Soor Plumes and Macaroons
I found a wooden threepenny bit, I thought “I’ve won the pools.” I headed for John Nixon’s shop, and at the window drooled.
Sherbet dips, kissing lips and loads o’ candy swirls. Lemon drops and lolly pops, and sweeties strung like pearls.
Lucky tatties, MB bars and cakes o’ Hairy Coo. Oh so many tasty things, what was I to choose.
Macaroons, soor plumes, and boilers by the jar. Cola cubes and cough mix Zubes, I think that’s going too far.
Midget gems, ginger stem, and all those ha’penny chews. Even just the thought of them, would make my fillings loose.
Pick and mix, Liquorice sticks and jellies by the score. Stuff from Mars and chocolate bars, I headed for the door.
My eyes were wide, I stepped inside, my sweeties for to pick. Then something happened to me, that made me feel quite sick.
My sister stood beside me, she said, “don’t you worry hen, I will make your mind up, and all your money spend.”
“Bazooka Joes, that’s six to go, I love my bubble gum. And don’t be telling mother, she says it sticks your tum.”
“I hated bubble gum.”
My mother disliked us buying any sort of bubble gum or chewing gum. To put us off, she told us that if we happened to swallow It, the gum would stick to our insides.
Jumping the Chanty
Traditionally on a bride-to-be’s hen night, her friends walk her round the local village or town to Jump the Chanty. The “Chanty” is a china chamber pot which is placed on the ground and jumped by the bride-to-be. Her friends are usually brightly dressed with hats and balloons and streamers, she is usually dressed with a coloured hat and tassels on her coat. The bride-to-be kisses any local lads that she meets, those who can brave the bunch of girls without getting embarrassed. The kiss is a token that signifies the end of her single life. Money is placed in the pot by the lads and passers-by, to ensure prosperity.
It’s Jeannie Waters last night out, as a single lassie. Her friends are there, their oh so fair, and acting kind o’sassy.
They traipse her through the local streets and Jeannie kisses lads she meets. A token kiss that says goodbye to Jeannie Waters single life.
With coloured hat and tasselled coat, she dances round a china pot. Her face turns red, she hides her head, it’s one short week ‘til she is “wed”.
And all the local folk turn out, they clap and cheer and yell and shout. They put some money in the pot, and Jeannie’s blushing’s soon forgot.
And when the night has worn done, Jeannie Waters had such fun. They all head home the night complete, Jeannie’s getting wed next week.
The Shillings out S.S.E.B.
The shillings out my mother shouts and dinners just put on. Your fathers due he’ll get no stew and all I’ll hear are moans.
It’s Thursday night no cash in sight, there’s no a ha’penny left. I lived in hope that I would cope, no wonder I get stressed.
The same each week the house to keep, I find it such a test. It’s not just me ‘cause I can see, I’m just like all the rest.
Check down the couch and down the chairs, we’ll maybe find a shilling there. Or in that box of darning socks, I sometimes hide a spare.
We had a look in all the nooks and into all the crannies. What’s even worse we checked the purse, the one that was my grannies.
For half an hour we searched and scoured, our hopes were all but dashed. There’s one more place, if we could trace your father’s secret stash.
It wasn’t long to mothers’ song we heard it in the air. That auld grey suit that pa left out, I’ve found some money there.
The panic stopped, the shilling dropped, the house was full of light. The day was saved and dinners made, we’re going to eat tonight.
From hand to mouth our life in truth, is nothing but a struggle. I hope one day that I’ll can say, we got out of this guddle.
Guddle: A complete mess.
The Doo Man
My uncle Samuel (Sam) kept racing pigeons, he was a Doo Man, one of eleven pigeon fanciers in the Girdle Toll. At that time, in the early 1950s the Girdle had grown to a village of 150 council houses, with a population of around 600. The village had been set up to house factory workers and their families who were employed in the nearby industrialised town of Irvine. The houses were relatively large by today’s standards and had very large gardens, as most people grew a lot of their own vegetables. This also lent itself to fanciers being able to construct lofts in their back gardens. All the lofts were very competitive, and it was amazing to see the flocks of pigeons flying around in the skies above the village. Uncle Sam devoted most of his time and money to the upkeep and maintenance of his loft. His long-suffering wife Nel had often told him that if she ever made it back in another life, she was coming back as a racing pigeon. Sam would come home from his work at Browns Foundry, get washed and fed, do any chores that needed done and then out to his birds.
