About Me

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I am Miss Pancake Taylor. I have come from very far away to take care of my family Craig and Zita and Niamh and Emmet. Sometimes I have helpers; my friends the Blackthorn-Badgers. They are very old Scotsmen. I am very glad to meet you.

Saturday, 29 September 2012

Great White Sheep 


Oh Sutherland is a bonnie land, 
Beyond the Moray Firth. 
And Rosshire smiles at the Western Isles, 
The land of Gaeldom's birth. 
From Scrabster Bay to Mingulay, 
The mighty mountains weep; 

For each sad glen has been cleared of men 
To make way for the great white sheep. 
 Kildonan's ablaze and Langdale's braes 
Are burnin' tae the skies. 
The Factor's men who raze the glen 
Heed not the infant's cries. 

The landlord's might denies the right 
Of the crofter's crops tae grow. 
A laird must keep his great white sheep 
So his flesh and blood must go. 

A Sutherland maid, her clan betrayed 
And wed tae an English lord. 
She's driven her men from the neighbor's glen 
Wi' musket, ball and sword. 

Her land she's sold for English gold 
While her clansmen throng the shore; 
And the great white sheep walk the mountains steep, 
Her men will walk no more. 

From every glen the silent men 
Have a prayer upon their lips; 
As they crouch by the sea in poverty 
And wait for the white sailed ships. 

The Atlantic roar on the rocky shore 
Will lull the bairns tae sleep. 
No more they'll stand on their faether's land - 

It has gone for the great white sheep.

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