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THE LAST O' THE CLYDESDALES
Archie Webster

Come aa ye young ploughboys that list tae ma tale,
As ye sit roun the tables aa drinkin yer ale;
I'll tak ye aa back tae a far distant day,
When I drove the last Clydesdale, tae work on Denbrae.
 
There were twa bonnie blacks wi white faces and feet,
In the hale o the roond they had never been beat;
An ye'd lookit gey far twixt the Forth and the Tay,
For tae match thae twa Clydesdales, the pride o Denbrae.
 
They were matchless in power in the cairt or the ploo,
An ma voice and ma haund on the reins they weel knew;
There was only ae thocht in their minds but obey,
My twa gallant Clydesdales, the pride o Denbrae.
 
But the time it wears on, an the winters grow cauld,
An horses, like men, can dae nocht but grow auld;
But I mind o them still, as it were yesterday,
For I drove the last Clydesdales, tae work on Denbrae.
Footnote : This song was composed in the 1950s by Archie Webster of Strathkinness in praise of the last pair of Clydesdales he drove on the farm of Denbrae between Strathkinness and St Andrews in Fife. A whole way of life in Scotland was lost with the demise of the working horse.

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