dear Auld Frien

My dear auld frien’ it grieves me sair,
As I look doon upon ye lyin there.
The tears blin my een as I tak yer hand in mine,
And gaze upon yer face one last time.

We twa hae been thegither since we went tae school,
Whaur you looked efter me and I looked efter you.
The ither bairns at school, tormentit us and cried us names,
And if onny herm wiz done we got the blame

But spring aye came at last, and we’d a set oot,
We’d catch oorsel’s some rabbits, and guddle troot.
We tried the pearl fishin, syne heid on doon tae Blair,
But those happy days hiv passed, they’ll come nae mair.

If there is an efter-life, oh I cannae tell,
For I’ve nae belief in heaven and far less in hell.
This micht be jist like settin oot, upon the road again,
But whit’s further doon this road I dinna ken.

The life o’ a traiveller hiz prepared ye weel,
But this last bit o road yi mun tak yersel.
Tae a place whaur you can bide, wi a camp or caravan,
Whaur the weather’s fine and it’s summer a year lang.

My dear auld frien’ it grieves me sair,
As I look doon upon yi lyin there.
The tears blin my een, as I tak yer hand in mine,
And gaze upon yer face one last time.

The Slender Dark-Eyed Beauty

On a sunny Saturday morning, I was leaving Whitby,
I stopped for one last look around, to see who I might see.
That’s when she came running down the road, out for her morning run,
And she stopped and spoke to me once more, and my plans all came undone.

She was as lovely as the morning,
With her eyes of deepest brown.
The slender dark-eyed beauty,
That I met in Whitby town.

She took me to her cottage, on a hill above the bay,
And what took place that afternoon, no gentleman would say.
Well first she bade me stay for lunch, and then I stayed for tea,
And by breakfast time I knew she was the only one for me.


It was on a Sunday morning, I was leaving Whitby town,
And every mile upon the long road home, I felt like turning round.
For heading up the road I knew I’d left my heart behind,
With that lovely Yorkshire lassie, who is always on my mind.


I can hardly wait to see her, and be with her once more,
To take her in my arms again, that’s what I’m longing for.
But as soon as I can get away, I’ll turn myself around,
And get back to the lass I love, who lives in Whitby town.


The Faery Glen.

There is a wid, sae dark and deep, they cry the Faery Glen,
Whaur country folk for miles aroon are feart tae walk within.
But for a’ her mither’s warnin, she thrawnly wandered in,
And quickly found hersel’ at the dark hairt o’ Faery Glen.

A’ day lang she wandered, through the wild deserted glen,
‘Til at last fit-sair and weary she decided tae gang hame.
But syne she found a bonny burn, wi’ watters cool and deep,
And resting on the grassy bank, she fell intae a sleep.

And in her dreams a young man came, wha took her by the hand,
And led her tae his castle, in a far and distant land.
He gave her wine, he kissed her lips, he stracked her bonny hair,
And telt her she would be his Queen, and his forever mair.

Next he took her roon the waist and led her up the stairs,
And showed her tae the wedding bed, wi silks and linen fair.
Syne in her dreams she felt a pain, sae sharp, but oh sae sweet,
It pierced her tae the very core, but still she lay asleep.

Fin tae her senses she came roon, the day wis nearly done,
Her claithes were a’ in disarray, her maidenheid wis gone.
The lassie dressed sae hastily, and quickly hurried hame,
And cursed the day she fell asleep, doon in the faery glen.

Her faither ranted and he raged, her mither grat for shame.
Tae hear whit happened tae their lass doon in the Faery Glen.
Bit worse news wis tae follow on, as they were soon tae learn,
And roon aboot the month o’ Merch, the lass brought forth a bairn.

Her mither looked upon the bairn, her een grew wide wi fear.
This bairnie is a faery lass, we daur nae keep her here.
For her faither is nae mortal man, he’ll come tae claim his ain.
And tak the bairnie back wi him, intae the Faery Glen.

And richt enough that very nicht, as the hour wis growing late,
The same young man she dreamed aboot, came rattlin’ at the gate.
‘Come doon the stairs my bonnie lass, and bring tae me oor bairn,’
‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘ye’ll tak my babe, and maybe dae us hairm.’

Tae hairm ye or yer femly is the last thing on my mind,
Bit I cannae leave her here wi you in this realm o’ mortal kind
For yer life is bit a season that, flares briefly like a flame,
And if I should leave her here wi you, her life wid be the same.

The lassie handit ower the bairn, tears drappit fae her een,
‘Ye needna pairt wi her,’ he said ‘if you will be my Queen.
Say fareweel tae yer parents, for ye’ll nae see them again,
And come awa and bide wi me doon in the Faery Glen.’

‘Kind Sir my parents I’ll nae leave tae bide in Faery Glen,
For I cannae thole the thocht o’ never seein’ them again.’
‘Then fareweel lass,’ he said tae her, ‘I wish you very well,
So before I tak my leave o’ you, yer fortune I will tell.’

‘You will wed a wealthy man, a man baith good and true,
Twa laddies and a lass ye’ll hae, tae bring great joy tae you.
But you must tell them a’ this tale, and warn them very plain,
Never venture in the wids, nor sleep in Faery Glen.’
‘For the folk that dwell in Faery Glen will claim them for their ain.’

