Next mornin’ tae the kirk we gaed.
Sittin’ we sang an’ standin’ prayed,
An’ listened as the preacher said,
Time after time,
In English that was stiff an’ staid,
“Sssin iss a cri-i-ime.”
The afternoon wis spent at ease
Beside Loch Torridon’s still seas.
We pottered around feeling at peace
An’ free o’ care,
Drank tea, sang hymns and wrote P.C.s
A visit rare!
The Chalet! Folk wid think us dotty!
Methinks we shol ha’e had a phottie,
O Betty emptyin’ the — Naughty”
Hoo daur ye say it!
We slept gey weel in the oot bye bothy
An’ again we’d dae it.
North again, the weather grey,
Thinkin’ aye o’ Gruinard Bay
An’ a’ the things we’d heard folk say
O’ this water chute.
Old wives tales! We’d tae stop an’d reverse up the brae
An’ thocht naethin’ o’ it.
We stopped for a cuppa an’ them moved on
T’wards Braemore Lodge. Ha’e ye min’ o’ yon.
Singin’ o’ rhymes that went on an’ on
By Little Loch Broom.
Don’t ask us why we had tae be drawin’
Intae a quarry soon.
Oot o’ the quarry whit should we see
But a Rover, wi’ the letters PVC –
The folk wha’d followed us faithfully
On the Sligachan road
We tooted an’ waved tae them heartily
Then on we rode.
Corriseshalloch viewed an’ a phottie took
We skirted Loch Broom an’ oor very firdt look
O’ Ullapool wis jist like a picture book
Wi’ it’s fishin’ fleet.
We, hungry as usual, started to look
Fur a place tae eat.
Later we took oorsel’s back thro’ the toon
Tae the Smithy , whaur we lookit aroon’,
An’ a’ spent mair than ae half croon
On things o’ worth.
Then, tempus fugitting, turned oorsel’s roon’
An’ headed morth.
Ledmore Junction, Loch Assynt,
The mood hilarious an’ me ahint.
The sterring wheel an’ nearly blin’t
By tears o’ mirth.
On roads that bent an’ turned an’ clim’t
Fur a’ they were worth.
We handed oot cards tae a G.P.O van,
On a rock in a burn we made Jessie stan’,
Richt on tae the ferry at Kylesku we ran
The fourth o’ fower.
Next day it broke doon, we un’er stan’,
An’ naeb’dy got ower.
In Scourie we settled tae stey the nicht;
A B. & B. board wis a welcome sicht.
At the very first hoose. We got fixed a’ richt
But nae meal could be had.
If we went tae the Scourie Hotel we micht
Be fed there. ‘Twas too bad!
We did just that an’ dined in style,
We fishers roon’ us a’ the while.
Ae joker fairly went his mile
Aboot the haggis –
That bonne burd! He didnae beguile
The lad from Paris.