Address to Ian Powrie
On the occasion of his honouring by the N.A.A.F.C. – June 26th, 1983
by Andy Stewart
Gin great Niel Gow had lived these times
Seventeen year sin syne
To write a tune for his brither fiddler
Shair he’d been inclined
And what it’s name this sad refrain
Wad hae soughed thro’ the Carse o’ Gowrie
An’ owr the Shire’s Perth’s fair lea
But ‘Farewell Ian Porwie’!
Farewell twad hae sang in ‘66
By birken grove and shaw
Sae sad that ilka flow’r wad droop
Syne let the tears doon-fa’
Nae mair in Scotland’s hoose or ha’
Whaur did his genius grow
He’ll snug his sweetheart till his chin
An’ rosin up the bow
Nae mair in jig or reel will jilk
That elbow swift yet steady
Nae mair will thae four fingers fly
Wi’ rhythm at the ready
Nae mair we’ll hear ‘Bouaglais’ plaid
That mony a hairt’s cry earned
Nor yet again that dear refrain
‘The Floo’r o’ the Quern.’
Pam, Mickie, Jimmy, Arthur, Dave
Read the wards but to believe them
They fin’ it unco hard tae thole
That Powrie’s gan tae leave them!
What happy days they a hae shared
But blitheness has nae measure –
There is nae scale tae weigh content
Nor what’s the breadth o’ pleasure?
The whisper gaithered like a win’
Sprung fresh some winter morn –
An’ cauldrife whirled aboot the lan’
Till fairly did it storm
“Powrie’s to gine frae this his land
The countra gied him birth
Yet tho it’s half a warl’ awa
It’s name’s the same – Ay! Perth!
‘But Perth’s nae faur’ a chiel he cried
‘I learned that at the school –
It’s but three leagues fornnent Dundee
By a hill they ca’ Kinnoul!’
“Na na you fool – it’s not our Perth!
“Such a thought wad make ye heady!
“He canna emigrate tae whaur
“He’s bidin’ now already!”
In mony a wee bit cottar hoose
An mony a braw bigged fairm –
They’ve taen the worn auld Atlas oot
This ither Perth tae learn!
Syne there it is – a wee roon dot
Ay – Perth! Ye maunna doubt it!
A lanely lookin’ wee black spot
Wi’ damn a’ roon aboot it!
Weel no’ quite that! Come let’s be fair
An’ nae gie fell fause notion –
On the ae side twa thoosan’ mile o’ sand
On the tither ten thoosan’ of ocean!
Now when I heard the news – at last
I was like a paittrick gunned –
An’ gin the shot not mortal was
God’s michty – I was stunned!
“Man Ian” quoth I tae his gills
“Are you the very same
“Wi me got fu in this same Perth
“An’ sat an’ grat for hame?
I min’ it was the witchin’ oor
As we gae’d doon the street
“There’s bugger a’ ye could dae here’
Says you ‘but drink and greet!’
Syne hoo we sat and grat for hame
Of Perth and Auchterarder
The mair we talked the mair we drank
The mair we grat the harder!
But privacy’s a privilege
And every man’s the right
To see what to him’s logic
Tho’ to others tisna quite!
Forgive me brother if my vein
Of humour seems some tiresome
The business of your heart and head’s
Your ain tho’ fowk enquire some!
You gaithered a’ your freens aroon
Great, humble – pound and penny –
An bade a handsome braw fareweel
Tae your freens an’ they were many!
I min’ th’ occasion weel mysel’
Tho’ Sheila here may doubt me –
For gin I’d tarried langer syne
I think she’s a hame without me!
Ay what a day and night we had
At the Moncrieff Arms Hotel –
Some that thocht theirsel’s in heaven that night
I’ the mornin’ felt like hell !
As dear departed Arthur said
At mony a dawnin’ licht –
“Ay Ay my lads, I’ll say again
“It was a cheery nicht!”
Syne ye were gaen – Leila the bairns
Gied a’ they loved a last long hug
Ye micht hae vanished wi’ nae trace
For ye even took the dug!
But och the warl’s a meikle place
When freenship circles round
The Cosa Macnostra never sleeps
But has ay ae lug tae the ground!
A letter tak’s as lang’s a jet
Tae wing across the world
Sae noo and than the news o’ ye
Gie’d Scotia’s ear a birl
Min’ you like only second hand
Bit scrap o’ information –
Alang wi’ miles and time and tide
It gathered distortation!
Ye werena biggin middens noo
As when you had the farm
But hooses big as the empire state
Great millionaires to charm!
