Cellardyke Bluejackets Football Club
As long's my memory has the
Tae mind o' yon days far, far back.
Whar the "Bluejackets" had their pitch,
Are hooses noo, for puir or rich,
Whar "Eckie" used tae dry oor fleets,
There noo are hooses, ay! and streets.
You used tae wink tae a' the lassies,
Ah Jeems - noo mony a Dyker passes,
And that it may soond unca queer,
Wha's that, I offen hae tae speir,
But I hae wandered frae my theme,
Aboot the "Blue's" lang, lang supreme,
I, and you tae, can mind it fine,
Tam Dug ran doon along the line,
And no a man hooever swift,
But Tam could left far oot o' sicht.
Nae doot, Time wi' its magic wand,
Has made thae auld days look mair grand,
Yet tho' we see them - throo' a mist,
Thae days tae us - are ever blest,
And when the Crailers cam' tae play,
The hale Toll Road was fu' that day,
Hoo little Duggie taen the lead,
Coupit lang Morris ower his heid,
Hoo you and Crieff fair had the knack,
Tae mak' whaeer cam' near - stout back,
"Whiteheid" in Dyker fitba' story,
As famous as the great McGrory,
A heid as hard as stane, or coal,
Gar'd the ba' stout frae goal tae goal,
Big Mitchell in the goal - sic knocks,
His neeves like twa fore haulyard blocks.
Other Peter Smith Poetry:
The Crew of the Yawl 'Day Dawn'
The Crew of the Steam Drifter 'Golden Strand'
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