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“The Rapid” Alex Craig 56
In Praise of Gourdon and the Maggie Law
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Jim Stewart
Gie me the wee placie that nestles sae close O’re the edge of the Braes whar the wild billows toss Unspoiled by the cantrips o’modern art, Rekindlin’ sae aften a warmth in my heart. Down yonder I’ve pleasures mid sunshine and faem; In hillock, in hollow I’m countit the same. Nae place in Warld’s like Gourdon my hame.
Alex Craig: written during WW II
A little village called Gourdon, On the North East coast doth stand, And although it’s small it is to me, The best place in the land.
Situated at the foot of a hill, Its shores washed by the seas, It bears the stormy winter’s blast, Enjoys the summer breeze.
When the stormy winter comes, And with it, the South East storm, The raging seas dash on the streets. Ah, then it is forlorn!
But when the glorious summer comes, And in the morning when you arise, You look around, and then you see, A place like Paradise.
If you leave this dear old place, You leave the salt-sea air. Then, you realise the place you’ve left Is a place beyond compare.
Some folks have left this dear old place And left it with good will But something seems to draw them back To the place at the foot of the hill.