My uncle Sam had pigeons; they were racing doos. He housed them in a big green loft and kept them two by two.
His world was built around them, his time and money spent. If he’d put much more into them, he’d end up living in a tent.
They say Nel his wife was jealous and gave him talking’s to. That if she ever made it back, she was coming as a doo.
For years he bred those pigeons and taught them how to fly. Seemed to have more time for them than he had for you or I.
Then Sam he bred a champion, she was a super hen. The biggest race she ever won, was coming 1st at Rennes.
He soon became the guru, and many friends called by. He knew about those pigeons and teaching them to fly.
The years they passed him kindly, his birds were ae the best. Seemed to have a special one that was better than the rest.
When old Sam he popped his clogs and headed for the sky, many thought that Nelly would bake them in a pie.
Instead, she kept them going and she would often tell. Sam had never ventured far and flew straight home to Nel.
(So if you see a pigeon don’t kick it in the eye. There’s a chance that it could be a thoroughbred o’the sky)
Global Warming
Little Johnny MacAfee helped to mend (make) his household fire in the late 1950s and early 60s.
He reflects on his part in Global Warming
It wisnae that folk didnae care; we didnae huv an ozone layer.
We built oor fires wi’ fossil fuels and noo they say that we were fools.
We set oor fires to keep us warm, we didnae mean the world nae harm.
So don’t blame me A didnae ken, them holes wid get bigger,
and the world would end. And noo that things are heatin up,
them polar bears are oot o’luck.
It’s your turn noo so dae your best and gie them fossil fuels a rest.
The Fergushill Bus
Nellie was a clippie who rode The Western bus. Whenever she was on it, we never made a fuss.
She took us to our school each day and then she brought us back, and if we got in trouble, our ears she would attack.
Wee kids first and big ones last, the order of the day, and if you tried to jump the queue, you knew what she would say.
I’ll keep you off, you’ll have to walk, and you’ll be late for school, then I’ll tell Big Jimmy, he’ll treat you like a fool.
It wasn’t just the children that Nellie kept in check, if grownups gave her trouble, they’d get it in the neck.
It didn’t matter who it was she’d take them in her stride, and if they got the worst of her, they’d want to run and hide.
All the kids liked Nellie, they knew just where they stood, the journey it was peaceful and in a tranquil mood.
So when we saw wee Nellie upon the Western bus, we knew there’d be no trouble for she didn’t stand a fuss.
The Western SMT bus that followed the route Fergushill to Irvine shore, collected the school kids from Girdle Toll on weekdays at 08:45 am and delivered them to Annick Lodge Primary. It would pick the children up at 15:45 a.m. and take them back, after the school day had finished. One of the conductresses was especially of note. Nellie was a no-nonsense type who knew how to control a bus load of children. Even though she was very strict most of the kids liked her.
Jock the Coalman’s Bairns
My granny, Belle Grant was a fierce woman with a sharp tongue. Belle had seven children, four boys and three girls. My mother Margaret was the middle child of the girls. When she reached the age of twelve, it was her job to see her three older brothers out to their work and get her younger brother and sister off to school. After school Margaret would have to see to the housework. Her older sister was seen as the lady of the family and her younger as the baby. This left Margaret as the workhorse. Then a young man named Jack appeared on the scene, to take her away from being an unpaid skivvy. Belle never forgave Jack for taking her away.
My granny was a tartar, that’s what my mother said. She never had a kindly word, from morning till her bed.
She said that we were guttersnipe’s, a nasty thing to say. And that’s when she was having, one of her better days.
The only thing my father did when he came back to civvies, was marry Meg her daughter and take away her skivvy.
My father was a coalman who worked the Sourlie pit. To marry Belle Grant’s daughter, she said he wasn’t fit.
For all those years she bated us, until her days were done. I still remember granny and the sharpness of her tongue.
Tartar: Scottish – A disturbance, noise, hubbub. Of irritable or violent temper. One that proves to be unexpectedly formidable.
My granny was a tartar, that’s what my mother said. She never had a kindly word, from morning till her bed.
She said that we were guttersnipe’s, a nasty thing to say. And that’s when she was having, one of her better days.
The only thing my father did when he came back to civvies, was marry Meg her daughter and take away her skivvy.
My father was a coalman who worked the Sourlie pit. To marry Belle Grant’s daughter, she said he wasn’t fit.
