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AUDIO:
sscd 056-1: Charles Murray
track 02: The Whistle
reader: Charlie Allan
He trimmed it, an he wet it, an he thumped it on his knee;
He never heard the teuchat when the harrow broke her eggs,
He missed the craggit heron nabbin puddocks in the seggs,
He forgot to hound the collie at the cattle when they strayed,
But you should hae seen the whistle that the wee herd made!
He wheepled on’t at mornin an he tweetled on’t at nicht,
He puffed his freckled cheecks until his nose sank oot o sicht,
The kye were late for milkin when he piped them up the closs,
The kitlins got his supper syne, an he was beddit boss;
But he cared na doit nor docken what they did or thocht or said,
There was comfort in the whistle that the wee herd made.
For lyin lang o mornins he had clawed the caup for weeks,
But noo he had his bonnet on afore the lave had breeks;
He was whistlin to the porridge that were hott’rin on the fire,
He was whistlin ower the travise to the baillie in the byre;
Nae a blackbird nor a mavis, that hae pipin for their trade,
Was a marrow for the whistle that the wee herd made.
He played a march to battle, it cam dirlin through the mist,
Till the halflin squared his shouders an made up his mind to ‘list;
He tried a spring for wooers, though he wistna what it meant,
But the kitchen-lass was lauchin an he thocht she maybe kent;
He got ream an buttered bannocks for the lovin lilt he played.
Wasna that a cheery whistle that the wee herd made?
He blew them rants sae lively, schottisches, reels, an jigs,
The foalie flang his muckle legs an capered ower the rigs,
The grey-tailed futt’ratt bobbit oot to hear his ain strathspey,
The bawd cam lowpin through the corn to ‘Clean Pease Strae’;
The feet o ilka man an beast gat youkie when he played —
Hae ye ever heard o whistle like the wee herd made?
But the snaw it stopped the herdin an the winter brocht him dool,
When in spite o hacks an chiblains he was shod again for school;
He couldna sough the catechis nor pipe the rule o three,
He was keepit in an lickit when the ither louns got free;
But he aften played the truant — ‘twas the only thing he played,
For the maister brunt the whistle that the wee herd made!
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