Hello folks, Here you’ll find all lyrics of all the songs from the CD of the show. Due to one song ‘Smile or Cry’ already recorded on another album ( by another record company) we didn’t put it on this CD but you can download that song here on the website shop. The lyrics are at the bottom of the page.
THIS CD IS NOT YET AVAILABLE TO BUY ONLINE – PLEASE GET IN TOUCH IF YOU’D LIKE ONE TODAY: hello@mairicampbell.co.uk
THE WEE HERD LADDIE
was written by Walter Wingate, a well known Scots poet. He was not local to Connel, but was passing by where he saw Duncan Campbell, aged 12 building a sheiling/shelter in the field by Loch Etive. Walter must have spent some time with the family and left them the poem…there would likely have been a good ceilidh too! It’s a lovely detailed description of how he built it. I wrote the tune. Duncan was my grandfather.
A wee herd laddie has biggit a hoose
He’s biggit it a’ his lane
And there he can lie, and watch his kye
And fear nae wind nor rain
He’s pickit the place wi a skilly thocht
On a knowe at the end o’ the bight;
And the door looks east where the wind blows last
And his charges are a’ in sicht
It’s twa foot wa’s are o’ tide marked stanes,
That the waves hae masoned round;
And inka bit chink where the day micht blink
Wi fog he as oakumed sound
It’s roofed and thicket, a tradesman’s job
The rafters are runs o’ whins
Wi bracken and heather weel soddit thegither
And wechtin’ stanes abune
There’s an inglenook at the hinmaist e’en
And the lum was a pail in it’s day
And out at the back there’s a wee peat stack
As any bit hoose should hae
He’ll fen for himsel, a laddie like yon
And lang may he live tae tell
When he’s feathered his nest and come hame for a rest
O’ the wee hoose he biggit himsel’
THE PIPER AND THE MAKER
We wrote this a few years ago, inspired by our great friend Hamish Moore. It is a perfect fit for the show too though which made us very happy. The mysteries of music and man.
I could hear the music playing as I came up to the door
And once inside I heard the beat of feet upon the floor
Had Gow himself been there that night he couldn’t have disapproved
As sets of reels got settled and the bows began to move
The fiddles fired the music to each corner of the bar
And the rhythm swung like crazy on piano and guitar.
Keening bright above the rest, the small pipes led the splore
The call went up for dancers, Frank and Maggie took the floor
The players stopped to catch their breath, the dancers gasped for air
The piper stood and loosed his straps and stowed his pipes with care
And as he stepped towards the bar a voice was heard to say
‘You look to me the kind of man could play a sweet strathspey’
‘I have that reputation and it’s kind of you to say,
But I’ve got a demon thirst on me, I haven’t got all day’
‘Well hold that drink a minute now and look at what I’ve here -
A set of pipes worth more of your time than any pint of beer.’
‘The drones are made of boxwood and the chanter’s bound with gold
There’s finest beeswax, hemp and leather – here, I’ll give you them to hold’
The piper looked in wonder as those pipes came out the case,
He strapped them on and closed his eyes and quiet filled the place.
The Devil in the Kitchen and the Rothiemurchus Rant,
George the Fourth and Stumpie and the Bob o Fettercairn,
As each strathspey outshone the last he swore he knew no more
But still the tunes came tumbling out from some forgotten store.
He played strathspeys and jigs and reels he never thought he knew
And when at last the outpour stopped, the silence round him grew,
Until the shock of what they’d heard from everyone did burst
In cheers and yells and shrieks and cries that by and by dispersed.
And as they did the piper turned and to the maker said,
‘What enchantment is there here and was it really me who played?
There’s fearful stories of these things I’ve heard the old folk tell
I fear the hands that made these pipes were guided straight from hell!’
The maker smiled at him and said ‘I understand your fear,
But the wood and leather’s of this earth – no magic is there here.
I will admit these pipes could be the finest ever made
But that would count for not one thing if they were never played.
‘For there’s music in them right enough but there’s music in you too
And the one requires the other for that music to come through.
The pipes unlocked the music that was waiting in your soul
And you unlocked the instrument and made the circle whole.
IF I SHOULD MEET MY MAKER
a song that just presented itself one day when the title jumped into my head and I suggested to Dave that it might make a song for the show. lyrics arrived the next day and the tune took about 10 mins. One of those. Nice.