For all those years she bated us, until her days were done. I still remember granny and the sharpness of her tongue.
Tartar: Scottish – A disturbance, noise, hubbub. Of irritable or violent temper. One that proves to be unexpectedly formidable.
The “Meteor” that Fell to Earth.
In 1960, a jet aircraft fighter flew low over the Girdle Toll experiencing engine failure. The children, who were playing on the village green, were mesmerised as they were used to seeing prop driven planes and never anything flying so low. Even at the age of 8 years, it was obvious to me that it was in trouble. One of the boys who said he knew about aircraft said that it was a “Meteor.” We all started to chase after the stricken plane. At that my mother came out and told me not to leave the village. The bigger boys ran all the way to the crash site which was just west of Dreghorn and about a mile from the Girdle Toll. When I went to see the wreckage the next day, the aircraft was marked with Royal Navy Colours and had a double tail plane. It was a de Havilland Sea Vampire.
As we played our children’s games upon the village green. A jet aircraft fighter plane with its engine in a scream.
Flew overhead and just at that the craft began to stutter. We all knew there’s something wrong, as the sound became a splutter.
My friend said, “it’s a Meteor,” I’m sure he wasn’t rite. It banked and turned and shook a bit, and then flew out of sight.
“It’s heading for yon farmer’s field; I think it’s going to crash.” And off we ran right after it, as fast as we could dash.
The next thing there’s a parachute, the pilots gotten out. The kids all gave a howler, it was such a hearty shout.
My mother heard the rumpus and came outside to see. “Don’t you chase the others, just stay at home with me.”
The boys came back to tell us, there was a tragic loss. A second airman in the plane had paid the final cost.
The pilot was a hero who steered the plane away. It could have hit the village; it was our lucky day.
We went to see the wreckage; it was a solemn sight. I thanked him for his bravery when I went to bed that night.
The Dredger
Irvine port had a bucket Dredger from 1911 until 1969. The port was used to service the Nobel explosive factory at Stevenson, Ayrshire. At the time, described as the biggest manufacturer of explosives in the world (dynamite). The site at Stevenson was chosen by Nobel because of its remoteness and its natural sand dunes. At its peak, 13,000 workers were employed. Irvine had a natural harbour where the river Garnock and the river Irvine joined at the sea. The problem was that the port mouth silted up. A bucket Dredger was employed to alleviate this, but it was always a work in progress.
(Dedicated to George Aston, it’s my dredger)
Irvine had a dredger, who cleared the silt and sand.
She kept the port from clogging up, on looks she wasn’t grand.
Her buckets they went up and down and then went underneath.
This lady was a working boat, with buckets for her teeth.
For fifty years she worked away, it was a Nobel cause.
And when her work was finished, she didn’t get applause.
Now the port is all clogged up, with all that silt and sand.
This lady was a workhorse, and I think that she was grand.
It’s Better than a Slater up Your Nose.
(As aired on the B.B.C.)
My mother had these sayings, she taught me ower the years. To get me through my troubles and see me passed my fears. And as I’ve wandered through my life, they’ve echoed in my ears. So let me tell you what they were, so you should listen here.
Ma eyes huv seen sare sights.
Ma hauns huv done the devil’s work and it gave me such a fright.
Ma work it needed elba grease.
and ma ears are painted on.
I’ve got these slippy shooders,
and I’ve often picked at bones.
Now there’s another saying, that she said to me, if I got disappointed, she would let me see, what I’ve got is what I’ve got, and what did I suppose, anything is better than a slater up your nose.
Ma bums been oot the windae.
Ma eyes huv seen sare sights.
Ma hauns huv done the devil’s work and it gave me such a fright.
Ma work it needed elba grease.
and ma ears are painted on.
I’ve got these slippy shooders
and I’ve often picked at bones.
And now I’m down life’s rocky road, it really made me smile, if I got into trouble my Ma would go her mile. And though it’s been a sare fecht, I managed it with style. My mother and her sayings have helped me all the while.
Ma bums been oot the windae.
Ma eyes huv seen sare sights.
Ma hauns huv done the devil’s work and it gave me such a fright.
Ma work it needed elba grease.
and ma ears are painted on.
I’ve got these slippy shooders
and I’ve often picked at bones.
Johnny and the Big Brown Burr Bear
Young Johnny had a simple ploy, he would chase the older boys, to try and share in all the fun they had.
