[11] This phrase is generally applied to a heavy back-handed blow.
It is said to have originated at the battle of Dryfe-sands, which
was fought near to Lockerbie in 1593, between the Nithsdale and the
Annandale clans, the former being defeated with terrible slaughter.
It was found after the battle that many of the slain had been killed
by a slashing sword cut across the face, from a blow peculiar to the
Johnstones, and hence called the “Lockerbye lycke.”
[12] Halldykes, in the parish of Dryfesdale, Dumfriesshire, where the
writer passed some years of his boyhood, was formerly the seat of a
branch of the Herries family; and, with three or four adjacent farms,
formed almost the last remnant of their large border estates held by
the descendants of that anciently powerful and noble house; one member
of which is immortalized as the builder of the Tower of Repentance,
and another as Queen Mary’s “loyal and brave Lord Herries!” Sir
Robert Herries, founder of the great London banking house of Herries,
Farquhar, and Co., and the Right Hon. J. C. Herries, once Chancellor
of the Exchequer, were both scions of the old stock of Halldykes.
Like most old family seats in the same district, Halldykes possesses,
numerically speaking, a highly respectable corps of bogles (as the
writer knew to his great and frequent tribulation); the origin and mode
of developement of one of the most prominent of which is related pretty
faithfully, according to local tradition, in the preceding rhyme.
[13] Friends of the author introduced anachronically, as also is Wullie
Smyth, who flourished at Lockerbie during the author’s “school-day
time.”
“THE FARMERS’ WIVES O’ ANNANDALE.”
Being shown, at Lockerbie, a printed programme of after-dinner
proceedings at the celebration there of Mr. R. Jardine’s marriage,
the writer noticed in the list the sentence that heads this page, and
enquired if it were a toast or a song. When told it was the former, he
said it deserved to be a song; and, acting on his own hint, crooned
out the following verses on his homeward journey by rail.
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
Gude haud them bein an’ braw;
Ilk rules within her foothy hame,
Like leddy in her ha’.
Ilk yearns to guide her ain gudeman
Wi’ love that downa fail;—
They irr the wale o’ woman-kind—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
I’ve kent their gates fu’ lang;
They’re worthy weel the wine cup’s grace—
Weel worthy o’ a sang.
But ne’er to read their worth aricht,
May toast or sang avail;
They far transcend a’ rhymin’ skill—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale
Shew fine at kirk an’ fair;
But see them at their ain firesides—
They shine the brichtest there.
Wi’ gracious smiles an’ winsome words
The stranger guest they hail;—
They’re angels in a hamely sphere—
The wives o’ Annandale!
The farmers’ wives o’ Annandale!
They strive frae morn till nicht,
Without, within, through but an’ ben,
To hand a’ rowin’ richt;
To keep contentit their gudemen,
Their bairnies feal an’ hale,
Till baith rise up an’ ca’ them blest—
The wives o’ Annandale.
The chiel’ that hes in Annandale
A weel-waled farm an’ wife,
Has drawn twae glorious prizes frae
The lucky-bag o’ life.
An’ may they prosper, stock an’ store,
In ever hichtinin’ scale,
Whae treasure in their hames an’ hearts
The wives o’ Annandale.