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| ORKNEYINGA SAGA (With apologies to Sir Patrick Spens) The speaker his telt a wondrous tale O a land o midnight sun, And the Field Club sighs in the winter gloom Efter her tale is done. The chairman sits at the table tap Drinkin the peat broon tea. Oh faar will I get companions bold Ti sail tae the North wi me? "The Stannin Staens of Stenness, It's them that I maan see, An the Burial Mound at Maeshowe, It's in it I maan be!" Then up an spak an eldern knicht In the middle o the ha', "Ti sail awa ti Northern shores There's little need at aa. "There's stirrin tales an stannin staens Aa up an doon Strath Spey, An aal kirkyards an ruin't toors Ti laist ye mony a day. "There's fish an chips in Fochabers An mair in Aberlour An here's a faithfu knicht an bold Will gyang wi ye on yer tour. "In Orkney it does rain foo sair, The win it howls aboot. Fim win an rain hiv baith dee't doon, The midges they come oot." Then up spak the chairman And an haughty deem wis she. "I will sut gyang tae Orkeney, An withoot yer company!" It fell aboot the Lammas Tide When B & Bs win their fee, Twa members an the chairman gweed Hiv sailed across the sea. The eldern knicht he beat his breast, "I warn't them weel," said he, "There's nane o them his stammacks for This sailin ower the sea. "Yestreen they aa weighed fourteen steen, The nicht they'll weigh but three. They winna be fit for tatties nor beef Nor even a cup o tea." They hidna sailed a mile, a mile, A mile bit barely ane, When the Chairman ti the Treas'rer says, "My breakfast, it is gane!" They hidna sailed a mile, a mile, A mile bit barely twa, When the Chairman ti the Secretar says, "My denner, it's awa!" They hidna sailed a mile, a mile, A mile bit barely three, When the Chairman ti her Maker says, "I wish that I could dee!" But fim they cam ti Stromness pier Firm grun's wondrous thing They cam breengin down the gangplank Like stirks looten lowse in spring. Oh mony wis the Damart sark They'd packet in their kist, An sic a freight o midgie cream The ship wis like ti list. But ilki day the sun beat doon Oot o a blue, blue sky, An never a midge did twitch a wing An never a clood sailed by. The Stannin Staens o Stenness Waar shimmering in the heat, An the sunless slabs in Maeshowe Waar warm aneth their feet. They sailed across a mirror sea Ti aa the islands roon An took photographs o simmer floo'ers That nae wind e'er blew upon. They ate wild salmon in Orphir, Bere bannocks in Ronaldsay An fennel broth and hame made bread In a howff near Skara Brae. They hae written a bonnie postcard, Pitten on a first class stamp An sent it ti the eldern knicht In Banffshire caal and damp. The first line that the gweed knicht read Lood and lang looch he. The next line that the gweed knicht read, A saat tear blinned his e'e. "They're neither drenched nor gale tossed, Nae midge his left its lair, An the Orkney maet is marvellous. They will bide forever mair! "The Isle o Hether Blether O Orkney peat fire fame His surely laid a spell on them An claimed them for its ain!" O lang, lang will the Field Club look Across the rollin firth Or they see yon intrepid three Come sailin fae the north. O lang, lang will the Field Club wait At their next AGM Or the floo'er o their Committee Come sailin back ti them. |
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| © P J Goodall | ||
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