Poem

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Come a` ye sturdy fisher chiels,
And sonsie fishwives wi` yer creels,
We`ll sing a sang an` dance some reels
in Finnyfaul.

Although it`s glory`s on the wane,
There`s still some gallant fishermen,
And lassies braw, as weel ye ken,
in Finnyfaul.

They brag tae us, Port Errol 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 and more,
at Finnyfaul.

With honest pride in by 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 Mcphersons,
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 it`s 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,
Ther`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 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,
at Finnyfaul.

(Ogston)