A Dream Come True.

The above file was presented to this Skerray community website by Robyn Williams, Ghandi's and Megans nephew from Wales, who painstakingly recorded the poems for all to enjoy. They were forwarded via Mr Addie Mackenzie and  Mr Iain. H. Fraser. We thank them all for their generosity, kindness and time spent.


John Steven had a vision, a quite delightful dream,
He saw his Borgie Lodge Hotel fair bursting at the seams.
Packed with high society Lords, Lairds and Earls,
Escorting ladies dressed to kill, in ermine, mink and pearls.

Mine host then gathered gentle folks, within the lounge did scan,
The heads of the departments- the chiefs of every clan.
Their lady wives, were gathered there, bejewelled from head to feet
Sipping their aperitifs, martinis dry and sweet.

He begged them for forgiveness, for now he must withdraw,
To visit with the locals, at the wee “hole in the wa”.
They’d gathered at the dart board, from the villages about,
Chasing whiskies large and small, with tins of sweetheart stout.

Soon his dream was fading- a dreadful shock for John,
For cruel and harsh reality accompanied the dawn,
No girls cavorting round the lounge, no guests with wallets full,
No crowds around the dartboard, no fivers in the till.

Still, John’s a hardy “Gholach” lad not easily dismayed,
The courage of the bulldog breed, right smartly he displayed.
He called the staff around him, for a droppie in the bar,
The ladies all the lads know well, from Rogart, Tongue and Farr.

 On hearing of the bosses’ call- they quickly showed a leg,
Whilst John in automatic car, made swiftly for Tubeg.
When sliding past the Cat-rock, he knew he’d hear no grouse
From dear old Dandy Dolan- the man from corner house.

With wife and staff around him, he quickly did explain,
More work would mean more money, if only they’d remain,
Remain to earn extra, from a dinner or a ball.
Then he would hold a “Soiree”, the greatest of them all.

He sent out invitations, to all the local press
Borgie Lodge would be the place, informal be the dress.
Bush telegraphy was grand, the news went swiftly round,
Ten bob a nob would do the job, or two for just a pound.

They held this joyful party on a cool November eve,
Many were the joyous hours, they’d spend before they’d leave.
They gathered from the valleys, the mountains and the glen,
Heaven knows when all these folks would gather once again.

The crowd was quick to gather, the wine as quick to flow,
As mini-skirted waitresses shuttled to and fro.
Bieldan looked a bit surprised, as to them he did say,
“You’d better pull your minis down- the tups are out today”.

George R. himself arrived, completely at his ease,
Celebrating fifty years spent among the trees.
He mingled with the ladies present, reassuring them
They’d only had to ask him and he’d flash his B.E.M.

Sandie, Borgie Beg, was there, but much to his surprise,
He couldn’t touch Teedie in the art of telling lies,
Sadly he departed, but told Flo at the gate,
The wine was flowing faster than the Borgie in full spate.

Tommy Baillie sauntered in, the Don of Dounereay,
He hesitated with his pound, he thought it should be free,
When asked to sing a verse or two, he said “It’s quite absurd,
I’m topping at the tune, boys, but I canna mind the words”.

Jimmy Campbell then arrived, a lad of different class,
“I’ll have my usual John”, says he, “A screwtop and a glass”.
His pipe he then turned upside down and bolted for the bog,
He came back leaping in the air and barking like a dog.

Bieldan asked one spinster lass, why she was on the shelf,
She said “It’s disappointing but I cannot blame myself,
To find a lad equal to me, I’ve tried but all in vain”.
Bieldan shook his head and murmured “guilty but insane”.

Dolan, bonnet to the side, said “lovely party chaps”.
You’ll know his buddies, they’re the ones who get the slaps.
Ruby asked if all was right, as Dolan took a stool,
“Indeed yes- to perfection- to perfection my jewel”.

The local bobby he arrived, to ask if all was well.
The answer he received was “shut your mouth and go to hell”.
The bobby moved into the room and grabbed at Johnnie Oss,
Johnnie merely smiled and said “don’t worry, all right boss”.

Then came Pat Mackenzie and Henry his pal,
Escorting the Post Office girls, Annie, Babe and Lal.
Peter said “We’ll ease up or we cannot drive our bus”.
Instead of escorting them, they’ll be escorting us”.

Twenty minutes later the Colonel joined the ranks,
The lobsters helped him make the grade, to them a million thanks.
He thoroughly enjoyed himself, till Sinky whipped his dram,
He watched in amazement then said , “Geoval God damn”.

Big Willie looked astonished at all the jewels and furs,
He murmured “boy there’s money here, damn near as much as Burrs”
A jewelled spinster said “I’m fresh, but creaking at the joints”.
Said Bill “your running short of juice, but sparking at the points”.

Dode, the local carpenter, observed the shifting scene,
He said “I’m still at Borgie Lodge, but where the hell is Teen?”
The party’s going nicely, but just to make quite sure,
I’ll liven up the buggars with “The Ball of Kirriemuir”.

Make your way to Borgie Lodge, where happiness is found,
Where joy and sweet contentment is dispensed with every round.
One night the spell was broken, as marcus gave a yell
“Your pullets may be tender, but their eggs are tough as hell”.

So here’s to John and Ruby, and all their happy staff,
Long may they serve their “Golden Blend” that makes a sad man laugh.
To linger for a moment in the warmth of Ruby’s smile,
Makes the trip to Borgie Lodge a pilgrimage worth while.

James Mackay, Lotts