Six Lang Days 

It’s been six lang days, since I saw you, and my hert is wondrous sore.
If absence grows a fonder hert, then mine is fond for sure.
You fill my mind fae morn ‘til nicht, as it flits restless here and there,
But it’s the stillness, o’ the nicht my love, that I find hard to bear.

Then I wish, that you were here wi me, and lying by my side,
But I fear sic things can never be, and sad circumstance divides.
If I had but, one wish to wish, that wish wid be for you,
But yer frien’ I’ll be, for that’s a’ ye see, a frien’ that’s ever true.

It’s been six lang days, since I saw you, how mony mair must pass?
Afore I see the smiling face, o’ you my bonny lass.
I lang to walk beside you, like twa lovers hand in glove,
But I must reconcile mysel’, tae never ken yer love.

Weel, it micht nae seem a lang, lang time, tae them wha dinna yearn,
Tae see the smile o’ the yin ye love, and tak her in yer airms.
A quick embrace, nae lover’s kiss, but she’ll never see me froon,
And while meetin’ lifts my hert wi joy, the pairting tears it doon.

And while meetin’ lifts my hert wi joy, the pairting tears it doon.

It’s been six lang days since I saw you…

I Saw Her On The Bus

I saw her on the bus yesterday,
As she got on and sat twa or three seats in front o’ me.
And I wondered if I spoke what she micht say,
But I thocht better o’ it and sat there quietly.
As she looked oot I studied her reflection in the glass,
And thocht sometimes an auld love, is best left in the past.

This wis the face that I once kent sae weel,
The face o’ my first love that once meant everything tae me.
And here the lips that kissed me tenderly,
That smiled on me sae sweetly, and spoke o’ love tae me.
As bonnie as she ever wis, the years had been sae kind,
But sometimes auld regrets, are best left far behind.

And sitting there I cast my memory back across the years,
And wondered how a love like oors had come tae end in tears.
For even efter a’ these years gone by,
There’s a special place, within my hert, I’ll keep for her until the day I die.

I could see a wee bit grey in her hair,
The hair sae dark and lustrous that once framed her face sae fair.
And I windered whit she’d think if I sat there,
Wi’ her twa seats behind me, but wid she really care.
Or wid her hert beat faster as mine did fin I saw her,
And think sometimes auld memories are best left whaur they were.

Then a’ too soon she got up tae leave,
I watched as she got aff the bus and stood there in the street.
As the bus began tae move she noticed me,
A casual glance, that caught my eye, surprised, she smiled sweetly.
Then she reached oot her hand and touched the glass as I passed by,
And I watched her in the distance, ‘til she faded oot o’ sight.

I dinna s’pose ye’ll understand, it’s so hard tae explain,
But I couldnae tak the chance that I micht fa’ in love again,
For even efter a’ these years gone by,
There’s a special place, within my hert, I’ll keep for her until the day I die.

Until the day I die.

The Traivellin’ Kind

There’s nithin much left noo but stories,
O’ the aul days and the wye that things were.
And the aul folk’s memories are fadin sae fast,
Soon they’ll be lost, jist a thing o’ the past.

It’s nae traivellin that maks ye a traiveller,
It’s jist something that’s bred in yer bones.
And even in hooses, it’s still in oor minds,
For we ken whit we are, we’re the traivellin’ kind.

Twa wars put an end tae the rovin,
As the years merched on and life changed.
And little by little the femilies took root,
Settled in hooses, stopped traivellin’ aboot.


Nae campfires tae sit roon wi aul friens,
Tae tell the aul stories and sangs.
And hae a wee dram and a bit spit and crack,
It’s faded awa and it’s nae coming back.


The young folk hae a merriet scaldies,
And the cant scarcely touches their tongues.
And though some are ashamed o’ the place whaur they came,
Maist are still prood o’ their folk and their name.


Walker Dam

By the banks o’ Walker Dam I strolled, one evening in July,
T’was jist aboot the gloamin time, when a lass I chanced to spy,
Standin’ by the watter side, sae lovely but sae wan,
She followed me as I passed by, and boldly took my hand.

I think you are mistaken lass, I said tae her at last,
For I am not the man you seek, although I wish I was,
Thou art, she said, for many times, I’ve watched thee feed the swans,
And tonight thy kindness is repaid, on the banks o’ Walker Dam.

She took my airm and bade me follow, her amang the trees,
A quiet place we found at last, and syne she turned tae me,
Sir, I shall be thy queen tonight, and thou – my chosen man,
Shall be The King O’ Swans this night, on the banks o’ Walker Dam.

So in her bower deep in the wids, wi’ moonlight all around,
Oor passions high we seemed to fly, her skin was saft as down,
But when I woke at last next day, I searched on every hand,
The lass was gone, I was alone, on the banks o’ Walker Dam.

On moonlit nichts she comes tae me, her voice is saft but clear,
As dreaming in my bed I lie, she whispers in my ear,
We shall meet again my love, on the same night each July,
If thou love me, and constant be, together we shall lie.

On the banks o’ Walker Dam I stroll, to feed the swans each day,
Aye thinking o’ my lovely lass, as the cygnets roon me play,
Wi’ her milk-white skin and flaxen hair, as graceful as a swan,
She fair enthralled me weel that nicht, on the banks o’ Walker Dam.

Aye the lass enthralled me weel that nicht on the banks o’ Walker Dam.