( Inspired by a visit to Bruce’s Monument at Bannockburn when slightly under the influence)
–
The statue stons there cast in bronze.
( The Bruce is sittin’doon)
His battleaxe still in his hons
That malkied Big de Bohun.
–
Proud Edward Scots had aye despised
But Bruce – he wis nae traitor.
His name’s noo courage symbolised –
King Edward’s ?……. a potato!
–
That granite jaw and stoney gaze.
Ah fell beneath his spell
He frichtit tough guys in thae days –
Ah’m petrified masel’.
–
Ma pulse wis raised. It wis hard tae bear
Ah felt ma hert strings tremlin.
His hert is gone. The rest lies there,
In the Abbey of Dunfermline.
–
Starin’ oors or even langer.
Can this be a dream am huvin?
Has Bruce a doppleganger
Wha’s residin’ ower in Govan?
–
A bloodstained bandage roon his brow,
His semmit o’ chain mail.
Nae Daily Record – yet somehow
The likeness still prevails.
–
A driftit aff intae a dwam
O’ warm hallucination.
Nostalgic visions gently swam –
A hame win fur wur nation.
–
We’ve eecked that oot noo mair or less
Near seven hundred years,
Until we got oor next success
When David Sole appears.
–
It wis a rare fecht wi’ the boys in white,
Wi’ roses on their chest.
The Scots geid them an awfu fright –
They cam aff – second best.
–
Near Bannockburn the English stood
Prepared tae gie us battle.
They didnae like wur attitude
Nor wur stealin’ sheep and cattle.
–
Before the “kick aff” wis declared.
A knight ca’ed Big de Bohun
Sneaked up on Bruce while unprepared –
( He wis even bendin’ doon!)
–
” Jock sitting ducks! Forget the truce!”
He’d sworn tae bag his quota.
He charged the unsuspectin’ Bruce,
Wha wis posin’ fur a phota.
–
The Bruce heard pounding horse’s hooves
De Bohun had missed his chance,
When swifter than Mc Colgan moves,
Rab juked beneath his lance.
–
He sprang onboard his trusty steed.
(It wis nearby chewin’ grass.)
He wrapped his airms aroon it’s heid
And spurred it on the ass.
–
High in the stirrups Noble Bruce,
Stood proud and flexed his muscles.
His countenance turned deepest puce-
( Suffused wi’ red corpuscles.)
–
” Hoad Oan!” Bruce cried “That’s aw ah need,
De Bohun ……………. Ye’re jist a baddie!”
He brocht his axe doon on his heid
And split him like a haddie.
–
Thus perish cheats wha seek their fame –
Reviled dishonoured niaffs.
They’re split doon like a fitba game
( Twa seperated halves.)
–
Dismounted Bruce egged on his force.
His face wis wreathed in smiles.
( It’s guid tae get doon aff yer horse
And less sair on the piles.)
–
An English lookout cried ” I say
What’s coming o’er yon hill?
They’ve reinforcements for the fray.
Let’s go, We ‘v e had our fill.”
–
The Saxon host knew deep despair.
Their general lamentit.
He’d bust his specs and mussed his hair.
( His helmet wis a’ dentit.)
–
The English scarpered in alarm- they
Thocht there’s millions in that nation.
( It wis jist oor tartan army
Wi’ anither pitch invasion!)
–
A haematoma roond his eye.
In frnt a missing tooth.
Nonchalent – He sooked a pie –
Oor hero Robert Bruce!
–
Kirk o’ aw denominations
Rang bells tae spread the news.
There wis joy and celebrations
And drams and Irn Brus.
–
Bruce’s weapons are on show
In the Kelvingrove Museum.
A guy a met wanst telt me so
Ye can walk right in and see ’em.
–
The axe noo sports a brand new heid.
A new shaft fitted too.
Not wid – but stainless steel insteid.
It looks as guid as new!
–
The tartan of the Bruces
Is navy blue and black,
Tae symbolise the bruises
He sustained in thon attack.
–
Youse may think this story fantasy
And fu o’ “porkie pies.”
But ah tell youse a’ a man like me’s
No known fur tellin’ lies.
–
We know each passing century
Some details might get lost.
My source is good. – You must agree
Ah read the Sunday Post.
Andy McGowan
27th January 2024
(The bard wi’ the lard.)