His mother knew given half a chance, that he would join the big boys dance, she tried to keep him firmly by her side.
Then came the day he slipped away; mums head was turned he didn’t say, and then was off as fast as he could run.
He followed them to Eggie Woods, and if he sneaked, he knew he could, catch a glimpse of all the games they played.
Out of the corner of their eyes, and much to the older boy’s surprise, they could see him follow in their wake.
They didn’t want to cause a fuss, young Johns too small to play with us, they quickly turned and headed on their way.
When they saw the youngster run, the big boys thought they’d have some fun, and quickly left him trailing far behind.
Alone in the woods amongst the trees, the young lad waited just to see, would the other boys come back to check him out.
Just at that he heard a noise, it wasn’t a bird or the older boys, something stirred in the trees above his head.
Johnny Warnock stood and stared, for he could see a Big Brown Bear, and it was climbing up an Aspen tree.
He turned on his heels and quickly ran, he didn’t take a second scan, the fear of life was pulsing through his veins.
When he reached the village green, the young boy told of what he’d seen, there’s a big brown bear down in Eggie woods.
The village turned out too Johnny’s shouts, even the adults who had their doubts, who didn’t want to see a big brown bear.
It’s down the woods and up a tree, that’s where you’ll find it trust in me, and off they rushed to follow in his steps.
John was the piper leading the band, he was important, and it felt grand, he would show them just how big he was.
When they reached where the bear should be, they all looked up at the Aspen tree, would Johnny be the hero of the day.
Johnny pointed, you can see it there, that’s where I saw the big brown bear, the adults turned and slowly walked away.
There’s no bear there it’s got no fur, it’s just a big muckle wooden burr, you’ve wasted all our time this afternoon.
The crowd wandered off with moans and sighs, young johnny was left with a tear in his eye, who’d have thought they’d be taken in by him.
I went to the woods the very next day, and the only thing that I can say, as I passed that burr, I’m sure it winked at me.
Eggie Woods – Eglinton Woods was part of the Eglinton estate, which were accessed through the gatehouses onto the Long Drive, leading to Eglinton Castle. This was a favourite place for the older kids to play.
Sunday School
Father goes to Sunday school; he doesn’t miss a week. At two o’clock each Sunday, redemption he does seek.
Off he heads across the fields, his collection in his hand. There’s not much over that way, except the farmer’s land.
I’m not sure where the school is, I think I’ll go and see. So off I traipsed straight after him, as fast as I could be.
When I reached the hollow, the men were gathered there. It didn’t sound like praying, I just stood and stared.
There were yells and shouting, and some guy acting tough. I took a big step backwards, I thought I’d seen enough.
Then the throng it settled down, some coins flew in the air. Not a person called a fault, it seems the toss was fair.
Then the crowd it caught my eye and sent me on my way. I was more than pleased to go, I didn’t want to stay.
As I wondered back to home, I couldn’t work it out. That was not like Sunday school, of that I had no doubt.
It seemed to be a rabble, where men would curse and swear. Whatever had just happened, I’m glad I wasn’t there.
I went to tell my mother; of all the sights I’d seen. She just smiled and giggled, I thought she was so mean.
Your father doesn’t go there, to learn the golden rules. He just goes to pitch and toss; it is a gambling school.
When my dad had made it back, he wasn’t in a huff. He said that I had brought him luck, and that was fair enough.
I was just a youngster and took it in my stride. Didn’t think it something, my dad should have to hide.
The Black Maria
Black Marias were police vehicles used to ferry prisoners between local police stations and court or prison. They were also used to ferry large numbers of officers to the scene of major incidents or crimes. As a child, when we saw a Black Maria, we knew that something serious had happened, causing great excitement.
The towns turned out, there’s been a brawl, a rumble tumble free for all. The fighting Winton’s strike again, creating bedlam, grief, and pain.
Inside The Kings, a fight’s spills out, it’s over nothing, there’s no doubt. A crowd has gathered at the Cross, to see who’ll win and be the boss.
The cops hold back amongst the fuss, their waiting for the big black bus. Strength in numbers, that’s their game if they strike now, they’ll suffer pain.
The Black Marias on its way, the extra men will save the day. When it arrives, the cops pour out(oot), their looking smart in their blue suits.
The fighting’s quelled, there’s no more fuss, the culprits in the big black bus. They’ve lifted two, the Winton boys, their weekends over, no more joy.
