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"I just got in from the
Isle of Skye, I’m not very big and I’m awfully shy; all the lassies shout
when I go by, ‘Donald where’s your trousers?’"
"Oh no! Not again. He’s
singing again, Mac. That same old song about Donald and his trousers. Make
him stop, please," complained Mac.
Life in the highland
forests wasn’t always so great, at least for Ian and Mac. Several other
animals lived in the same area. All but one was unhappy and that was
because of Keith. Keith was a squirrel that lived at the top of an oak
tree and all he did was sing. It wasn’t just singing that annoyed the
other animals; it was singing the same song over and over and over again;
day after day, week after week, month after month. Ian and Mac were tired
of it, as were all the others.
Kelsie, a red fox, and her
baby, Duncan, lived beneath a tree not far from Ian and Macs. One night,
Duncan fussed from dusk until dawn. Kelsie was so tired. She’d sat with
her back against the tree, rocking little Duncan, trying to get him to
sleep. All night long, as the crickets chirped and the owls hooted, Duncan
had cried. When the sun came up, he’d finally gone to sleep. Kelsie didn’t
dare put him down, so she held him as he slept.
All of a sudden, Keith had
started singing, "Oh I just got in from the Isle of Skye, I’m not very big
and I’m awfully shy; all the lassies shout when I go by, ‘Donald where’s
your trousers?’"
Wee Duncan’s eyes opened
wide and he began to scream again. "Keith!" Kelsie yelled, "Would you
please stop that singing! You’ve woken Duncan up again!"
Keith said, "I’m sorry,"
and stopped singing. Instead he nibbled on some acorns. Duncan went back
to sleep and Kelsie shut her eyes for a while.
Later that day, Mac was
sitting on branch, swinging his legs back and forth. He was daydreaming
about the roast beef he’d found in a dog dish the night before. He could
almost taste the beef. Suddenly his thoughts were broken by hearing, "Oh I
just got in from the Isle of Skye, I’m not very big and I’m awfully shy;
all the lassies shout when I go by, ‘Donald where’s your trousers?’"
Mac nearly fell backwards
off the branch. He had to grab a leaf. "Help me, Ian," he called. Ian
rushed over and pulled Mac back onto the branch. Mac was so angry that he
climbed down out of the tree, ran over to the oak tree and climbed up to
where Keith was. "Keith. You nearly made me fall. Not only that, you
disturbed a very pleasant dream!"
Keith hung his head down
and said, "I’m sorry." His long, bushy tail drooped behind him.
"Stop that singing. It’s
very annoying," Mac said. He climbed down the oak and went back to his own
tree. Keith nibbled on some acorns and sighed.
Kelsie decided to take wee
Duncan for a walk after he’d awakened from his afternoon nap. Off they
went towards the stream. Kelsie thought it would be a good time to teach
him how to catch a fish with his bare paws. After Mac’s dream about the
roast beef, he and Ian decided to go and rummage through some of the
rubbish bins in the village. Graham, the deer, Scotty and Catriona, the
otters, and Hamish, the weasel, ran off to search for food too. Seeing
that he was alone in the forest, Keith sang his heart out. "Oh I just got
in from the Isle of Skye, I’m not very big and I’m awfully shy; all the
lassies shout when I go by, ‘Donald where’s your trousers?’" As he was
singing it for the tenth time, his oak tree began to shake. Keith stopped
singing and looked down.
Willie, a big black bear,
was shaking the tree. He yelled up to Keith, "Would you stop singing that
song! Please! I can hear it on the other side of the forest. I’m trying to
hibernate and its very annoying!"
Keith said, "I’m sorry."
His tail sagged down, his ears flopped and his shoulders hunched over. He
picked up an acorn and nibbled on it.
Later that day, after all
the animals had returned to the forest, they noticed that Keith wasn’t
singing. They were all very happy. Mac climbed the tree and fell asleep,
dreaming of the chicken legs he’d found in Mr. MacBettie’s rubbish. Ian
climbed up and lay next to Mac. He dreamed of the coconut cream pie he’d
found behind the bakery. Kelsie put wee Duncan to bed and went to sleep
herself.
When the sun rose over the
heather-covered hills the next morning, nobody heard Keith singing.
"Something’s wrong," Mac said to Ian. "Keith never goes that long without
singing!" They climbed down their tree and went over to the oak. There lay
Keith. He was curled up in a ball and very sick. Every time someone had
asked him to stop singing, he’d eaten acorns. They had all asked him to
stop singing so many times that he’d eaten too many of them; now he was
sick. The other animals were worried about him. Willie heard about Keith
and came by to see if he could help; so did Kelsie and wee Duncan, Graham,
Scotty, Catriona, and Hamish. That night Ian and Mac stayed up with Keith,
nursing him back to health. Everyone in the forest felt sad that Keith
wasn’t able to sing his song.
In the morning, Keith woke
up feeling his normal self. He had listened to the others and knew that
his singing bothered them, so he didn’t sing. But the others had gotten
together and told him how much they missed his singing. They knew when
they heard him sing that he was all right. They didn’t want him to be sick
from eating too many acorns ever again. From then on, Keith tried not to
sing the song quite as often, especially when Ian and Mac were
daydreaming, or when Kelsie was trying to get wee Duncan to sleep. Music
always seemed to resound from the oak tree.
"Oh I just got in from the
Isle of Skye, I’m not very big and I’m awfully shy; all the lassies shout
when I go by, ‘Donald where’s your trousers?’"
Note: "Donald where’s your trousers" is a song sung by Andy Stewart:-
I've just come down from
the Isle of Skye,
I'm no' very big and I'm awful shy,
And the lassies shout when I go by,
"Donald where's your troosers?"
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"
A lassie took me to a ball
And it was slippery in hall,
And I was feared that I would fall,
For I had nae on ma troosers.
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"
Now I went down to London
town
And I had some fun in the Underground,
The ladies turned their heads around,
Saying, "Donald, where are your trousers?"
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"
To wear the kilt is my
delight,
It is not wrong, I know it's right,
The Highlanders would get a fright
If they saw me in the trousers.
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?"
The lassies want me, every
one,
Well, let them catch me if they can,
Ye canna take the breeks off a Hieland man,
And I don't wear the troosers.
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?
Donald, where's your troosers?
Donald, where's your troo---"
[Spoken] Och well,
that's the way we sing the song in Scotland. But of course the song
might have more international appeal sung something like this: one, two,
three, four:
[As Elvis]
Well, I've just come down from the Isle of Skye,
I'm no' very big and I'm awful shy,
The lassies shout when I go by,
"Hey Donald, where's your troosers?"
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Go, go!
Donald, where's your troosers?"
Oh man, I'm all rock and
roll,
And I'm a-movin' and a-groovin' to save my soul,
Grab your kilt and go, go, go!
Hey Donald, where's your troosers?
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
Oh yeah, go, go, go!
Hey Donald, where's your troosers?
Hey Donald, where's your troosers, yeah.
Hey Donald---
[Spoken]
[As himself] Hey, just a minute! What are you doing there?
[As Elvis] Man, I'm rockin' it, man, I'm really movin' it, man.
[As himself] Well, just you stop rockin' it and movin' it, man.
The song should be sung just exactly like this:
I've just come down from
the Isle of Skye,
I'm no' very big and I'm awful shy,
And the lassies shout when I go by,
"Donald where's your troosers?"
Let the wind blow high,
let the wind blow low,
Through the streets in my kilt I'll go,
All the lassies say "Hello,
Donald, where's your troosers?
Donald, where's your troosers?"
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