Resonance (2000)

  1. Weepers I Shall Wear
  2. Nae Gentle Dames Tho Ne’er Sae Fair
  3. Jimmy’s Gone to Flanders
  4. Lochanside
  5. The Workers’ Song
  6. Huntin the Buntin
  7. In the Land
  8. Rohallion
  9. Cruel Sister
  10. Tam o Shanter (Part 2)
  11. There Grows a Bonny Briar Bush

Weepers I shall wear
(Trad; arranged Malcolm MCPS PRS)

Along the charming banks of Tweed
All on a summer’s eve
It was near to bonny Kelso town
Twas there I took my leave
The leaves were withering on the trees
The nightingale sang clear
When I stepped out with a lightsome heart
To see my dearest dear.

hadn’t walked but half a mile
When my true love I spied
She was walking slowly by herself
Just like a blooming bride
Well I flung my arms about her waist
As we walked slowly on

And around the straits of her braw gown
The heather bells hung down
But six weeks later after this
A letter I received

Saying my true love she was laid low
And at the death of her I grieved
My black clothes I will put on
And weepers I shall wear
All for the sake of my bonny girl
That once I loved so dear.

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Nae Gentle Dames Tho Ne’er Sae Fair
(Robert Burns, arranged Malcolm, pub Malcolm)

Nae gentle dames, tho’ ne’er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse’s care:
Their titles a’ are empty show;
Gie me my Highland Lassie, O.

Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O,
I set me down wi’ right good will.
To sing my Highland Lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland Lassie, O.

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea!
But while my crimson currents flow,
I’ll love my Highland Lassie, O.

Altho’ through foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honour’s glow,
My faithful Highland Lassie, O.

For her I’ll dare the billow’s roar,
For her I’ll trace the distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland Lassie, O.

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred truth and honour’s band!
‘Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I’m thine, my Highland Lassie, O!

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O!

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Jimmy¹s Gone to Flanders
(Tunes trad; words Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)

Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, his fiddle lies upon his bed
It was his father¹s fiddle, though he¹s aye been shy to practise it
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, his fishing creel¹s a tangle
From the night he and Willie fished the Earn though there was no moon

Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, he¹s spoilt the old dog rotten
With scraps below the table, though I told him time and time again
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, his football boots are sodden
For they¹ve no been near dubbing since he bought them new frae Sandy Broon

When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders he¹ll be shamed to clean thae football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders we¹ll be sat down by the table
And we¹ll coax him to his fiddle: ³Jimmy, gie us the Bonawe Highlanders.²

Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, though he had a job at Logie¹s yard
But all the lads were joining, it¹ll all by over by Christmas time
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, though he¹s no¹ the strength his father was,
I¹m sure he¹ll be worthy and that Jocky would have burst with pride.

Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, and I ken he has a lassie
Her father saw them walking by themselves below the Falls of May
Jimmy¹s gone to Flanders, he¹s as secret as his father was
But I caught her weeping as the sergeant marched him to the train.

When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders he¹ll be shamed to clean thae football boots
And sort out all thon tangle, for the Earn I hear is fishing good
When Jimmy¹s home from Flanders we¹ll be sat down by the table
And we¹ll coax him to his fiddle: ³Jimmy, gie us the Bonawe

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(Tune McLellan; words and arrangement Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS; pub Malcolm)

Come the winter, cold and dreary
Brings the hawk down from the high scree
to the whins where snowy hares hide
All around the Lochanside
Come the spring the land lies weary
Till the sun shines out so cheery
Brings the bloom, for all of June¹s pride
All around the Lochanside

If you’d been you¹d have seen the scatter
O the peezies o¹er the machair
When above the tawny owl glides
All around the Lochanside
And the heron he comes a-creeping
Through the rashes so green and dreeping
to the pool where wily trout slide
All around the Lochanside

Aye if you ever have a reason
To be here in any season
Come and try the barley bree in
Round the fire on Lochanside
Summer time the fish are louping
Dippers in the burnies couping
Swallows fly from dawn til evens-tide
All around the Lochanside
By the autumn the pinks are winging
Blaeberries o¹er the moors are hanging
Salmon through the surging spate fight
All around the Lochanside

If ye¹d been ye¹d have seen the scatter
O the peezies o¹er the machair
When above the tawny owl glides
All around the Lochanside
Aye if you ever have a reason
To be here in any season
Come and try the barley bree in
Round the fire on Lochanside
Aye if you ever have a notion
To be welcomed with devotion
Travel home o¹er any ocean
To be here on Lochanside.

