Freedom For Scotland
David Wingate ( The Collier Poet)
The Quarter Folk's Fair
Dalziel In Winter
John Frost
January 25th 1888
The Quarter Folk's Fair.

Wi' Summer's ain gems Avon braes had been deckit,
The breath o' the bean had weel sweetend the air,
When a' the Dukes bairns wi' the Quarter connekit
Prepared for the fun o' their yearly Fair.
New hats had been bocht to be covered wi roses;
New mutches were trimmed wi' grand ribbons and rare;
And the weans had been learned how to turn up their noses
At a' that made licht o' the Quarter Folk's Fair.

Ilk press was a shrine of the god Aquavitae,
And naebody dreamed that his presence could spare,
Hens keckled wi' joy, and the touns auldest Cheeta
Had washen her face for the sake o' the Fair.
Ilk bed was re-cleaned, and ilk ceilin' re-painted
(The fleas were sair fashed wi' the scrubbin and care);
And auld folk, and young folk, wi'' rapture commented
On what had been done when they last had a Fair.

To see the blithe on-gaun I waired an hours leisure,
Amang ither idlers to gape and to stare;
For though in sic crowds I ne'er fand muckle pleasure
There's no' mony fairs like the Quarter Folks Fair.
I saw flags wavin', by stout kimmers carried,
Wha laboured wi' laughter and blushes fu' rare;
Ilk lass seemed as blithe as shed been ae week married,
Inspired wi' the fun and the hopes o' the Fair.

I saw the parade, wi' three fashin' swords fronted,
Glaur Tam at the head o' them, smirkin' was there;
But fearnae that croons will be cloven or crunted,
For Peace was aye Queen at the Quarter Folks Fair.
Far echoed the weel-lippit trumpets o' Larky,
Though aft tipsy Discord threw in a wild blare,
While the ganders loud scream, and he pup''s blythsome bark, aye
Proclaimed brute and body were fou o' the Fair.

And aye some guidewife had to bring oot her bottle
Where'er the band halted- and halts werenae rare-
M;Kenzie, the champion o' tea and teetotal,
Was feckless enough at the Quarter Folks Fair.
Sair wrinkled ere lang were the braw silken sashes,
And loose and mair loose grew ilk flag-maiden's hair,
But a' sic-like trifles nae douce body fashes-
They couldnae be trig through the hale o' the Fair.

And dinnae ye think that the Braes were made vocal
For naething. That day was ilk sweetie-wife's care;
The ;thimble-men kent that the spree wasnae local,
And braw wheels-o-fortune were rife at the Fair.
And there was the cart wi' the ginge-bread frae Stra'ven,
And a' bodies on them had something to wair
And there were the club-men frae Stanehoose, a' craivin'
To tick a new coat at the Quarter Folk's Fair.

But nicht gathered doon, and the Staun-folk a' trampit,
While maidens and matrons for dancing prepared,
The morning maun find them wi' vigour undampit-
The world a' maun ken there was ne'er sic a Fair.
Though noses and neives met in wrathfu' collision,
Though lang dormant feuds were revived wi' new care,
The fiddler was aye in fine scruntin condition,
And funks and teuch fechts are fun o' a Fair.
The Collier's Ragged Wean
Annie Weir
A  Miner's Morning Song
The Quarter Folk's Fair
Dukes bairns: A nickname given to the Quarter Folk's in the 1860's
Glaut Tam: An old collier who kept the gutters clean.
Larky : Lakhall
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