I strolled along the country road,

and viewed the scenery so gay,

I gazed enraptured on the scene,

As I sauntered up the bungalow brae.

Soon my thoughts were turned aside, 

From all the beauty I could see, 

For on the road not far away, 

A funeral was approaching me.

I stood aside and bared my head,

In honour of the passing dead,

But when the sacred coach drew nigh,

No human form could I espy.

Alias all huddled in a heap, 

All battle scared with many a chip,

Saw twisted clubs without a shroud,

Behind them walked the mourning crowd.

I turned around, retraced my steps,

My happy thoughts were now reversed,

It smote my heart with heavy grief,

To see the Foyers Club in a hearse.

And when we reached the hallowed ground,

Where young and old began to pray,

A voice inside the sacred coach,

In awesome tones to me did say.

Good old "Hasbeens"  we know you yet,

And we will never leave you so,

Although our bodies they entomb,

They cannot put our souls below.

Good old "Hasbeens"if you could last,

This sorry fate was never ours, 

You kept us swinging on the field, 

You never let us nourish flowers.

In Victory after Victory,

Hoe the "Hasbeens" did us wield,

Before the present youngsters grew,

When their sires were on the field.

How with the "Hasbeens" we have fought,

And conquered foes so fierce and stern,

How we the Hussy cup brought back,

And wrenched another from Strathdearn

That day you knew no wintergreen,

or embrocation on your skin,

A week old whisker on your chin was more in your line,

Than flowing locks coiled round your scalps in brilliatine.

No more we'll swing upon the field, 

With vigour and Perfection, 

For the shinty spirit passed away,

with no signs of resurrection.

And when the day of Union comes,

We'll meet you in the evergreens,

and think upon the happy days, 

When we were "Nows" and not "Hasbeens"

Saw ye the Foyers Fishers,

Saw ye them going away,

Saw ye the Foyers fishers,

Pulling out across the bay

Some of them go to the Camus,

Some of them to Primrose Bay,

Others go to quench their thirst,

Before they start their fishing day.

They caught some monstrous salmon

Played for hours  and broke the line,

But the only fish they ever lost,

Was the fish they had at breakfast time.

Some fishermen are clever fellows,

They can make dead salmon grow,

That sounds just like a fairytale,

And this is how I came to know.

Some of them have seven pounders,

When they land upon the shore,

But before the club at night is closed,

The seven grow to twenty four.

Even then they keep on growing,

Just as if they were alive,

When the grog is fully brewing,

The twenty grow to thirty five.

Screw tops make them grow by ounces,

Doubles make them grow by pounds,

Mix them up inside the fishers,

Then their weights gets out of bounds.

Bobby gets the thirty fivers,

Kenneth gets them big and small,

Paddy gets the forty pounders,

Roy and Stewart get sweet dash all.

They can tell some thrilling tales,

Of how they fought the raging seas,

How they netted forty pounders,

Pulling hard against the breeze.

They have many fearful stories,

Great adventures to relate,

Greater than the Battle cruiser,

Scuttled on the River Plate.

What about the ablemen,

Who make up the fishing crew?,

They never bounce about their fish,

Just add an honest pound or two.

But most of us non expert fishers,

Though yet to catch a fish or two,

We will over add the poundage,

I am guilty, so are you.

T'was in the club one winter’s evening

There we quaffed the foaming beer

When suddenly a pal appearing

Told us tidings of good cheer

Come, said he, through stormy weather

To this place upon the height

And happy we will be together

Dancing we are going tonight

Then up spoke one of our number

Come, said he, let us prepare

And long this night you shall remember

If to follow me you dare

So we sat down round a table

Calling for another round

The motion passed that we were able

Soon we’d be Stratherrick bound

With many a beaker of the foaming

Did we drink the night’s wild health

And starting forth in the gloaming

What cared we for the miser’s wealth

For this night we’d long remember

But what of him who ne’er recalls

When life's fire is but an ember

Cheerie nights and cheerie pal's

But I’m from my tale digressing

As we started on the road

Where at speed we were progressing

Burdened with a heavy load

Yes, a load of noisy bottles

Had we with us one and all

Nectar for our thirsty throttles

Fuel for the coming Ball.