If I should meet my maker on a quiet afternoon
When clouds are blocking out the sun
And nothing’s quite in tune
I would ask my maker to send me some respite
An even break, another chance to catch some of the light
If I should meet my maker in the middle of the night
When sleep is hard to come by
And my prospect’s not too bright
I would ask my maker why my life is such a wreck
Why the cards that I’ve been dealt are from the bottom of the deck
And maybe, just maybe shouldn’t blame my maker
For the mistakes I could own
And maybe, just maybe I should thank my maker
For the chances I have blown
If I should meet my maker on the last day of my life
When my fate is balanced on the tip of fortunes knife
I would ask my maker to send the lamb , the dove
To comfort and remind me that I was always loved
BALLAD OF THE REVIVAL
An account of the 1949 Lewis Revival that the Rev Duncan Campbell found himself in the centre of. T’was an extraordinary and mysterious time in Scottish Religious life. I know we’re not really supposed to sing about these things….but…what to do?? Rev Duncan Campbell was my Grandfather.
When war had gone and peace had come
Times were hard I’ve heard folk say
But there were sights on the Long Island
as they’ll remember till this day.
It started on a bitter night
as people crept to church in fear
that God would pass them by again
when hopes ran high that He was near.
In the pulpit Campbell stands
he shakes his head, he bangs his fist
as if to rouse them from their sleep
and move them to resist, resist
old Satan’s snares and Satan’s wiles
and Satan’s plans to keep them from
the chance to know the saviour who
could take their souls to their rightful home.
Campbell thumps the pulpit hard
the sweat it runs all down his face
his finger points, his eyes are fixed
on all those sinners seeking grace.
A silence fills all of the church
a silence broken by the call
of one young man, all in a daze
who cries out as to the floor he falls.
And as they gathered, as they met
their anxiousness both wide and deep
people cried out to the Lord
and sore did sigh and sore did weep.
And then the cries and then the groans
and prayers for mercy all did rise
and some were weeping tears of joy
as they received salvation’s prize.
The news spread fast and the news spread wide
revival longed for now was near
and people flocked to Barvas town
in hopes that Campbell they might hear.
Across the island tales were told
of meetings in the dead of night,
of corn uncut and yarn unspun
and shaking walls and floods of light.
How this man drunk for twenty years
had thrown the bottle in the sea
and that man, flat upon his face,
had cried out, ‘Hell’s too good for me!’
Of this old woman’s visions strong
of that young woman in a trance
and how the pipers wouldn’t play
and how the people wouldn’t dance.
IN RHYNIE I WAS BORN AND BRED
John Anderson was a grocers son from Rhynie, Aberdeenshire. At aged 30 decided to seek his vocation in China with the Scottish China Inland Mission.
In Rhynie I was born and bred
to dacent Christian fowk, sir.
We prayed to God three times a day
though ithers they might mock, sir.
Ch.
Hurrah, hurrah. Wi ma twittie falair-a-lido
I rode my faither’s grocer’s cairt
in aa the country round, sir
and preached the Gospel news to folk
at every chance I found, sir
At saxteen year I left the Kirk
for the Mission Hall, sir
the Kirk o Scotland’s ministers
were sinners ane and aa, sir
The Open Brethren took me in
I thocht I’d found my niche, sir.
But syne I learnt that fan they met
the weemin couldna preach, sir
Well, this I couldna thole ava
it gings against the Scripture
so I fell in wi anither crowd
that let the weemin preach, sir
But fan the heid yins heard o this
well, we were ostracisit.
we were for equality
but, och, they didna prize it.
To prove my point I read the tracts
until my een were bleary.
O arguments and splittin hairs
I soon began to weary
So I gaed on for mission work
and bid my fowk good-bye, sir.
I got my basic training deen
an headed for Shanghai, sir.
JOHN ANDERSON’S JOURNEY UP THE YANGTZE RIVER
A song about John Anderson’s journey to his first posting in China…to set up a medical clinic 2500 miles away in the remote province of Yunnan in 1890. This song describes the boat trip that took him there. Dave took the details from his diary.
In Chinese lands the heathen mind is dim and dense and dark, man
So I went forth in Jesus’ name that I might light a spark, man.
From Shanghai town to reach Ichang you’ll go a thousand miles, man
But we had fifteen hundred more of danger, death and trials, man.
The Yangtse gorge is steep and long, the waters run so fast, man
Your only hope is men to pull on ropes tied to the mast, man.
They run along the banks and heave, you’re going like a snail, man
And woe betide our gallant boat if any rope should fail, man.
For six long weeks they hauled and heaved we’d plenty knocks and shocks, man
With nothing but a bamboo rope to keep us off the rocks, man.
It was by blessed Providence that boat it never sank, man
Until Chungking we saw at last all on the river bank, man.
From there I joined a caravan heading for Tali, man.
A rougher crew of godless rogues I trust you’ll never see, man.
We’d opium smokers, vagabonds, gamblers, drunks and thieves, man
I preached the Gospel night and day in hopes they might believe, man.
There’s lamas and Mohammedans and folk that worship trees, man
The Lord’s no brought me to Tali so I can take my ease, man.
