Song of the Gillie More

      O horo the Gillie More

Whits the ploy yere on sae early?

Braw news, sae tell it rarely

      O horo the Gillie More

News o him, yon muckle callant    Whistlin at the smiddy door.

Tak your bow, for heres your ballant

      O horo the Gillie More

 

      O horo the Gillie More

Come awa an gies your blether

Heres a dramll droon the weather

      O horo the Gillie More

Sons o birk an pine an rowan

   Jocks and Ivans by the score

Swappin yarns tae cowe the gowan

      O horo the Gillie More

 

      O horo the Gillie More

Noos the time, the haimmers ready,

Haud the tangs -- ay, haud them steady 

      O horo the Gillie More

Gar the iron ring, avallich!

Gar it ring frae shore tae shore.

Leith tae Kiev -- Don tae Gairloch

       O horo the Gillie More

 

      O horo the Gillie More"

Heres a weld'll wear forever.

_Oor_ grup they canna sever

      O horo the Gillie More"

Anes the wish yokes us thegither -  

   Anes the darg that lies afore.

You an me: the man, the brither!

       Me an you: the Gillie More

As printed in Arthur Argos Chapbook magazine Vol 3, No 6; c1966  Among messages of fraternal good wishes exchanged during Scottish- Soviet friends  Week, at the height of the Cold War, was one "From the Blacksmiths of Leith to the Blacksmiths of Kiev."

This song was published by the Associated Blacksmiths Forge and  Smithy Workers Society to commemorate that event.

 

The West Highland Division's Farewell to Sicily

The pipie is dozie, the pipie is fey

He winna come roon for his vino the day

The sky ow’r Messina is unco an grey

An a' the bricht chaulmers are eerie

 

Then fare weel, ye banks o Sicily,

Fare ye weel, ye valley and shaw

There’s nae Jock will mourn the kyles o ye,

Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie

 

Fare weel, ye banks o Sicily,

Fare ye weel ye valley and shaw

There’s nae hame can smoor the wiles o ye,

Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie

 

Then doon the stair and line the waterside,

Wait your turn, the ferry’s awa

Then doon the stair and line the waterside

A’ the bricht chaulmers are eerie

 
The drummie is polisht, the drummie is braw

He cannae be seen for his webbin ava.

He’s beezed himsel up for a photo an a’

Tae leave wi his Lola, his dearie.

 

Fare weel, ye banks o Sicily

(Fare ye weel, ye shieling an ha’)

We’ll a’ mind shebeens and bothies

Whaur Jock made a date wi his dearie

 

Sae fare weel, ye dives o Sicily

(Fare ye weel, ye shieling an ha’)

We’ll a’ mind shebeens and bothies

Whaur kind signorinas were cheerie

 

Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum

(Leave your kit this side o the wa)

Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum

A’ the bricht chaulmers are eerie