On Angus Fitchet
by Andy Stewart
Come rub the rosin on the bow and let the warl’ gae roon’
While I tae Angus Fitchet heed that coaxes up a tune
That coaxes up a bonnie tune an’ makes yon fiddle sing-
The verra lame when he begins wad dance the heilan’ fling
Syne when alow his elfin chin the trusty Hardy grips
The Merlin o’ the music he wi’ magic fingertips
Strathspeys sae stately and demure come singing frae his hand
While jigs and reels however gleg dance out at his command
Sae blithe and sweet his fiddle sings and brawly fills the air
His smiles and looks tells a’ the tale a long-matched love affair
Wha’ is sae wilted wi’ despair his backbane disna starch
When Angus plays a sojer’s air and fiddles up a march?
Wha’ is heavy-fitted then an’ weary as the Deil
But loups like ony skippin’ lamb when Fitchet plays a reel?
An’ wha’ cam keep frae beatin’ time I say he isna human
When Angus plies his skills upon ‘The Irish Washerwoman’?
In Cork one night, I tell the truth he caused a fightin’ fuss
When Paddy said “Yon man’s no Scot! He must be one of us!”
He plays a jig sae liltin’ sir a man condemned tae dee
Wad loup the thirteen steps an’ dance upon a gallows tree!
An’ fan a sweet sad bow he draws in some auld plaintive air
The sorrows of a lifetime come an’ stoun’ the senses there
‘Bovaglie’s Plaid’ or ‘Gow’s Lament’ baith hymns tae mak’ us mourn
Great sabs frae oot yet greater hearts for joys will ne’er return
In black and white these printed notes lie lost of what they seek
Yet cry aloud in haunting sound when Angus maks them speak
Auld Scotland kens naw brawer tunes and min’! she maks them well
Than when oor Angus plays tae her the yins he wrote himsel’
His repertoire’s an endless dance and were he aye sae clever
As nae need food or drink or sleep he could play on forever
Here’s tae him then! My prayer shall be that happy he may dwell
And a’ the wishes I wad gie that he could wish himsel’
Three score and more – I ken his age an’ Lord if it’s nae trouble
In years tae come – Ye ken the sum – I wish him mair than double!
An’ when at last ar Heaven’s gate – whaur he will surely stand
I like to fancy Peter say as he hauds oot his hand
“A welcome Angus Fitchet here, my pleasure is to gie ye
An’ twice that welcome since I see, ye’ve brocht your fiddle wi’ ye!”
But och there’s years o’ music yet, tae stir the dancers roon
Sae Angus rosin up your bow an’ gies anither tune
The hame-spun garb of native worth wi’ cloth of gold we’ll stitch it
And lay the makker’s mantle on this man ca’d Angus Fitchet
When he comes ben care hugs the wa’ an’ joy jinks in the middle
The doul’s awa! The dance is a’! when Angus plays the fiddle!
May a’ his ‘oors be sweet and sure, and happy a’ his days
As happy as I am mysel’ when Angus Fitchet plays!
Box and Fiddle
September 1981
While I tae Angus Fitchet heed that coaxes up a tune
That coaxes up a bonnie tune an’ makes yon fiddle sing-
The verra lame when he begins wad dance the heilan’ fling
Syne when alow his elfin chin the trusty Hardy grips
The Merlin o’ the music he wi’ magic fingertips
Strathspeys sae stately and demure come singing frae his hand
While jigs and reels however gleg dance out at his command
Sae blithe and sweet his fiddle sings and brawly fills the air
His smiles and looks tells a’ the tale a long-matched love affair
Wha’ is sae wilted wi’ despair his backbane disna starch
When Angus plays a sojer’s air and fiddles up a march?
Wha’ is heavy-fitted then an’ weary as the Deil
But loups like ony skippin’ lamb when Fitchet plays a reel?
An’ wha’ cam keep frae beatin’ time I say he isna human
When Angus plies his skills upon ‘The Irish Washerwoman’?
In Cork one night, I tell the truth he caused a fightin’ fuss
When Paddy said “Yon man’s no Scot! He must be one of us!”
He plays a jig sae liltin’ sir a man condemned tae dee
Wad loup the thirteen steps an’ dance upon a gallows tree!
An’ fan a sweet sad bow he draws in some auld plaintive air
The sorrows of a lifetime come an’ stoun’ the senses there
‘Bovaglie’s Plaid’ or ‘Gow’s Lament’ baith hymns tae mak’ us mourn
Great sabs frae oot yet greater hearts for joys will ne’er return
In black and white these printed notes lie lost of what they seek
Yet cry aloud in haunting sound when Angus maks them speak
Auld Scotland kens naw brawer tunes and min’! she maks them well
Than when oor Angus plays tae her the yins he wrote himsel’
His repertoire’s an endless dance and were he aye sae clever
As nae need food or drink or sleep he could play on forever
Here’s tae him then! My prayer shall be that happy he may dwell
And a’ the wishes I wad gie that he could wish himsel’
Three score and more – I ken his age an’ Lord if it’s nae trouble
In years tae come – Ye ken the sum – I wish him mair than double!
An’ when at last ar Heaven’s gate – whaur he will surely stand
I like to fancy Peter say as he hauds oot his hand
“A welcome Angus Fitchet here, my pleasure is to gie ye
An’ twice that welcome since I see, ye’ve brocht your fiddle wi’ ye!”
But och there’s years o’ music yet, tae stir the dancers roon
Sae Angus rosin up your bow an’ gies anither tune
The hame-spun garb of native worth wi’ cloth of gold we’ll stitch it
And lay the makker’s mantle on this man ca’d Angus Fitchet
When he comes ben care hugs the wa’ an’ joy jinks in the middle
The doul’s awa! The dance is a’! when Angus plays the fiddle!
May a’ his ‘oors be sweet and sure, and happy a’ his days
As happy as I am mysel’ when Angus Fitchet plays!
Box and Fiddle
September 1981