Alan Croxford
A poem by James Ogston about Whinneyfold, it mentions the shipwreck of the Xenia on the Scaurs in Feb 1903. Taken from Sylvia Munro‘s book Lilts Frae Cruden Bay.
WHINNYFOLD.
Come a’ ye sturdy fisher chiels,
And sonsie fishwives wi’ yer creels,
We’ll sing a sang an’ dance some reels
In Finnyfaul.
Although its glory’s on the wane,
There’s still some gallant fishermen
And lassies braw, as weel ye ken,
In Finnyfaul’.
They brag to us, Port Erroll folk,
Their toon wi’ oors they widna trock,
For theirs is founded on a rock
At Finnyfaul.
The modern toon stands by the sea
As near the cliff heid as can be;
The fish they catch is a’ their fee
At Finnyfaul.
It’s grand to see them ply their oars
When landin’ splashies by the scores,
Their wives an’ weans watch fae their doors
At Finnyfaul.
Wha widna admiration feel
To see a fishwife load her creel,
Then up the windin’ path she’ll spiel
To Finnyfaul.
Wha hisna heard o’ that brave band
Of men that lent a willing hand
That day the “Xenia” struck the land*
Near Finnyfaul.
Whilst on the Scaurs the breakers roar,
They rowed them all, but two, ashore,
Such valiant deeds they’ve done an’ more
At Finnyfaul.
With honest pride inby they’ll lead’s
And show their photos, Danes and Swedes,
A token of their gallant deeds
At Finnyfaul.
There’s Alec, Jeames an’ Robbie Hay,
A strappin’ chiel ye’ll find Tam Gray,
Four better men ne’er climbed the brae
At Finnyfaul.
There’s Alec, Joe, an’ Willie Cay
There’s John an’ Willie Hay forby,
Bold fishermen I’ll ne’er deny
At Finnyfaul.
There’s Freelands, Morgans, an’ there’s Wilsons,
There’s Cormacks, an’ there is M’Phersons,
Ye’ll find that they’re a’ decent persons,
At Finnyfaul.
There’s maybe mair I canna name,
For they’re so seldom now at hame,
The place is hardly like the same
Auld Finnyfaul.
Then there is the auld thack toon,
As auld since Robbie killed de Bohun,
There’s nae its like the country roon,
Auld Finnyfaul.
When passin’ here call in on Jeames
An’ hae a crack on ousen teams,
He used to ploo wi’ them it seems,
Near Finnyfaul.
If groceries here ye want to buy,
There’s Mrs Hay will you supply,
She’ll treat ye to her famed pork pie
At Finnyfaul.
There’s very few baith far an’ near
But’s heard of Willie Walker here,
Wha wrocht in’s bed for mony a year
At Finnyfaul.
He made a’ kinds o’ bairns’ toys
Supplied the barrows for our boys,
In fact his time he weel employed
At Finnyfaul.
He was a perseverin’ chiel,
Could frame a picture, mak’ a steel,
His mem’ry lang will haunt his biel’
At Finnyfaul.
Lang may ye sons of honest toil
Be fit your nets an’ ropes to coil,
And catch the fish by every wile
Aff Finnyfaul.
Wrecked on the Scaurs, 1st Feb., 1903.