1. Full fierce in battle this dreaded Clan
   where none could hold them, man for man
   when gathered beneath their banner fell
   - & many did, as I've heard tell.

   Their kind of war was far from nice
   & thousands feared their strange device
   born in combat from Yule to Lent:
   gules & vert, a bear argent.

   
   

2. They fought with bow & sword & spear,
   pavisse & shield did many fear;
   but above all else on battle-ground
   one weapon most did folk astound.

   For not with sword & cannon-shot
   Mac Carrum's fury burned most hot,
   nor yet with whisky, nor beer of borage:
   Mac Carrum's weapon was The Porridge.

   
   

3. Those who speak in tones sublime
   of porridge hot at breakfast time;
   of milk & honey, ambrosial scent,
   of oatmeal broth from heaven sent.

   Who praise the oat in homage true
   never speak of this horrid brew;
   & far & wide would sooner forage
   than even think of a Military Porridge.

   
   

4. For Mac Carrum's Pot is a fearful sight -
   O black & hideous Thing of Might!
   Filled with oats & pepper & salt,
   garlic & onions, chilli & malt,

   tincture of rosemary, sesame fine,
   vinegar, lemon & turpentine,
   spirits that never man imbibed,
   & things that were better left undescribed.

   
   

5. Lochac trembled & fled away
   far from the sun & light of day
   as Mac carrum's clansfolk rampaged through
   the hosts of war with their rancid brew;

   but when the day was won & lost
   & our heroes down their armour tossed
   a mystic sight their eyes beheld,
   those who Lochac's arms had quelled.

   
   

6. For standing proudly in the pot
   a mighty spoon like an arrow shot;
   a yard or more in height it was
   & some cried Where? & How? because

   so eerie, strange & mystic seemed
   the spoon that in the porridge gleamed,
   carved with runes of might & power,
   more than enough to make strong men cower.

   
   

7. 'These runes of power: what are they for?'
   inquired the Princess Elinor.
   'Can any say what they may mean?'
   Then spoke the Steward in red & green,

   Murgatroyd the Mighty with solemn voice:
   'Here, my clansfolk, is a simple choice.
   Whoso pulleth this spoon forth
   shall lead our clan both south & north.'

   
   

8. Then Dafydd swore Great Scot & lot
   & boldly stepped up to the pot,
   & drawing forth the thing of might
   beheld at once an eldritch sight.

   & all the Clan at once did talk:
   'This is no Spoon, but a Tuning Fork!
   Indeed our brew this day is venomous!'
   On this opinion was quite unanimous.

   
   

9. Then spoke Dafydd: 'I cannot see
   how this can carry the key of G
   in Dorian mode, and our music order.'
   Then drew him forth a wild recorder.

   & all the clan did then likewise
   in instruments of various size
   & blew such blasts on pipe & horn
   & so was Choral Music born.

   
   

10. Then all at once the Clan did sing
    & to the song each one did bring
    their very own key, & words & such:
    the populace were astounded much.

    each sang louder, & louder more:
    James & Kattrin & Elinor.
    Higher their hearts upward were buoyed
    by Arenwald, Lucynda & Murgatroyd.

    
    

11. Full soon the necessary deed
    (a common tune & words agreed)
    brought forth such strange & soulful sounds
    that still the whole Known World astounds.

    Yet still in hoarded treasury
    to right all wrongs the world may see
    wild clansfolk muster on the hill:
    Mac Carrum's porridge waits there still.

Dafydd of the Glens AS XXX

© David Greagg