THE AUCHTERGAVEN BODYSNATCHERS By Exile There
was a sleet in the cauld wind we decided to brave As
we trudged up the hill to find Wee Smeekies grave The
lush grass was sodden, it was muddy underfoot, As
we stopped to draw breath whilst surveying Bankfoot This
historic village cemetery was kept sae neat and tidy Was
whaur Smeekie had been buried four weeks past on Friday And
a braw, braw place tae lay in rest I thought untae my’sel A
reception room for Heaven, no’ a waiting room for Hell Gravestones
o’er the centuries o’ granddads, daughters, brothers Cousins,
nieces, nephews, grannies, fathers, sons and mothers Orderliness
most evident, o’ that you would expect Auchtergaven’s
way o’ saying “To our dead we pay respect” This
graveyard had seen many tears, an’ deaths for many reasons And
the evidence on the headstones by the monumental masons Whau’s
inscriptions were reminders o’ the fragility o’ life And
the tenderness and devotion o’ a husband and a wife Going
through life together, sharing everything they’ve got Then
going to meet their maker and sharing the same plot Takes
a special compatibility wi’ warmth and understanding Wi’
forthrightness and courage, determination not withstanding But
we’d come to find Wee Smeekies plot an’ say a word or two And
think about him lying there in his red and white and blue His
dying wish, a Rangers strip to replace the funeral shroud For
Smeekie was an Ibrox man, o’ that he was fair proud And
he was in this churchyard lying somewhere underground Yet
hunting through “God’s acre” no trace of him was found We
were checking every tombstone, trudging up and down Then
when glancing to the left I detected Camsie’s frown Then
the frown disappeared and he started to scowl His
shoulders hunched forward, he stared to prowl The
searching continued, the hour was getting late I
thought we’d found Smeekie when I heard a shout from Pate “A
funny thing” says Camsie, “I’ve examined every stane There’s
something very odd out here I canny we’el explain” I
watched him quite intently, he was serious as he spoke “No
finding Smeekie’s one thing, but I’ve lost my Uncle Jock!” I’ve
checked every single headstone, he’s nowhere to be found I
was here when he was buried, when they put him underground Cams
was mystified and flummoxed, worse than he had feared His
Uncle Jock and Smeekie couldnae baith have disappeared Ye
hear some awful stories, and you’re filled with morbid dread Grave
robbers in the darkness, digging up the dead A
shiver went through my body, I looked up tae the skies As
I thought about the butcher and his local home-made pies Sleep
well in Auchtergaven, sleep soundly in your bed Steer
clear of your necropolis, your ‘city of the dead’ Strange
things may be happening up on your Boot Hill Which
looks at first a picture so peaceful and tranquil May
be hiding awful secrets of ghouls and bloody vampires Bogeymen,
werewolves or blazing human bonfires Have
close at hand a crucifix, eat garlic for good measure And
put them in your coffin if the hereafter you treasure Now
Rangers men and crucifixes don’t mix very well But
keep at bay the vampires or you could end up in Hell. Copyright
Calluna Publishing 2003
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