Freezing,wet and hungry,

In need of food and rest,

The MacDonalds took them in,

And made them all a guest,

 

The weather here was always harsh,

A storm could last a week,

But the snow had started falling,

Things were really looking bleak,

 

They fed their guests with all they had,

And kept the fires burning,

They could stay as long as need be,

The weather wasn't turning,

 

They sat and told old stories,

And shared their Heather Ale,

Played their Highland Bagpipes,

As they sheltered from the gale,

 

On the twelfth night as they slept in bed,

Thinking all was good and well,

The guests had started killing all,

A night of living hell,

 

A few escaped out to the hills,

They fled in the cold of the night,

But with conditions a total whiteout,

Survival was a fight,

 

By daylight back at the village,

The MacDonalds all lay dead,

The ground around their homesteads,

A sticky patch of red,

 

The Massacre of Glencoe,

Dated Feb 13th,1692,

Where the Campbells showed their colours,

To the likes of me and you,

 

It's said today when you're in the Glen,

Or simply passing through,

You can hear the screams of MacDonalds,

Their spirits live with you,

 

And even to this very day,

There's a sign above the Inn,

'No Campbells Welcome Here',

Or anywhere within.

 

Copyright Kenneth J Shaw