The Prisoner
Ron he was a prisoner to the very thing he sought. His search for wealth it shackled him in manner and in thought.
He scrimped on every penny; he never made a splash. He treated every ha’penny as if it was his last.
His house was Stark and dreary, his clothes were quite threadbare. He never showed a sign of wealth, he didn’t seem to care.
All his neighbours felt for him, he’s such a poor old soul. Canny even heat his house; do you see the price of coal.
So what’s the point of money, when all that you can see, is a poor poor man who’s down at heel, with patches on his knees.
Stan
My uncle Stan was a fine wee man, who hailed from Aberdeen. He said his only claim to fame, was that he’d met the queen.
He came to visit once a month, and never missed that day. My mother always asked him twice, Stan would you like to stay.
It didn’t seem to matter, how many times she asked. Stan would never say yes and make his visits last.
He told us stories of the past and kept us all enthralled. Although he was a small man, we thought him ten feet tall.
Mum said he’d been a soldier and fought in distant lands. When queen and country needed him, he joined behind the band.
She said he was a hero, a man of daring do and when it came to being brave, Stan would head the queue.
As years went by, I realised, his thoughts would drift away. The pain was there for all to see, but he would never say.
Mum says that he’s got troubles, demons in his head. He doesn’t get much sleep at night, when he goes to bed.
It seems his team was ambushed, and they were in a bind. They were deep in trouble, caught behind the line.
Then Stan came to the rescue, there to save the day. Fighting like a dervish, he made the enemy pay.
The trouble for the wee guy, a man was left behind. This would always worry him and pray upon his mind.
Stan was hailed a hero, and his story often told. How he’d stormed the enemy, his exploits oh so bold.
When Stan returned to civvie life, he didn’t take it well. His thoughts were deep in turmoil, In his private hell.
Then uncle stopped his visits, he wouldn’t even call. My mother said she’s worried, the writings on the wall.
She made a trip to see him, just to check him out. The man was deep in trouble, she had little doubt.
My mum was at her wits end, seemed little she could do, I heard her tell my father, she didn’t have a clue.
For years she went to visit him, and even took him food. She tried her best to help him but couldn’t change his mood.
Then came the day she dreaded; a neighbour found him dead. Mum said it was a blessing, those thoughts inside his head.
When we were at his funeral, a women came to say. Stan had saved her youngest son, on that fateful day.
She knew that he was troubled and had tried to ease his mind. But he could never come to terms, with a comrade left behind.
Stan had never married; he was always on his own. I often wondered to myself, if Stan felt all alone.
I wish there’d been a hero, to save him from his strife. All he got for being one, was a sad and lonely life.
My uncle Stan was a fine wee man, who hailed from Aberdeen. I know his greatest claim to fame, was when he saved his team.
Nits
My mothers in a tantrum, an ackie-pevie fit, she checked my head at breakfast, and says that I’ve got nits.
The district nurse been round the schools, she says that they are rife, she seems a nice wee woman, I think she comes from Fife.
I’ll need to get a bone comb and run it through your hair, we’ll have to be so careful, we don’t want any more(mair).
I’ll go in town to get it, and save us from disgrace, you know the village gossips would throw it in my face.
My mum came back in double time, and combed it through my hair, she seemed to comb for ever, until my head was sore(sair).
Who was it that gave you them, as if it was a gift, I just shrugged my shoulders and thought no more if it.
So don’t go telling anyone, or I’ll have a fit, we’ll keep this thing between us, and never mention nits.
My Mammy’s Brand-new Teeth.
My ma went to the dentist to get some brand-new teeth. Along to Mr Rogers who practice down in Leith.
She said “well that’s me off now son, this could take a while. The next time that you see me, I’ll greet you with a smile.”
Well, I played away, I spent my day, I ate a jeely piece. And I was fair delighted, my ma was down in Leith.
Then just as I was wearying, the door it opened wide. I looked to see who it could be, a stranger stepped inside.
“Hello my son, that’s it done, I’ve got my brand new teeth. Thanks to Mr Rogers, down at the foot O’Leith.”
My eyes were wide, I tried to hide the terror in my face. This was no my mammy and someone’s in her place.
I worried all that afternoon, what was I to do, should I tell my auntie Belle, I just didn’t have a clue.
My Pa arrived the back o’five, “is there something different ma? Have you had your hair done,” well that was just my pa?
As time went by, I realised my fears were out of place. This was still my mammy, with a smile upon her face.
