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Caithness Poets

James Begg

Alan's Long Johns

The winter’s here wi’ frost and snow
And fowk are wonderin’ what ‘till do
To try an’ keep their bodies warm
‘Cos they dinna want ‘till catch the flu
There’s some fowks drink Hot Toddies
And ither’s they try Brandy
There’s some take Asprins and such trock
Or onythin’ that’s handy.

Now I’ve a friend called Allan
Who he’d the finest plan
He’s tried it noo that last few months
And boy, hids workan gran
He wis hevan a drink ‘till keep him warm
In Davy Mowat’s Bar
When he hed a bright idea
Get a pair o’ Long John Drawers
Next day he wis on his tractor
And wis frozen ‘till the bon’
He says “This cowld’s unbearable
I’ll try on my Long Johns”
He pit them on what a change
Though winter winds are blowan
Like Santa’s red nosed Reindeer
His body started glowan’

The first thing he did every day
Wis put his Long Johns on
They kept his body fine and arm
Just Lek a new baked scone
But when it came ‘till Christmas Day
He hunted all around
He even looked below the bed
But his drawers could not be found.

So he shouted to his good wife Anne
“Where can my Long Johns be?”
So Anne says ‘till him wi’ a smile
“Below the Christmas Tree”
“Below the Christmas Tree” says Allan
“Whit are they doan there?”
And when he went and saw them
He could only stand and stare.

For hanging there beside the tree
Wis Allan’s pride and joy
Bulgan’ oot in gey queer shapes
W’’ his bairns Christmas toys
Anne says “the tree’s no’ strong enough
‘Till hang the presents on
And the only thing that came till’ mind
Wis your pair o’ Long Johns.

“Now that’s the last straw”, said Allan
“They’ll no come off again I canna go without them
Hid disna’ feel the same”
He keeps them on now, nicht and day
Or so he wis tellan’ me
But if ye don’t believe me
You can turn him up and see.

Keiss Partans

  The wind is blowan frae the East
It’s been here now a month at least
A’m thinkan o’ ma favourite feast
A good Keiss partan
Now if you don’t know any better
An’ wonderan “What’s this Partan craitur?”
The richt name’s a ‘Crab’ – it doesna maitter
We ca’ them Partans

 Well in Summer when it’s heit
A Salad’s very good ‘till eit
There’s one thing that ye canna beit
A good Keiss Partan.
In Winter when the cold wind blows
An’ frost is nippan’ at yer toes
Ye still can take a richt good dose
O’ fine Keiss Partans.

‘A steak id better’ some fowks boast
There’s some prefer a lump o’ roast
There’s ithers sit an’ nibble toast
Gie me a Partan.
Ye wouldna hev to think ower hard
If the Pudding Chieftain wis debarred
These words ye’d hear from our National Bard
Gie me a Partan.