Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GRANNIE'S CRACK ABOUT THE FAMINE IN AULD SCOTLAN' IN 1739-40, by JANET HAMILTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GRANNIE'S CRACK ABOUT THE FAMINE IN AULD SCOTLAN' IN 1739-40, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Oh, saw ye e'er sic witless bairns
Last Line: "may see sic times—sae sad an' sair."
Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson
Subject(s): Grandparents; Scotland; Grandmothers; Grandfathers; Great Grandfathers; Great Grandmothers


"OH, saw ye e'er sic witless bairns,
Sic wasterie o' blessin's gi'en?
Oh, had they dree'd what we ha'e dree'd,
Oh, had they seen what we ha'e seen!

"See hoo they break the gude ait-cake,
An' spit the moolins oot their mou';
They're lucky fu', an' lucky het,
An' lucky near the mill, I trow."

Sae spak' my gutcher, roun' his chair
His ain gran' bairns were makin' fun,
Aft teddin' frae their careless hauns
Their bits o' pieces on the grun'.

"Gude bless the bairns," my grannie said,
Syne, turnin' frae her spinnin' wheel,
She drew her creepie near the fire—
"I ken, gudeman, ye lo'e them weel.

"Sair was the dool that we ha'e dree'd,
An' sair the sichts that we ha'e seen,
But we ha'e been preserv'd thro' a'—
Praise to His blessed name be gi'en!

"That waefu' year I'll ne'er forget,
Ay, tho' it's unco lang sinsyne;
That year ye'll min' fu' weel yersel',
The seventeen hunner thretty-nine.

"The craps had fail'd for towmonds twa;
The meal was dear an' next to nane
For love or siller cou'd ye get,
Tho' owre braid Scotlan' ye had gane.

"Aul' Scotlan' owre her thistle grat—
Noo that her mutchkin stoup was dry—
For meal pocks toom an' aumries bare
An' starvin' bairnies' waefu' cry.

"The frost lay a' that winter thro';
The yird was hard as ony stane;
An' famine to the cottars cam',
An' crined them doon to skin an' bane.

"My faither's girnel wasna toom;
We aye had something to the fore;
But oh! the starvin' wives an' bairns
That aften wannert roun' the door!

"The milky syn'ings o' the kirn,
The scartin's o' the parritch pat,
The bairns wad lick frae 'tween the stanes,
As they upon their groufs lay flat.

"An' turnip taps an' green kail blades
Were gather'd up an' carried hame—
Whan boil'd the mithers were richt glad
Wi' sic like things to fill their wame.

"The spring was dreigh an' bitter cauld,
The trees were lang ere they were clad,
The wonner was hoo puir folk leev't,
An' hoo their bairns were warm'd an' fed.

"Ae day I wanner't to the wud,
An' gather't sticks the fire to beet:
An' there an unco sicht I saw,
That made me baith to glow'r an' greet.

"I'se warran' there were hauf-a-score
O' hunger-stricken wives an' weans,
Thrang pu'in' frae the bare dykeside
Young nettles, spite o' stingin' pains.

"An' branches o' the beech wi' leaves
But haulflins spread they strippit bare,
I saw them eat the leaves wi' greed,
An' gi'e them to their weanies there.

"An' aft, whan neither bite nor sowp
The parents could their bairnies gi'e,
They wad contrive some slee bit ploy
To stap their cravin's for a wee.

"My faither's neebor, Robin Steel—
His wife an' him ye'll min', gudeman?—
Ae nicht their bairns were greetin' sair,
Till Robin thocht him o' a plan.

"A wecht he fill'd wi' dry peat ase
Amang the whilk some pease he mix'd—
In that the bairns wad graip an' wale,
Till sleep their weary e'en had fix'd.

"The cottar faither, weak wi' want,
Wad stacher to the farmer's ha',
A scone or twa the wife wad gi'e,
If she had ocht to spare ava.

"Then tears ran doun his pykit cheeks,
An' he wad thank her wi' his e'en,
But ne'er a bit o't crossed his craig
Till it was dealt at hame, I ween.

"Oh, mony a bairn fell frae the breast,
An' lay upon the mither's knee
Like some wee wallow't lily flouir,
Till death wad kin'ly close its e'e.

"An' mony a puir auld man an' wife
That winter dee't wi' want an' cauld,
They couldna beg, an' sae their need
To neebors puir was never tauld.

"Oor Scottish puir had aye some pride—
An honest, decent pride, I ween;
Sair want an' sufferin' they thol't
Ere they wad let their need be seen.

"That randy quean, Job's graceless wife,
Wha bade him curse his God an' dee—
Auld Scotlan' wad ha'e cuff'd her lugs
Had she been here advice to gi'e.

"Yet there was mony a stricken heart,
Whase faith an' hope were like to fail;
But aye some word in season cam'
To mak' the wounded speerit hale.

"An' ye micht hear, baith e'en an' morn,
In mony a hame the voice o' prayer,
Though ne'er a peat to beet the fire,
Or bread to fill the mou' was there.

"Ae day, I slipp'd my parritch cog
Aneath my jupe, an' ran wi' speed
To Robin Steel's, for sair I fear'd
That they had neither meal nor bread.

"The mither took it in her haun
An' liftit up to Heaven her e'e,
An' thankit God for what was gi'en
Ere she wad let the bairnies pree.

"That mither—ay, an' mony mair
That thro' the fiery trials pass'd—
Like silver seven times purified,
Cam' oot the furnace pure at last.

"An' noo, gudeman, I'll haud my tongue,
I needna noo say muckle mair;
But pray that Scotlan' ne'er again
May see sic times—sae sad an' sair."





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