Violet Jacob
Violet Jacob (1 September 1863 – 9 September 1946)
Baltic Street
My dainty lass, lay you the blame
Upon the richtfu’ heid;
‘Twas daft ill-luck that bigg’d yer hame
The wrang side o’ the Tweed.
Ye hae yer tocher a’ complete,
Ye’re bonny as the rose,
But I was born in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!
Lang syne on mony a waefu’ nicht,
Hie owre the sea’s distress,
I’ve seen the great airms o’ the licht
Swing oot frae Scurdyness;
An’ prood, in sunny simmer blinks,
When land-winds rase an’ fell,
I’d flee my draigon on the links
Wi’ callants like mysel’.
Oh, Baltic Street is cauld an’ bare
An’ mebbe no sae grand,
But ye’ll feel the smell i’ the caller air
O’ kippers on the land.
‘Twixt kirk an’ street the deid fowk bide,
Their feet towards the sea,
Ill neebours for a new-made bride,
Gin ye come hame wi’ me.
The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass,
The seamen’s hidden banes,
A dour-like kirk to an English lass
Wha kens but English lanes;
And when the haar, the winter through,
Creeps blind on close and wa’
My hame micht get a curse frae you,
Mysel’ get mebbe twa.
I’ll up an’ aff the morn’s morn
To seek some reid-haired queyn,
Bauld-he’rted, strang-nieved, bred an’ born
In this auld toon o’ mine.
And oh! for mair I winna greet,
Gin we hae meal an’ brose,
And a but an’ ben in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!
My dainty lass, lay you the blame
Upon the richtfu’ heid;
‘Twas daft ill-luck that bigg’d yer hame
The wrang side o’ the Tweed.
Ye hae yer tocher a’ complete,
Ye’re bonny as the rose,
But I was born in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!
Lang syne on mony a waefu’ nicht,
Hie owre the sea’s distress,
I’ve seen the great airms o’ the licht
Swing oot frae Scurdyness;
An’ prood, in sunny simmer blinks,
When land-winds rase an’ fell,
I’d flee my draigon on the links
Wi’ callants like mysel’.
Oh, Baltic Street is cauld an’ bare
An’ mebbe no sae grand,
But ye’ll feel the smell i’ the caller air
O’ kippers on the land.
‘Twixt kirk an’ street the deid fowk bide,
Their feet towards the sea,
Ill neebours for a new-made bride,
Gin ye come hame wi’ me.
The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass,
The seamen’s hidden banes,
A dour-like kirk to an English lass
Wha kens but English lanes;
And when the haar, the winter through,
Creeps blind on close and wa’
My hame micht get a curse frae you,
Mysel’ get mebbe twa.
I’ll up an’ aff the morn’s morn
To seek some reid-haired queyn,
Bauld-he’rted, strang-nieved, bred an’ born
In this auld toon o’ mine.
And oh! for mair I winna greet,
Gin we hae meal an’ brose,
And a but an’ ben in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!
She was particularly known for her poems in the Angus dialect.
The Wild Geese, which takes the form of a conversation between the poet and the North Wind, is a sad poem of longing for home. It was set to music as Norlan' Wind and popularised by Angus singer and songmaker Jim Reid and modern groups like Frightened Rabbit.
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The Wild Geese (also known as "The Norlan Wind").
ReplyDeleteViolet Jacob (1863 - 1946), was born Violet Kennedy-Erskine into an aristocratic family near Montrose, Angus. She is known best for her historical novel "Flemington" and her poetry. In 1894 she married an Irish officer Arthur Jacob in the British Army and travelled to India.
When Arthur died in 1936, she returned to live at Kirriemuir, in Angus.
Although the poem describes a conversation between the wind and a wild goose, it may describe her time in India.
The Wild Geese
'Oh, tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' norlan
As ye cam' blawin' frae the land that's niver frae my mind?
My feet they trayvel England, but I'm deein' for the north—'
'My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o' Forth.'
'Aye, Wind, I ken them well eneuch, and fine they fa' and rise,
And fain I'd feel the creepin' mist on yonder shore that lies,
But tell me, ere ye passed them by, what saw ye on the way ?'
'My man, I rocked the rovin' gulls that sail abune the Tay.'
'But saw ye naethin', leein' Wind, afore ye cam' to Fife?
There's muckle lyin' yont the Tay that's mair to me nor life.'
'My man, I swept the Angus braes ye haena trod for years—'
'O Wind, forgie a hameless loon that canna see for tears!—'
'And far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee,
A lang, lang skein o' beatin' wings wi' their heids towards the sea,
And aye their cryin' voices trailed ahint them on the air—'
'O Wind, hae maircy, haud yer whisht, for I daurna listen mair!'
Baltic Street
ReplyDeleteMy dainty lass, lay you the blame
Upon the richtfu’ heid;
‘Twas daft ill-luck that bigg’d yer hame
The wrang side o’ the Tweed.
Ye hae yer tocher a’ complete,
Ye’re bonny as the rose,
But I was born in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!
Lang syne on mony a waefu’ nicht,
Hie owre the sea’s distress,
I’ve seen the great airms o’ the licht
Swing oot frae Scurdyness;
An’ prood, in sunny simmer blinks,
When land-winds rase an’ fell,
I’d flee my draigon on the links
Wi’ callants like mysel’.
Oh, Baltic Street is cauld an’ bare
An’ mebbe no sae grand,
But ye’ll feel the smell i’ the caller air
O’ kippers on the land.
‘Twixt kirk an’ street the deid fowk bide,
Their feet towards the sea,
Ill neebours for a new-made bride,
Gin ye come hame wi’ me.
The steeple shades the kirkyaird grass,
The seamen’s hidden banes,
A dour-like kirk to an English lass
Wha kens but English lanes;
And when the haar, the winter through,
Creeps blind on close and wa’
My hame micht get a curse frae you,
Mysel’ get mebbe twa.
I’ll up an’ aff the morn’s morn
To seek some reid-haired queyn,
Bauld-he’rted, strang-nieved, bred an’ born
In this auld toon o’ mine.
And oh! for mair I winna greet,
Gin we hae meal an’ brose,
And a but an’ ben in Baltic Street,
In Baltic Street, Montrose!