SCOTS Project - www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk Document : 628 Title : Dipper: 16 - The Saumon an the Wee Broun Troot Author(s): Dr James A Begg Copyright holder(s): Dr James A Begg Text No faur frae Ayr's auld honest toun There's a deep dark puil on bonny Doon Whaur the current swirls by an auld tree ruit That's hame sweet hame tae a wee broun troot. As wee troots go he's no that big, But cocky, smert an unco trig, Aa dressed up in a gowden coat Spangled wi mony a bluid-rid spot Like rubies on a royal blanket; - My, hou that wee fish jinkt an swankit An pit on siclike airs an graces Kept minnons an peenheids in their places! Aft-times he'd lowp heich oot the puil Arch ower it's surface mirror-still, Narcissus-like, tae luik an flatter Himsel - reflectit in the watter. A dizzen times or he said it yince He'd cry oot 'I'm sic a braw wee prince, Ower troots an fishes big an smaa I'm shuir tae rise abune them aa; Gin I grow big I maun be King, For facts are chiels that winna ding!' - Then efter cuttin sic a dash, He'd faa back in - wi sic a splash! Aa throu Spring an Simmer lang, Ilk day wad fin oor wee troot thrang, Nabbin nymphs, an gnats, an duns Swept doun throu the shalla runs; Or on the bottom micht he revel At grabbin gadgers oot the grevel; While ither times he had his feasties O watter snails an caddis-beasties: Gin gurly spates roart throu the dubs, He'd guzzle worms an docken grubs, That tummlt in an birlt aboot His bield aneath the auld tree ruit. For aa he acted like a daftie, As months gaed by, he grew mair crafty, An learnt gey quick whit worms were stuck On the berbs o a Thomson-taikle heuk; Yince jagged, twice shy, he sune cuid tell The difference atween a heuk size twel', Buskit tae luik like an Olive Dun, An the real live flee floatin doun the run. Life wis guid, an weel he kent it, His wame wis fou, himsel contentit. But Simmer days pass by sae sune, An Autumn spates cam rummlin doun; Syne aa his regal hopes were dashed, Whan intae his wee bit puil there splashed A fish whase like he'd niver seen - - Wee troot cuid scarce believe his een; The waves near tummlt him tail ower fin, An knocked the rid spots aff his skin, As he dertit aneath his auld tree ruit, Whaur chitterin wi fricht he keekit oot. Ae sicht o th' incomer's vast dimensions, An he quick forsweirt his royal pretensions. He luikt him ower frae kype tae tail, 'Guidsakes!' wunnert he. 'Is this a Whale?' Then luikin again at his muckle jaw, Thocht - 'He micht be big, but he's no that braw!' As time gaed by he grew less feart, Poked his wee heid oot an cannily speirt – 'Whit caa they you, ye muckle lump? That's breinged in here wi sic a thump, An frichtit troots richt oot their wits, Near giein them aa aquatic fits!' Wi that the big fish gied a froun, Syne flickt his tail an luikit roun, Tae spy the wee troot keekin oot Frae's hidey-hole in the auld tree ruit. 'Wis it you that spoke, ye shilpit thing? I'll let ye ken that I'm the King O aa the fishes in this river; I'm big, I'm braw, an unco clever, An mebbe yet I'll tak the notion Tae be King as weel o aa the Ocean!' The wee broun troot cam oot his den, Bou'd doun fou low, swam forrit, then, Wi trimmlin vyce apologised – 'Guid Sir, I niver realised That you were YOU, sae great an true, Whan thae words cam oot my silly mou, The likes o which I nou regret, An hope an pray ye'll quick forget.' King Saumon humphed an gied a grunt, 'Och, haud yer wheesht, ye daft wee runt, It's mebbe juist as weel for you I'm feelin aff my meat the nou!' Therefter for a while at least, The twa fish kep a canny peace; While wee troot listened aa intent, Tae Saumon's spiel o hou they went Awa tae sea as wee-bit laddies, 'Mang herrins, mackerel, cod, an haddies; Hou they journeyed faur an lang an late, Past the Faroes Isles tae Denmark Strait, Whaur they steyd, an ate an grew like kings, On squid, an prawns an siclike things. He tellt o these an ither tales; O escapes frae seals an killer whales, Frae baited lines, an great lang nets Streitcht 'cross the river mous like yetts, Whaur he'd strugglt an threshed till net wis torn, Tae win the burn whaur he wis born. ‘Sae nou ye ken, ye puir wee troot, Why I'm King o Fish withoot a