A Lums on Fire
A lum’s on fire, now there’s a shout that sure to turn the village out. Smoke and sparks would fill the air, the smell of soot was everywhere.
And all the kids would mull about and wouldn’t go ‘til it went out. In the house the fire roared, tempers frayed as the heat it soared.
“I told you just a week ago to get the sweep, but you said no.” “Well mother,” father said, “it was either the sweep or a loaf of bread.
“And what will all the neighbours say they’ll know the sweep we couldn’t pay. Old Jeanie’s got her washing out(oot) and she’ll be round if it smells of soot”.
Pa goes out to check the stack and mother rants ‘til he comes back. “You banked that fire far too high and now the reek fills the sky.”
“I think the flames are dying down(doon), with any luck they’ll be out soon.” “Just as well for you,” she said, “and I hope nobody’s phoned the fire-brigade.”
Time wore on and the flames they died, no more smoke or sparks in the sky. “Right father that’s the last, from now on in we’ll put the money past.
Phone the sweep this afternoon, with any luck he’ll get it soon.” The kids wandered off the excitement passed, the lum on fire was out at last.
The Rag and Bone Man.
“Toys for rags,” the shout went out and all the kids would rush about. The Rag and Bone man’s here today, his horse and cart are on their way.
With his bugle sounding, no much tune, a chance to get a hat or balloon. He’s only just a street away, if I get rags, it’ll make my day
Back to my house I go to see, if my mum’s got any rags for me. Oh no she isn’t there, I’ve missed my chance and that’s not fair.
I think I’ll have a look myself, here what’s this sitting on the shelf. An auld grey suit with a funny smell, I’m sure that would go down right well.
The Rag and Bone man had a look and took his chance with the auld grey suit. “A gun with caps that’s your choice” and “don’t scare the horse,” in his husky voice.
I wandered back to my ain front door; my mum was there but her face was sour. “Where’s your father’s funeral suit, I’ve just been taking the mothballs out(oot)”.
My face it fell, and my mum could tell, and I said,” but there was a funny smell.” “That’s your fathers only suit, don’t say you’ve gone and thrown it out(oot)”.
“The Rag and Bone man’s just been round(roon) and all I wanted was a hat or balloon”. “Away you go your off your head, sometimes a think your thicker than a loaf of bread.”
“Where’s he now?” she said in haste, with an angry look upon her face. Just at that his bugle blew and his whereabouts my mum she knew.
Off we flew and soon caught up, the rag and bone man was going to have a change of luck. “Here mister what’s your game, I’ll have the suit back if it’s all the same.”
Well, that was that and he made no fuss, a think he thought he’d been hit by a double-decker bus. And it all worked out well, with no harm done and I was happy, I still had my gun.
Laird Forge (No. 10 hammer)
Big Rab he drove the hammer, down at the Laird forge site, it didn’t seem to matter, if it was day or night.
The sound it rang all-round the town, and we could often tell, how many forgings he had stamped and was he doing well.
He toiled away most all his days and didn’t get a seat, the work was hard, and he got charred by all that searing heat.
The sound was overpowering, he didn’t get relief, it came and stole his hearing, as if it was a thief.
Although he made a penny, there was a price to pay, Big Rab was deaf and knackered, by retirement day.
About the Author
ASH is an Irvine based rhymer whose words mostly reflect her childhood, growing up in the West of Scotland in the 1950s and 60s. ASH has had an interest in rhymes since an early age, but it is only in recent years that she decided to put pen to paper to make a record of the world seen through a child’s eyes in that unique period.
ASH’s father Jack had been a rhymer in his own right, and she has taken inspiration from her dad. ASH decided to put her thoughts into writing after her reaction to 911, having written the following verses.
It’ll Never be the same again. (Tribute to New Yorkers after 911)
We’ve worked so hard for all these years to build our lives and have no fears,
Then the strangers came to spoil our dreams, but we’ll fight back to live again.
From another place and another land, they came along to spoil our plans.
They attacked our beliefs and our freedom; they took advantage of our reason.
The time has come to face our fears, for we’ve felt safe for all these years.
It only took a moment of madness, to bring us grief and cause us sadness.
As time goes by and the pain it eases, we can rebuild the broken pieces.
We must never forget and win we must, for this is so and in God we trust.
Chorus: Together we stand to bring them down, we believe were on solid ground.
Our freedoms built on inspiration, we believe we must save our nation.
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