And I will labour every hour the Lord sees fit to send, man
To bring the light of Jesus’ name so they might comprehend, man.
MY AIN DEAR LASSIE
based on the letters from Gordon to Marjorie in China when they lived a short distance apart and wrote to each other every day. They were not yet married – they got married in Tianjin a few months after arriving in China.
My ain dear lassie, the licht o our love
shíns lik a star though the warld be in gloom.
An though the lang miles wad keep us apart
it’ll no be lang love or I’ll be your groom.
My ain dear lassie, the toun o Tianjin’s
kirk bells will peal fan the cherry’s in bloom,
sae ken I’ll be waitin an ken that I’ll feel
as close to my love as the stane to the ploom.
My ain dear lassie, efter that day
our lives will twine lik threids on the loom.
Fitever the Lord lays for us sinsyne
we’ll aye hae our love nae matter our doom.
My ain dear lassie, we’ll soon be as ane,
twa pairts o the haill, gin you’ll lat me presume.
The Lord gie me patience, until the day
fan I kiss your sweet lips and breathe your perfume.
OCH YOUR A PUDDOCK!
happy days in Yunnan. A tender song to wee Marjorie.
Och, you’re a puddock coming in here
Trailing the red earth all over the floor
Smiling and laughing like nothing’s the matter
Your bonny brown eyes say there’s mischief in store.
Chorus
Small be the mischief that ever befalls you.
And light be the burden that you’ll have to bear.
Long may your innocence be a protection,
A shield against danger, and trouble and care
Och, you’re aa puggled, it’s been a long morning
Playing in the sunlight and splashing in pools
Now you’re all cosy snug in your blanket
Safe from all harm in this world so cruel.
Ch.
Och, you’re a puzzle, it’s hard to discover
What you are thinking or all that you know.
How will you find your way in the world?
How will you stand up to life’s hardest blows?
WHEN YOUNG MEN DIE
a response to Gordon’s death aged 30 from Typhoid in China in 1939.
When young men die the tide recedes
As far as the eye can see.
Rocks are exposed, small creatures stranded
Nets go untended, boats are abandoned.
And you know that salt water will come rushing in,
When the moon loosens her hold and the night will be endless and cold
When young men die.
When young men die
The Eagle’s wing is broken; she cannot fly.
Keeps to her nest, no eye for the heavens,
The wind only taunts her, the mountain, a prison.
And when she tries to soar she’ll come spiralling down
Who knows what might break her fall
And who will answer her call?
When young men die the dawn will break as it always has before
Snowdrops will bloom, seeds will be planted,
Our children they grow, unbidden, undaunted,
And you know that the stories will always be told,
And the songs will be sung, of the things they have done
When young men die.
HOME ( IS NOT WHAT I’VE LEFT BEHIND)
Written to mark Marjorie’s return to Scotland from China after Gordon’s sudden death.
Morning, waiting to embark holding hard against the dark. In the company of ghosts from pillar I have gone to post I’ve travelled here to China’s coast without the one I love the most
From the window of the train Manitoba’s endless plains. Corn is waving in the breeze Scotland’s nearer by degrees. The children hanging round my knees know nothing of my silent pleas.
Home is not what I’ve left behind Home is not what lies ahead Home is the peace I’ll find when I’m with you again.
Home is not what I’ve left behind Home is not what lies ahead Home is being with you again Home is being with you again
The end of yet another day the mid-Atlantic’s cold and grey A few more days and then we’ll be on that train to Waverley there’s faces there I long to see but not the one that waits for me.
Home is not what I’ve left behind Home is not what lies ahead Home is the peace I’ll find When I’m with you again.
Home is not what I’ve left behind Home is not what lies ahead Home is being with you again Home is being with you again
SMILE OR CRY
Written a few years ago as is recorded on our other album ‘ Greengold’ which you can buy here online. It’s also downloadable as a single here too.
The leaves in the deep, green wood
Are now brown and gold
And the warm September breeze
Blows harsh and keen and cold.
The mist hangs heavy on the shore
In the morning light
And I never thought I’d miss you more
Than I missed you last night.
But the pull of the flowing tide
Could bring me back or sweep me away
And the sun has been known to shine
On the coldest winter day.
And the howl of the winter wind
Could be heard as a tender sigh –
I guess it’s all in the mind
Whether we choose to smile or cry.
A swan flies over the trees
On his wide blue road
The sunlight strikes its beating wings
As its quiet path unfolds.
But the pull of the flowing tide
Could bring me back or sweep me away
And the sun has been known to shine
On the coldest winter day.
And the howl of the winter wind
Could be heard as a tender sigh –
I guess it’s all in the mind
Whether we choose to smile or cry.