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The Workers’ Song
(Words and music Ed Pickford; arranged Malcolm; pub Pickford)

Come all of you workers
Who toil night and day
By hand and by brain
To earn your pay
Who for centuries long past
For no more than your bread
Have bled for your country
And counted your dead

In the factories and mills
In the shipyards and mines
We’ve often been told to keep up with the times
For our skills are not needed
They’ve streamlined the job
And with sliderule and stopwatch
Our pride has been robbed

But when the sky darkens
And the prospect is war
Who’s given a gun
And then pushed to the fore
And expected to die
For the land of our birth
When we’ve never owned
One handful of earth?

We’re the first ones to starve
The first ones to die
The first ones in line
For that pie in the sky
And always the last
When the cream is shared out
For the worker’s aye working
When the fat cat’s about

For all these things
The worker has done
From tilling the fields
To carrying the gun
We’ve been yoked to the plough
Since time first began
And always expected
To carry the can.

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Huntin the Buntin
(Words and music Gavin Stevenson; arranged Malcolm; pub Grian Music)

A yellow hammer, could be a fitting term
Tae a gutless joiner
Ah but hardly well, could that lend itself,
Tae a sweet one-liner
I’ve often heard it called the Scots canary
And the name is tae my like
Tae me it’s aye been, and it’ll aye be
The bonny wee yella yite.

Yon wee yella-heided bird, I see rising frae the stour
A song o breid and cheese, brought on a summer’s breeze
Frae a post afore the muir
Brings fond memories back, tae a stony track
Where harebells nod, neath the rabbity whins
And winds its way below, yon wee beech row
That was shaped with the wind

Tis there where finer grass, starts giving way tae thresh
This foarer on, gives way tae heather
We sat yin nicht, by yon aul merch dyke
and a picture bricht, wis formed forever
As if a wish command, yon wee yite should land
An oh it was a jewel, a jewel set in all its splendour
Standing well out frae, all thon lichen shades o grey
One I was bound tae remember.

And weel I recall, a kindly soul that me and Davie,
We met way up yonder
As the wee yite sang, there came a nice old man
And he passed on to us, a thing o’ wonder
He wove us a rose frae the threshes’ heart
Wish I could lend fur finer setting
For o jist how yon aul man wove thon rose
See me, ah’ve ne’er forgotten
Repeat first verse.

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In the Land
(Jim Malcolm MCPS PRS)

In the land of the wild and the free
In the land that still belongs to you and me
In the land where the motorways are few
And the kids still come running home from school

In the land of the wild and the good
In the land, from Valley Strand to Holyrood
In the land, where the good old songs remain
And the boys still go out playing, even in the rain.

But there’s still so many things we must improve
Cos the roads are jammed with people on the move
And the farmers need to clean our rivers’ flow
And to give the native trees a chance to grow.

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(Words Violet Jacob; music Jim Reid; arranged Malcolm; pub Springthyme Music)

Ma buits are at rest on the midden
I haenae a plack
Ma breeks are no dandy anes, forrit
and waur at the back
On the road that comes oot o the Hielands
I see as I trayvel the airth
Frae the braes at the back o Rohallion
The reek abune Perth

There’s a canny wee hoose wi a gairden
In the neuk o Strathspey
Ma mither is bakin the bannocks
The weans are at play
And at gloamin ma feyther the shepherd
Looks doon for a blink o the licht
As he gethers the yowes at the shieling
Tae fauld them at nicht.