As we neared our destination

Strains of music met our ear

Where we wondered in creation

Can we plonk our bottles here

On our left MacMillan’s garden

Soon does meet our wandering eye

And well we know that us he’ll pardon

If here we let our bottles lie

Then on through the open doorway

Where we join the happy band

Well know what one and all say

Here they come and all well canned.

But caring not for idle chatter

We made merry in the hall

And on many toes we clatter

As we danced them one and all

But I will spare you sordid details

Wild uncouth perhaps they were

And as the alcoholic fire pales

Would that I was never there.

But we gathered e’er we parted

To perform the night’s wild rites

And as the last good drink departed

We spoke up as on other nights

“In this world of tears and laughter

We have learnt one piece of lore:

We’d rather have a morning after

Than never have a night before

An early blackbird blithely sings

Its sweet and bright refrain

A distant curlew’s echo brings

The hint of promised rain

Across Dundeardail rocky steep

The morning sunbeams pour

See Foyers awaken from her sleep

By bonnie Loch Ness shore

Each mossy bank is splashed with gold

Where bright-eyed primrose grow

A million bursting buds unfold

As soft spring breezes blow

Above the Uchdach’s feathered crest

Two hunting buzzards soar

Oh, Foyers by beauty truly blessed

On bonnie Loch Ness shore

I oft in boyhood summer strolled

By Fechlin’s wooded side

And listened while the thrush extolled

The virtues of his bride

The speckled trout, I often fished

Where sparkling waters pour

Nor for another land, I wished

By bonnie Loch Ness shore

Beneath the autumn’s mellow moon

In scented Dalreach’s shade

The shadowed path was aye a boon

To every courting blade

A loving arm, a slender waist,

What man might wish for more

Life’s nectar from sweet lips to taste

By bonnie Loch Ness shore

Now winter snows have hid each scar

Upon the Meall’s high crest

And arrowed to the southern star

The winged geese have pressed

No old friends left to greet me there

In bleak and cold Glen Mhor

Where empty windows, sightless stare

O’er lonely Loch Ness shore.

With the pipers sound,

You'll wrap me round,

And my ash to the wildflowers gave,

No need for a tear,

Or a marker here,

To line out an old pal's grave.

 It's farewell my friends, 

Here nature tends,

The garden in which I lie,

And the wild bird sings,

While the green grass springs,

As the browsing deer pass by.

If you've time to bide, 

just sit by my side, 

partake of the golden dram,

And talk of the days, 

And amusing affrays,

When youth was a mellow dwam.

so drum up there,

There's wood to spare,

And a sandwich in the poke,

And tell of the lore,

Of my Loch Ness shore,

In the tang of the drifting smoke.

Remember old times,

And the wee bit rhymes,

Let old father time sneak bye,

Though the healer of grief,

he's a been a thief,

And your yarn is so good forby .

Still the sun declines ,

So run out the lines,

You're home on a fishing shore,

And ere twilight fails, 

You'll have silver scales,

To brighten our old pub floor.

You brought me from the depths of Hell,

My soul you saved, you served me well,

I won't forget the times we shared,

I know you felt my deep despair.

There's many nights I can recall,

Those happy times within your walls,

The joys we shared (the sorrows too),

You kept me strong and pulled me through.

I know at times we merely `used' you,

We even cursed you and abused you,

We didn't mean to seal your fate,

We miss you now that its too late.

We couldn't save you though we tried,

We fought for you and tears we cried,

We promised that we'd rally round,

I'm sorry that we let you down.

With rage and blame we saw you go,

With bitter words, we sunk so low,

We dug your grave - laid you to rest,

Perhaps it turned out for the best?

And though some things are meant to be,

A part of you lives on in me,

I won't decry you - never would,

I won't forget you - never could.