The opening verse is from Robert Louis Stevenson
and, elsewhere, an altered line or two from Rabbie Burns.
From the bonny bells of heather
They brewed a drink long syne,
They say was far sweeter than honey,
Was stronger far than any wine.
I was born onto moorland turf
Softened by wells where summer boaters surf.
Stark moorland beauty in my vision,
Through its shrouding mist I made my decision.
To embroider my life between the strands
Of raw grasses that are spun into this land.
Sometimes the sun briefly ignited the folded hills,
But the mist was the life here that watered the stills.
When summer came into the year
The heather bells grew before winter crawled near,
Ready to be plucked for brewing they would say,
Of course, to soon drive a cold winter away.
But none were alive to tell how this elixir was made
To find the recipe once more, what of me must I trade.
The brewsters of the heather are now covered in stones.
Tell me, where did their wisdom depart from their bones.
Today the bees hum, and the curlews cry a bitter song
To tempt me to believe this land of heather is not where I belong.
But once here a Pict surrendered to a Gaelic chief,
Asking please share your secret and spare us with grief.
Aye, we could pick flower tips of the wild purple heather,
Boiled them with malts and myrtle, watch them blend together.
The floral mist and peat smoke could bond us all in peace;
Gael and Pict have so much to share is we could just find the ease.
When Gaels and Picts sat close to a fire on a cold night.
The steam from the heather ale did cool their heated summer fight.
Steam clinged onto cold stones and dripped into their drinking cup,
And together they cheered 'Uisge-beatha' and united they sup.
This "water of life" they then shared together most days
While they bonded the learning and wisdom of their ways.
The fae of the heather were pleased, of course,
That peace lasted well when Fraoch Leann was the source.
Come thro' the heather, around shall we gather,
Come Ronalds, come Donnells, come all thee together,
And create drink for our rightfu', lawfu' chief!
'Tis the heather that's now toasts our belief?
So now when we'll all go together,
Maybe to pull wild mountain thyme.
Let's not forget the bloomin' heather
Will ye go lassie go?
to read an explanation of this story poem please click here