Graham Donachie

My name is Graham Donachie..
I live in Victoria on Vancouver Island, British Columbia in Canada.
I was born and bred in Dundee but moved to Canada in 1994 that is 27 years ago.
In recent years I’ve returned to Scotland a few times and it was then that I first made
contact with the Folk of the Doric.
My sister and husband moved back home from Engeland and bought a house in Portsoy.
On my first visit there I thought it would be for a week or so, but the longer I stayed,
the harder it was for me to leave.
Although jist a wee toun, it had plenty going on..
The Boat Festival, the folk nights in the Hall, a workshop in the Salmon Bothy with folk minstrel Martin Carthy,nights in The Station Hotel and also the Shore Inn..
It’s nae winder why I didna want tae leave.
So that wis meh first introduction to the Doric “Spikin’’ folk..
I’ve had a few trips back, but alas my family has now left Portsoy and moved south of the Border again..
I don’t know when and if I may return there..
However that may be, but I’ve had contact with Jill and am now linking into the Cruden Bay Folk Club and keeping an eye on Doric TV..
So for now, cheerio, but I’ll be adding some more stories and poems to my “First attempt at a Blog “
Graham Donachie

From: Graham Donachie a Doric TV Viewer from Dundee now living in Victoria on Vancouver Island BC.Canada.
From the North Sea shore to the Pacific.
My Poem for Bennachie.

The Land of the Standing Stones.

The hour is late and the moon is high
and I hear the sound of a fox’s cry,
hoar frost embraces my shivering self
in this eerie place of the ancient elf
and I feel fear stealing away my heart
on this silver night as the wind it yarps,
in this cold northland of the standing stones.

I’ve wandered high upon Bennachie
where the icy blast takes the breath from me,
where the blood of a battle so long ago
laps round my ankles in the crisp white snow
and I fearfull listen to the sound of the dead
who lie far beneath this path I tread,
in this barren land of the standing stones.

Once in the dawn of a yesteryear
in the sorrowful drop of a yestertear,
came the navis longa of the dark faced men
who left waste and rape in this eastern glen
and their eagle standards waved on high
as they marching passed on their way to die,
in this granite land of the standing stones.

Calgacus’s host stood upon this hill
in defiance of Rome’s Imperial will
but their defiance died upon pilum
of Victrix Vexillum
who carried the day
but left their bones
in this bloody land of the standing stones.

Now the sun has risen over the sea
and the rays of morning beckon me,
to forget the past and live in the now,
but I wonder why and I wonder how
they ever had to disappear,
those blue faced men who knew no fear
in my harsh cold land of the standing stones.