Jockie Fergie, John Corner, there’s lots more to say, Georgina’s parrot squawking “Frankie” all day. Mac – the stationmaster – there’s no station, no train, People and places – only memories remain. But if you can recall just a few of these things, And enjoy happy thoughts remembering brings, Then all I can say is very plain to see, You were surely brought up in Gourdon – the same as me.
“Gurden Herber” (1950s) Celia Craig Fin I wis a lassie in Gurden It wis doon at the herber we’d be The hale lang, glorious summer, Watchin the boats comin in fae the sea. Harvester, Reaper and Happy Return, Star o’ Bethlehem, Quest an aa But the best o them aa wis the Trustful, My father, the Skipper sae braw. Past the auld, curvin horse-shoe braakwater Syne landin their catch on the pier, Then salesman, and merchants cam clusterin roond At the fish market, makin a steer. Yellow oilskins, blue een and a smile, My father wis in fae the sea. The partans and labsters were landit Wi maybe a fry ti wir tea. It wis gey cauld and dreich in the winter My mither wis baitin the line Fin a gale drove the Trustful past Gurden And she thocht that my father she’d tine. Soakin weet, they had made the next herber, Then hame, safe and sound in his bed. Eneuch o thae coorse, drublie winters Bring back glorious summers instead.
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