Brass Aye

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It Wisnae Me

Before The Tass pub in Edinburgh's Royal Mile became No 1 The High Street, there was a piece of cod heraldry above the inside of the main door. The quartered shield depicted the fesse chequee (checker board) of Stewart, an L plate, a set of pipes and a pair of crossed keys. The flounces around the shield were made up of barbed wire and tomato plants and the crest was a depiction of a grey, foreboding building. It was made for a John Stewart, a piper and keen amateur tomato grower who had been promoted to be Assistant Governor of Barlinnie. The whole was surmounted by the unofficial motto of that establishment: "It Wisnae Me."

To warm you up and get you in the mood before the main attraction, here's Rantum Scantum's excellent musical examination of the same phenomenon.

Now to the main attraction. Take yourself over to Bella Caledonia and read playwright Peter Arnott's excellent examination of why, if there's a No vote in September 2014, No Voters in 2016 will be as rare as 1979 Tory Voters were in 1981: Dinner with No Voters or “What I wanted to say before the Pudding hit the fan.” It's one of the best pieces on the indyref I've read so far.

Flower of Scotland

Voting No on 18th September? Obviously the current words of Flower of Scotland will be unsingable without irony klaxons going into overdrive if there's a No vote.  Here's Better Together's re-edit of the lyrics:

Oh flower of Scotland,
When will we see your like again?
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit hill and glen.
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.

Those hill are bare now,
And Autumn leaves lie thick and still.
For land that is lost now,
And Hope so cruelly felled.
That cringed before him,
ProudScotBut ®™ Ali's Army,
And sent him Southward,
To trough again.

Those days are past now,
And in the past They must remain.
But we'll never rise now,
And be the nation again,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's army,
And sent him homeward,
To think again.

Oh flower of Scotland,
We'll never see your like again.
That keiched your breeks in
Your wee bit hill and glen.
That cringed before him,
ProudScotBut ®™ Ali's Army,
And sent him Southward,
To trough again.