Gardner, Rev. Dr. Bruce K.
The "Big Blitz" wis thocht affa wee
In mony Scottish toons,
But fowk deed here in Aiberdeen -
Unkent fowk - quines an loons.
Noo, maistly, 'e Stavanger planes
Wad flee richt ower 'e toon,
Ging sooth tae Glesca on a raid,
An lat coorse daith ding doon.
Bit affen, files, fan fleein back,
They'd bombs 'at hadnae drappit,
They'd dump the lave ow'r Aiberdeen
File fowk coo'ered, feart and wappit.
Bit ae nicht, April '43:
'e bombers had a mission,
Tae batter Kittybrewster's yairds
Wi brutal demolition.
A hunner ton o daith rain't doon
On faithers, sisters, brithers;
In shelters, fowk prayed 'at 'e bombs
Wad tak nae bairns an mithers.
Ae loonie, lyin in 'is bed,
Ower seek tae muive, jist slept;
His mither held 'is haund an, file
'e bombs fell, saftly wept.
Annaith the shelter's reef, fowk heard
'e hoose's skraich o daith;
Ae bomb had rax't apairt ilk' steen -
Kill't bairn and mither, baith.
A "Timmer-Mairket" train swung hie,
Bi its string - an unco sicht:
Nae mair pull't bi' a loon's wee haund,
File he held his mither's ticht.
I kint fer aye I'd spear tae God,
As I grat an focht for braith,
"Fit wey 'is murder'd peer wee loon?
Fit wey his mither's daith?"
'is warld, syne, maun be affa coorse,
Fan it breenges ower the meek,
Fan it maks fause gods o greed and poo'er
An it rins tae crush the weak.
*
Like Jesus, crucified, forgie.
Fer Peace, nae War, lat's labour,
And, mair nor 'at, lat's aa tak tent,
Tae help, an luive, oor niebour.