The Cruden Water – Cruden Poem

The Cruden Water

Come sing a sang o’Cruden Burn’, there’s music in the name;

Altho’ I fear I’ll never sing, oor burnie into fame.

Tho’ some may say ye needna care, it’s but a moonshine matter

An’ think there’s naething to be said, aboot the Cruden Water.

There’s some that sing aboot the Don, some sing aboot the Dee,

Jist let them sing I dinna care, it’s a’ the same to me.

But when they rave on Ugie side, I feel as mad’s a hatter

To think there’s name to sing aboot, the bonnie Cruden Water.

Altho’ its course it may be short, that fact it winna hide,

But oft in artificial lade, I’ve watched the water glide

Until it turned the Millers wheel, wi’eident rush an’ splatter,

Then races on ance mair to join, the bonnie Cruden Water.

When wimplin’ doon fae Dudwick hill, ‘tis but a sparlin’ rill

Until it meet Ardallie burn, nearby Auchleuchries Mill,

An’ when we pass the Miller’s door, we hear the happer clatter,

O woe betide the Miller if, there wasna Cruden Water.

Then past Auquharney wood sae braw, mid fields in summer green,

She winds her way doon Cruden howe, half hid in banks atween.

Past mony a farm and farmyard, whaur spurgies chirp an’ chatter,

An’ mony a wheel to grind oor meal, is turned by Cruden Water .

An’ when I chance to view the scene, it aye brings to my min’

When I used to paddle in the stream, whem summer days were fine,

When toddlin’ ower the Hatton brig, the bairnies’ feet fair patter,

What time the skweel is scalin’ near, the bonnie Cruden Water.

‘Tis here she meets the burnie, that Comes doon by Hatton toon,

Whaur often I hae fished for trout,Till gloamin’ it cam’ doon.

But when she comes to Uppermill, again her channels scatter

Aince mair to turn the Miller’s wheel, the eident Cruden Water.

By pinky braes she winds her way, then eastwards taks a turn,

An’ here her volume does increase, fed by the Aldie burn.

If ony ask the reason why, the Miller’s purse gets fatter,

It is because we chance to hae, an eident Cruden Water.

Then doon the Haughs o’ Nethermill, the water gently flows,

The Scots here made their final stand, against their Danish foes.

An’ as the battle did proceed, her babks they did bespatter

Wi’ their life’s blood, alas that day, twas bloody Cruden Water.

An’ when the struggle ended, lo, Such numbers lay around,

They built a chapel on the spot, to consecrate the ground.

The Danes were routed in the fight, ‘I dinna mean to flatter’,

But Scots their mettle proved that day, beside the Cruden Water.

I’ve seen ye as a tiny stream, in summer rippling clear,

I’ve seen ye racin’ muddy, grim, n wintry landscape drear.

Whiles flooding o’er rich loamy haughs, an’ leaving them like batter,

That gars the fairmer boddies say, a plague on Cruden Water.

Whiles racin’ o’er yer shingly bed, now swirling in a pool,

Whiles sparkling in the noonday sun, now gliding dark and cool.

Ye’ve been the same for ages. When, my sonnet’s in a a tatter

Ye’ll still be flowing to the sea, ye Bonnie Cruden Water.

So here on Cruden’s sandy beach, she meets the rolling tide

To get lost within the Ocean, an’ get scattered far an’ wide.

Now when they brag ‘boot Ugieside, we winna heed their chatter,

But aye keep up oor side an’ sing, the bonnie Cruden Water.