The Tyrie Song

On Autumn Harvest AH 005
Gordon Easton - The Last of the Clydesdales

Gordon Easton sings:

A song in praise of Tyrie, composed as a poem in the late 1800s by Alec Murison, a native of Rosehearty who was fee'd at Tyrie and who married a Tyrie lassie. He was also a fine musician, became beadle and led the singing as precentor at the Tyrie kirk. Gordon suggests that the song (to which he gave the tune) is based on the authors life story. Gordon remembers that his grandfather had a copy of the poem 'up in the side o the hingin lum'.

1: The leaves were fa'in frae the birk,
As I gaed doun be Tyrie kirk,
Wha hoolets cry when it is mirk
And frichen fowk at Tyrie.
The Tyrie kirk is auld an wee,
There's naething grand for folk tae see;
Yet worthy buddies live and dee,
Aa round the kirk o Tyrie.

2: Fen I wis fee'd a fairmer's loon,
And fustled at a muckle toon;
Heth, mair than eence I sleepit soun,
Inside the kirk o Tyrie.
Ae Sunday cam a lassie fair,
Wi dancin een and glancin hair;
I never sleepit ony mair,
Inside the kirk o Tyrie.

3: She sang sae sweet through ilkae tune,
It gart ma hert gang stoun on stoun,
I thocht an angel hid come doon,
Tae sing that morn at Tyrie.
We coortit aa the simmer through,
And when the storms o winter blew,
There nivver wis a lass sae true,
As that wee lass fae Tyrie.

4: We coortit in the Boyndlie Den,
Far we had kisses, nine or ten,
We kent the bliss that lovers ken,
When herts are young in Tyrie.
I plooed and harra'd late an ear',
An steppit canty wi my pair,
And bankit aa that I could spare,
Tae wed that lass at Tyrie.

5: Noo the wye we gaed aboot wir plan,
I'll tell ye noo as brief's I can –
Auld Doctor Milne, that kindly man,
He tied the knot at Tyrie.
Syne we had bairns, a gey gweed curn,
They played aside the Tyrie Burn,
They nivver give us cause tae murn,
That day we wed at Tyrie.

6: But life wis aye a patched affair,
Wi bits o joy an bits o care,
And we baith fairly got wir share,
O baith the kind at Tyrie.
The war brak oot an aa the Deils,
Gaed skelpin ower the land in skweels,
And mony decent strappin chiels,
Had cause tae rue at Tyrie.

7: There wis a son, his mither's pride,
And mine as weel, he wouldnae bide,
He sailed awa across the tide –
He's sleepin far fae Tyrie.
They say he's in a sodger's bed,
Wi glory shinin roon his head,
We'd raither haen him canny laid,
Doon by the kirk o Tyrie,
We'd raither haen him canny laid,
Beside the kirk o Tyrie.

c p 2007 Autumn Harvest AH005