An’ syne we heard, as shair as daith –
When ye tired o’ the Wimpey game
Ye flew tae Timbuctoo and back
In your ain huge airyplane
An’ syne ye bocht a fermin’ place
Fat down-under they ca’ a station
An unco muckle piece o’ land
Aboot the size of the whole French nation
Wi’ huge big dingoes rinnin’ loose
Great muckle beasts an’ coarse –
Less like ony doggie here
An’ mair like an unco horse!
An’ foxes large as dear me what!
Ay large as polar bears –
Ye’s mak ten fur coats frae ae pelt
An’ hae five owr for spares
Syne I took on a trio mysel’
Down to Australia fair
Tho’ I maun confess it wasna yersel’
But the money took me there!
But there we met an’ there we saw
Faith what a load of sharn!
There ye were snug, content and weel
Wi’ Leila and baith your bairns
A fine bit hoose in a bonnie street
I was warmed to see your faces -
An’ ken that Leila and yourself
Had earned nae airs and graces
The hale band came at your invite
‘Enjoy yersels’ the rule
An mony a fire frae the barleycorn
Was dowsed in your swimming pool
An’ there was Max and Norma tae
Freens were we althegither
Guid faith we micht hae been at hame
Exceptin’ ay the weather
The time flew roon – syne took ye doon
An’ caress it like a wean –
Your ither sweetheart – truth tae tell
Had sair neglectit lain!
Man man but ye were affa blate
Tae tune her up and sing her –
Ye’d hae thocht ye were some untutored bairn
That kenned na how tae string her
But syne the bow ye dearly drew
An’ a nice bit tear ye moppet –
But aince ye got yokit – michty on’s
We couldna get ye stoppit!!
Sae Niel Gow was hae penned again
A lively tune tae diddle –
Nae Powrie’s farewell tae his ain countree
But Ian’s welcome back to his fiddle!
Sin syne your music since again
Gin I believe his ward
Across the land across the sea –
Its dear sweet voice was heard
‘When auld freens met’ I mind it well
Yon was a notion grand
Tae twine the fiddle and the box
The Powrie and the Shand
And when ye landed hamewith syne
Auld Gow he wadna lack
In strathspey time his notes sublime
Say ‘Ian Powrie’s back’
Tho’ not for long your sojourn then –
For ye winged back o’er the main –
Auld Niel’s maist confused but - wadna refuse
But gies ‘Powrie’s awa again’
Now since that time fate’s been unkind -
But the world’s a byornar place –
Gin in a lifespan all is fine
Nor ill-health shows its face
That ill-got chiel comes in unbid
And moistly unexpec’it –
Tae tak’ a halesome body’s frame
An’ div his best tae wreck it!
We heard the news – in twa parts twas –
An’ written in ae letter –
Guid news for ye’d been stricken siar –
But the next lines – ye were better!
And I saw this truth for mysel’
Last year fan I gaed roamin?!
An’ brocht the tidings – Powrie’s grand
Tae your freens fan I cam homin’
We’ve spoken since on the phone ye mind
Fan ye gied me syne a warnin’
“Tak it easy wi’ me Andra did ye say –
For here it’s 4.15 i’ the mornin’ –
Now my reply was nippit but
Twas meant tae coin a jest –
For Ian says I – at 4.15 a.m.
I’ve seen you at your best!
But back tae Gow, since I began
Wi’ a thocht o’him and his fame –
He’d hae wrocht this June – yet anither tune
Cried “Powrie’s hame again!”
Sae noo at gigs the Powrie jigs
Grace mony a tent or ha’
An’ richtly dae ye tak your place
A leader ‘mang them a’
The gift of music is a joy
To the very few is given –
An wha wad hide this precious joy
That surely comes frae heaven?
But as with ony gist o’ worth
There’s ay a price tae pay –
For ye ne’er can hide I’ the shadows
The licht that shows the way
As music is God’s gift tae you
These hands he pits its care in –
Are worth nae mair than an orra pair
Unless their gift you’re sharin’ –
Ay – music’s a demandin’ bairn
An frae the hour he’s bornin’
He’ll mak demands o’ thay twa hands –
Ay baith by nicht an’ morning’ –
An faith tho’ it be an unco price
An you fine ken that’s the way o’t –
Your hairt’s fu’ glad – ilka ilka time its had
Tae reckon wi’ the pay o’t
Noo tae see ye here, wi’ your ladt fair
Maks ilka hairt fu canty –
Wi your gift – her grace – there’s nane wad blame
Gin this day yese be vauntie!
An’ gin auld Gow were here this day –
A thocht this verse begun it
An’ noo I’m at the end o’ the rhyme
Guid sakes I’ll nae so saun it!
Oh wad that Gow were here this day
The thocht aw mair time I’ll voice it –
To see you honoured by your peers
His heart wad fain rejoice it!