There isnae a hoose that could haud me
Frae here tae the sea
When a wind frae the braes o Rohallion
Comes creepin tae me
And niver a lowe frae the ingle
Can draw like the trail an the shine
O the stars in the loch o Rohallion
A fitstep o mine.

There’s snaw i’ the wind and the weepies
Hang deid on the shaw
An pale the leaves left on the rowan
I’m soothward awa
But a voice like a wraith blaws ahint me
And sings as I’m liftin ma pack
I am waiting, Rohallion, Rohallion
My lad ye’ll be back.

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Cruel Sister
(Trad; arranged Malcolm; pub Malcolm)

There lived a lady by the North Sea shore
Lay the bairn tae the bonny broom
Twa daughters were the bairns she bore
Fa na na na na na na na na na

One was as bright as is the sun
So coal black grew the other one

A knight came riding to the ladies’ door
He travelled far to be their woo’er

And he courted one there with gloves and rings
But he loved the other above all things

Oh sister, sister won’t you walk with me
And see the ships sail upon the sea

As they stood on that windy shore
The elder sister pushed the young girl o’er

Sometimes she sank there sometimes she swam
Kind sister reach to me your hand

And there she flaoted just like a swan
The salt sea carried her body on

Two minstrels walking by the North Sea strand
They saw the maiden float to land

They made a harp out of her breast bone
The sound of which would melt a heart of stone

They took three locks of her yellow hair
And with them strung that harp so rare

They took it up into her father’s halls
To play the harp before them all

They placed the harp upon a stone
And it began to play alone

The first string it made a doleful sound
The younger sister she is drowned

The second string that those minstrels tried
Then terror seized the black-haired bride

The third string it played beneath their bow
And surely now her tears will flow

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Tam o Shanter (Part 2)
(Words Robert Burns; music and arrangement Jim Malcolm; pub Malcolm)

To our tale: Ae market night
Tam had got planted unco right
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely
Wi reaming swats that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a very brither
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi sangs an’ clatter
And aye the ale was growing better;
The landlady and Tam grew gracious
Wi secret favours, sweet and precious:
The souter tauld his queerest stories
The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus
The storm without may rair and rustle
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drown’d himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi lades o treasure
The minutes winged their way wi pleasure
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious
O’er a’ the ills o life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river
A moment white – then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.
Nae man can tether time nor tide,
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
and sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.

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There Grows a Bonny Briar Bush/Duncan Gray
(Words and music Robert Burns; arranged Malcolm; pub Malcolm)

There grows a bonny briar bush in our kailyard (x2)
And below the bonny briar bush, there’s a lassie and a lad
And they’re busy, busy courting in our kailyard.

We’ll court nae mair below the buss in our kailyard
We’ll awa tae Athole’s green, there we’ll no be seen
Where the trees and the branches will be our safeguard

Will ye gang tae the dancing in Carlyle’s Ha’
Where Sandy and Nancy I’m sure will ding them a?
I winna gang tae the dance in Carlyle’s Ha

What will ye do for a lad when Sandy gangs awa?
I’ll awa tae Edinbra and win a penny fee
And see if any bonny lad will fancy me.

Duncan Gray came here tae woo
(Ha, ha the wooing o’t)
On a blyth Yule nicht when we were fu
(Ha, ha the wooing o’t)

Maggie coost her head fu high
Look’s asklant and unco skeigh
Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh
(Ha, ha the wooing o’t)

Time and Chance are but a tide,
Slighted love is sair tae bide,
‘Shall I like a fool’ quoth he,
‘For a haughty hizzy die.
She can go to France for me,’
(Ha, ha the wooing o’t)

How it comes let doctors tell
Meg grew sick as he grew hale
Something in her bosom wrings
For relief a sigh she brings
O her een they spak such things
(Ha, ha the wooing o’t)

Duncan was a lad o grace
Maggie’s was a piteous case
Duncan couldna be her death
Swelling pity smoor’d his wrath
Now they’re crouse and canty baith
(Ha, ha the wooing o’t)

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