Some Cruden Folk

Respecting Sir, Yer note to han', I'll try an' do the best I can, At your request:

An' so I'll mention ower a few, auld Cruden folk, an 'sen't to you-, Ye'll guess the rest.

Wi' pleasure I tak' up my pen, an' hearty thanks to you I sen', For your kin' letter

The hamelan's dear to you, indeed, as often you would like to read, The Buchan paper.

A word o' cheer fae such as you, wha's sailed upon the ocean blue, The warl' o'er

it cheers the bard it gars 'im sing, the only fee efforts bring, He seeks no more.

I mim' on Jamie Wilken, Stones, as fine a chiel as was amon's-, He's ower the border;

An' Forbes Druggist, Chapelhill, he'll stan' nae mair behind a till, to tak' an' order.

Then Willie Robb I kent him weel, a stout, hard workin' honest chiel, He's livin' still;

But for the Daniels o' the Gask, to trace them noo would be a task, I'd ne'er fulfil.

Or is it Johnny Robb, the hedger, ye hae doon on your memory's ledger,- He's hale an' fit;

The parish school whaur yr did learn, the ABC when but a b airn, Is standin' yet.

Twas there whaur lived Auld Brochan Robbie; fae fairmers he got mony a jobbie to cure their cattle;

An' Robbie's potions whiles did cure them,

though some could scarcely weel endure them, An' then 'twas fatal.

The Reids O' Gask for whom ye speer, are somewhaur noo aboot Old Deer- That's a' I've heard yet;

But for the Andersons an' Greys, ye used to ken in bygone days, I've got nae word yet.

Auld Geordie Walker o' Aflaw, some months ago he wore awa', To his last hame;

Likewise the man ca'd Sandy Logan, wha kept the licenced shop at Teuchan, O' noted fame.

Then Johnnie Lendrum that ye mention, he disna need to draw his pension, In kingdom come;

Perhaps ye didna ken young Johnnie, wha plooed a rig as weel as ony, An better than some.

But there's nae Lendrums noo ava, they roupit oot an' sailed awa', To foreign clime;

But whatna toon or whatna place, their wanderin's I may try an trace, Some ither time.

The meantime I'll make some inquiries, roon Teuchan wye ayont Auchiries, Then lat ye ken

But next time I may write in prose, so noo I will draw to a close,, An dicht my pen.

Then Shepherd, tae, of Aldie fame, Across the howe fae your auld hame- He's gone lang syne;

But Shepherd's work it still remains, The land's improved wi' dykes an' drains, An' steadin' fine.

He built a mansion on the hill, An' planted trees they're thriving still, On Aldie's Brae;

A chiminey staly he built forby- A sailors land mark 'twixt the sky, I've heard them say.

The Braco burn ye used ti ken, Still wimples fae North Aldie glen, As when a boy

Ye listened to the cushat's croon, Or watched the laverock soar aboon, to sing wi' joy.

Auld Souter Low, the decent carle, he's left this for anither warl', Some years ago.

Forby's auld Charlie Alexander, On Waterslack he'd mony a dander, Baith to and fro.