Then what an air he’d sweetly make
And what should be its name
Than this my fren’ an wi’t I’ll end
'Ian Powrie – welcome hame.!
Seventeen year sin syne
To write a tune for his brither fiddler
Shair he’d been inclined
And what it’s name this sad refrain
Wad hae soughed thro’ the Carse o’ Gowrie
An’ owr the Shire’s Perth’s fair lea
But ‘Farewell Ian Porwie’!
Farewell twad hae sang in ‘66
By birken grove and shaw
Sae sad that ilka flow’r wad droop
Syne let the tears doon-fa’
Nae mair in Scotland’s hoose or ha’
Whaur did his genius grow
He’ll snug his sweetheart till his chin
An’ rosin up the bow
Nae mair in jig or reel will jilk
That elbow swift yet steady
Nae mair will thae four fingers fly
Wi’ rhythm at the ready
Nae mair we’ll hear ‘Bouaglais’ plaid
That mony a hairt’s cry earned
Nor yet again that dear refrain
‘The Floo’r o’ the Quern.’
Pam, Mickie, Jimmy, Arthur, Dave
Read the wards but to believe them
They fin’ it unco hard tae thole
That Powrie’s gan tae leave them!
What happy days they a hae shared
But blitheness has nae measure –
There is nae scale tae weigh content
Nor what’s the breadth o’ pleasure?
The whisper gaithered like a win’
Sprung fresh some winter morn –
An’ cauldrife whirled aboot the lan’
Till fairly did it storm
“Powrie’s to gine frae this his land
The countra gied him birth
Yet tho it’s half a warl’ awa
It’s name’s the same – Ay! Perth!
‘But Perth’s nae faur’ a chiel he cried
‘I learned that at the school –
It’s but three leagues fornnent Dundee
By a hill they ca’ Kinnoul!’
“Na na you fool – it’s not our Perth!
“Such a thought wad make ye heady!
“He canna emigrate tae whaur
“He’s bidin’ now already!”
In mony a wee bit cottar hoose
An mony a braw bigged fairm –
They’ve taen the worn auld Atlas oot
This ither Perth tae learn!
Syne there it is – a wee roon dot
Ay – Perth! Ye maunna doubt it!
A lanely lookin’ wee black spot
Wi’ damn a’ roon aboot it!
Weel no’ quite that! Come let’s be fair
An’ nae gie fell fause notion –
On the ae side twa thoosan’ mile o’ sand
On the tither ten thoosan’ of ocean!
Now when I heard the news – at last
I was like a paittrick gunned –
An’ gin the shot not mortal was
God’s michty – I was stunned!
“Man Ian” quoth I tae his gills
“Are you the very same
“Wi me got fu in this same Perth
“An’ sat an’ grat for hame?
I min’ it was the witchin’ oor
As we gae’d doon the street
“There’s bugger a’ ye could dae here’
Says you ‘but drink and greet!’
Syne hoo we sat and grat for hame
Of Perth and Auchterarder
The mair we talked the mair we drank
The mair we grat the harder!
But privacy’s a privilege
And every man’s the right
To see what to him’s logic
Tho’ to others tisna quite!
Forgive me brother if my vein
Of humour seems some tiresome
The business of your heart and head’s
Your ain tho’ fowk enquire some!
You gaithered a’ your freens aroon
Great, humble – pound and penny –
An bade a handsome braw fareweel
Tae your freens an’ they were many!
I min’ th’ occasion weel mysel’
Tho’ Sheila here may doubt me –
For gin I’d tarried langer syne
I think she’s a hame without me!
Ay what a day and night we had
At the Moncrieff Arms Hotel –
Some that thocht theirsel’s in heaven that night
I’ the mornin’ felt like hell !
As dear departed Arthur said
At mony a dawnin’ licht –
“Ay Ay my lads, I’ll say again
“It was a cheery nicht!”
Syne ye were gaen – Leila the bairns
Gied a’ they loved a last long hug
Ye micht hae vanished wi’ nae trace
For ye even took the dug!
But och the warl’s a meikle place
When freenship circles round
The Cosa Macnostra never sleeps
But has ay ae lug tae the ground!
A letter tak’s as lang’s a jet
Tae wing across the world
Sae noo and than the news o’ ye
Gie’d Scotia’s ear a birl
Min’ you like only second hand
Bit scrap o’ information –
Alang wi’ miles and time and tide
It gathered distortation!
Ye werena biggin middens noo
As when you had the farm
But hooses big as the empire state
Great millionaires to charm!
An’ syne we heard, as shair as daith –
When ye tired o’ the Wimpey game
Ye flew tae Timbuctoo and back
In your ain huge airyplane
An’ syne ye bocht a fermin’ place
Fat down-under they ca’ a station
An unco muckle piece o’ land
Aboot the size of the whole French nation
Wi’ huge big dingoes rinnin’ loose
Great muckle beasts an’ coarse –
Less like ony doggie here
An’ mair like an unco horse!