dout; Bauld, fearless, haunsome, that's my style, An blessd wi mair'n my share o guile.' Wee Troot said nocht, but let him blaw, Whan sudden across the puil he saw Dert an hover in the stream, The saumon gourmet's wildest dream – - A size six Thunner an Lichtnin flee! The Wee Troot stared wi frichtent ee, An ere he'd warnt his freen - 'Tak tent!' The big yin flickt his tail an went Mooth-wide, heid-furst, richt intae trouble, Whan his kype gat huikit by the 'Double'! For a saicont or twa there wis a pause, Till he jaloused whit jagged his jaws, Wi fearsome wrath at sic abuse, He lost the heid, aa Hell broke loose: He streakt across an doun the stream, While up abune a purn did scream As line wis strippit tae the backin; He stoppt an turnt, the line did slacken, Then up the puil again he surged, Wi thochts o freedom onwards urged; Three times he lowpt tae sic a hicht, His mortal foe near de'ed o fricht – - Whase hert a-race wi palpitations, An thochts o early celebrations, Near gied him an apoplectic fit - - Whan his fish fell in by the auld tree ruit; Whaur, by a bonny stroke o luck, Line fanklt roun an firmly stuck! Auld Saumon heaved wi aa his wecht On the feathert huik, an poued it strecht, He shook his heid an muckle mou, Then yae last tug - an oot it flew! Feart his freen had come tae grief, Wee Troot luikt on wi great relief, Tae see him let aff wi nocht beside A gowpin jaw - an duntit pride! King Saumon, it wis plain tae see, Wis nae the fish he uised tae be; A lot mair ceevil an unco quait, 'Twas nae surprise gin anither spate, The big fish bade Wee Troot 'Adieu', An tootled aff tae pastures new! Wee Troot tae wis less conceitit - - Nae wish tae see that tale repeatit, Nor ettlt for 'Kingship' abune them aa, - Lest Pride suid come afore a faa! ___ peenheids/minnow fry chiels/lads winna ding/won't be defeated gurly/growling buskit/dressed wame/stomach kype/hooked lower jaw breinged/barged keekin/peeping shilpit/puny haud yer wheesht/be quiet yett/gate rug/tug gowpin/throbbing This work is protected by copyright. All rights reserved. The SCOTS Project and the University of Glasgow do not necessarily endorse, support or recommend the views expressed in this document. Information about document and author: Text Text audience General public: Audience size: 1000+ Text details Method of composition: Handwritten Year of composition: 1982 Word count: 1191 General description: Anthology of prizewinning and other Scots poems, and short stories in Ayrshire Scots. Text medium Book: Radio: Other: Audiocassette Text publication details Published: Publisher: Luath Press Publication year: 1991 Place of publication: Barr, Ayrshire ISBN/ISSN: 0946487227 Edition: First Part of larger text: Contained in: The Dipper an the Three Wee Deils: Tales and Poems in Ayrshire Scots Editor: Authors: Dr. J. A. Begg and J. Reid Page numbers: 36-40 Text setting Leisure/entertainment: Private/personal: Text type Poem/song/ballad: Author Author details Author id: 623 Title: Dr Forenames: James Initials: A Surname: Begg Gender: Male Decade of birth: 1940 Educational attainment: University Age left school: 17 Upbringing/religious beliefs: Protestantism Occupation: Medical Practitioner Place of birth: New Cumnock Region of birth: S Ayr Birthplace CSD dialect area: Ayr Country of birth: Scotland Place of residence: Ayr Region of residence: S Ayr Residence CSD dialect area: Ayr Country of residence: Scotland Father's occupation: Clerical Officer, NCB Father's place of birth: Sandbank Father's region of birth: Argyll Father's birthplace CSD dialect area: Arg Father's country of birth: Scotland Mother's occupation: Primary Teacher Mother's place of birth: New Cumnock Mother's region of birth: S Ayr Mother's birthplace CSD dialect area: Ayr Mother's country of birth: Scotland Languages: Language: Danish Speak: No Read: No Write: No Understand: No Circumstances: A little Language: English Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Home, socially, at work Language: French Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Holidaying in France Language: Norwegian Speak: No Read: No Write: No Understand: No Circumstances: A little Language: Scots Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Home, socially, at work