Rising early and grabbing my bag, some quick caffeine and off out into the rising heat of the morning, the first opportunity for a couple of days just to stretch legs, to think, process the images running around my head, the echoes of other similar scenes, the politics of division fuelling the flames.

It's a busy weekend up in the hills, badminton nets set up at the first resting place, crowds gathering around the six big rocks, snaking along paths still damp from the rain of the last couple of days. And it's hot, already 31 degrees. From the viewpoint the rising columns of the city rise above the hilltops to the west, sharp and clear, as clear as I've ever seen them. The constant haze dispersed, details of knolls and other hills litter the landscape, suddenly visible.

A flash illuminates the night sky, sounds interrupted by the sound of an almighty peal of thunder. It fits. There's a storm surrounding us...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iwctD2ldWY

The Freedom Come All Ye

Roch the wind in the clear day’s dawin
Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie ow’r the bay,
But there’s mair nor a roch wind blawin
Through the great glen o’ the warld the day.
It’s a thocht that will gar oor rottans
– A’ they rogues that gang gallus, fresh and gay –
Tak the road, and seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys, tae sport and play

Nae mair will the bonnie callants
Mairch tae war when oor braggarts crousely craw,
Nor wee weans frae pit-heid and clachan
Mourn the ships sailin’ doon the Broomielaw.
Broken faimlies in lands we’ve herriet,
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair;
Black and white, ane til ither mairriet,
Mak the vile barracks o’ their maisters bare.

So come all ye at hame wi’ Freedom,
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom.
In your hoose a’ the bairns o’ Adam
Can find breid, barley-bree and painted room.
When MacLean meets wi’s freens in Springburn
A’ the roses and geans will turn tae bloom,
And a black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o’ the burghers doon.


Hamish Henderson

English 


Rough the wind in the clear day's dawning
Blows the clouds head-over-heels across the bay
But there's more than a rough wind blowing
Through the Great Glen of the world today
It's a thought that would compel our rodents,
All those rogues who strut and swagger,
Take the road and seek other pastures
To carry out their wicked schemes

No more will our fine young men
March to war when braggarts eagerly call
Nor will children from pitheads and hamlets
Mourn the ships sailing down the Broomielaw.
Broken families in lands we've plundered
Will curse Scotland the brave no more, no more
Black and white, one to the other married,
Make the vile barracks of their masters bare.

So come all ye at home with freedom
Don't heed the carrion croaking of doom
In your house all the children of Adam
Will have bread, whisky and accommodation
When MacLean meets with his friends in Springburn
All the roses and cherry trees will blossom
And a black man from beyond Nyanga
Smashes down the foul gallows of the rulers.