An’ foxes large as dear me what!
Ay large as polar bears –
Ye’s mak ten fur coats frae ae pelt
An’ hae five owr for spares
Syne I took on a trio mysel’
Down to Australia fair
Tho’ I maun confess it wasna yersel’
But the money took me there!
But there we met an’ there we saw
Faith what a load of sharn!
There ye were snug, content and weel
Wi’ Leila and baith your bairns
A fine bit hoose in a bonnie street
I was warmed to see your faces -
An’ ken that Leila and yourself
Had earned nae airs and graces
The hale band came at your invite
‘Enjoy yersels’ the rule
An mony a fire frae the barleycorn
Was dowsed in your swimming pool
An’ there was Max and Norma tae
Freens were we althegither
Guid faith we micht hae been at hame
Exceptin’ ay the weather
The time flew roon – syne took ye doon
An’ caress it like a wean –
Your ither sweetheart – truth tae tell
Had sair neglectit lain!
Man man but ye were affa blate
Tae tune her up and sing her –
Ye’d hae thocht ye were some untutored bairn
That kenned na how tae string her
But syne the bow ye dearly drew
An’ a nice bit tear ye moppet –
But aince ye got yokit – michty on’s
We couldna get ye stoppit!!
Sae Niel Gow was hae penned again
A lively tune tae diddle –
Nae Powrie’s farewell tae his ain countree
But Ian’s welcome back to his fiddle!
Sin syne your music since again
Gin I believe his ward
Across the land across the sea –
Its dear sweet voice was heard
‘When auld freens met’ I mind it well
Yon was a notion grand
Tae twine the fiddle and the box
The Powrie and the Shand
And when ye landed hamewith syne
Auld Gow he wadna lack
In strathspey time his notes sublime
Say ‘Ian Powrie’s back’
Tho’ not for long your sojourn then –
For ye winged back o’er the main –
Auld Niel’s maist confused but - wadna refuse
But gies ‘Powrie’s awa again’
Now since that time fate’s been unkind -
But the world’s a byornar place –
Gin in a lifespan all is fine
Nor ill-health shows its face
That ill-got chiel comes in unbid
And moistly unexpec’it –
Tae tak’ a halesome body’s frame
An’ div his best tae wreck it!
We heard the news – in twa parts twas –
An’ written in ae letter –
Guid news for ye’d been stricken siar –
But the next lines – ye were better!
And I saw this truth for mysel’
Last year fan I gaed roamin?!
An’ brocht the tidings – Powrie’s grand
Tae your freens fan I cam homin’
We’ve spoken since on the phone ye mind
Fan ye gied me syne a warnin’
“Tak it easy wi’ me Andra did ye say –
For here it’s 4.15 i’ the mornin’ –
Now my reply was nippit but
Twas meant tae coin a jest –
For Ian says I – at 4.15 a.m.
I’ve seen you at your best!
But back tae Gow, since I began
Wi’ a thocht o’him and his fame –
He’d hae wrocht this June – yet anither tune
Cried “Powrie’s hame again!”
Sae noo at gigs the Powrie jigs
Grace mony a tent or ha’
An’ richtly dae ye tak your place
A leader ‘mang them a’
The gift of music is a joy
To the very few is given –
An wha wad hide this precious joy
That surely comes frae heaven?
But as with ony gist o’ worth
There’s ay a price tae pay –
For ye ne’er can hide I’ the shadows
The licht that shows the way
As music is God’s gift tae you
These hands he pits its care in –
Are worth nae mair than an orra pair
Unless their gift you’re sharin’ –
Ay – music’s a demandin’ bairn
An frae the hour he’s bornin’
He’ll mak demands o’ thay twa hands –
Ay baith by nicht an’ morning’ –
An faith tho’ it be an unco price
An you fine ken that’s the way o’t –
Your hairt’s fu’ glad – ilka ilka time its had
Tae reckon wi’ the pay o’t
Noo tae see ye here, wi’ your ladt fair
Maks ilka hairt fu canty –
Wi your gift – her grace – there’s nane wad blame
Gin this day yese be vauntie!
An’ gin auld Gow were here this day –
A thocht this verse begun it
An’ noo I’m at the end o’ the rhyme
Guid sakes I’ll nae so saun it!
Oh wad that Gow were here this day
The thocht aw mair time I’ll voice it –
To see you honoured by your peers
His heart wad fain rejoice it!
Then what an air he’d sweetly make
And what should be its name
Than this my fren’ an wi’t I’ll end
'Ian Powrie – welcome hame.!