IN July 2013 at Nigg Energy Park on the Cromarty Firth Alex Salmond spoke passionately about the group of unions with the rest of the UK that would remain intact following Scottish independence. He identified them as the European Union; the Defence Union through Nato; the Currency Union and the union of the crowns. He also spoke eloquently about the Social Union “between the peoples of these islands”.
He could also have mentioned the sacred canon of English and Scottish literature which has continued to enrich the lives of citizens from either side of the Border. One of my favourite works is the Rime of the Ancient Mariner by the great English Lake Poet, Samuel Coleridge, a fellow whose affection for Scotland is well-documented.
This was beautifully chronicled in Recollections of a Tour Made in Scotland, a travel memoir by Dorothy Wordsworth, the sister of his great friend and fellow Lake Poet, William Wordsworth. This travelogue faithfully records the details of a six-week journey through the Highlands in the late summer of 1803 that the three undertook.
Now I am delighted to inform you that a manuscript has fallen into my hands which some experts are saying might have been written by the great Englishman himself. It is written in the style of Coleridge’s great masterpiece, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. I’ve asked Professor Tom Devine to check its historicity while Professor Willy Maley, Professor of Renaissance Studies at the University of Glasgow is also scrutinising its authenticity.
Some of these poetic types often existed on a different plane from the rest of us and were thought to possess prophetic gifts. If this newly discovered work is by Coleridge then it seems to predict events that have come to pass many years after his lifetime.
I’m delighted to share it with you.
In it Coleridge also, and rather movingly, pays homage to his contemporary, Robert Burns. It’s called The Rime of the Ancient Brexiteer.
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It is an ancient Brexiteer,
The foppish one of three
with tousl’d locks and wand’ring eye
He sighed these words to me
-
‘Twas late one fell portentous night
When’ figs grew upon thorns’
With Michael and Lady Macbeth
That baleful plan was born
-
‘Ah, Michael, bonny naïve Gove
E’en now you scarce can know
How the flights of vile ambition
Have made us Europe’s foe
-
‘At nights I wake midst terrors dark
That cold, remember’d shock
The time that I was near done by
A little sweaty sock
-
He holds me with his putty hand
‘He was a shit,’ quoth he
‘Hold off! Unhand me, flop-haired loon’
Eftsoons his hand drop’t he
-
Lo now his mind has wandr’d aft
Held lock’d in a mirage
His voice grew low and fingers trembl’d
As he spat out ‘Farage!’
-
‘O curses be upon that braggart
Who made us all like zombies,
He whipp’d up fear of immigrants,
Suspected by los hombres
-
‘Draw close that ye might see my face
Though now grown rough with wine,
With Dave I played at Bullingdon
And with the mouths of swines
-
‘Gove’s plan was cute, impure and simple
‘We must sack Dave,’ quoth he
‘We’ll hold an EU referendum
UKIP will help; you’ll see’
-
‘Said I “Be careful what you wish for,
In Europe’s heart we dwell.
For paved with good intentions
Is the wretch’d road to hell”
-
“Fear not,” said Gove, “be of stout heart
The punters aren’t that daft,
Only bams will vote to Leave
And Cameron we’ll shaft.”
-
‘E’en now though gone three score and ten
I scarce can stop a tear:
At the shrill fanaticism
Of that bright-eyed Brexiteer
-
‘That fateful night before Midsummer
Yet stalks my consciousness
That sophistry of migrants wild
Those lies on the NHS
-
‘That chib beneath assassin’s cloak
Gove shouted: “it’s all mine.”
“Et tu Brutus,” my broken cry
Betrayed by Sarah Vine
-
‘But Lo, what’s that: a symphony
Of musket, pipe and drum,
The traitor undone at last by
Fate’s fickle pendulum
-
‘Then midst the fog of war appeared
The one they called Theresa,
And then ensued cacophony of
Chaos and hysteria
-
‘Racists, cow’rds and xenophobes
All gathered at the feast
And at their head, sat Rab Burns’ wraith,
“Auld Nick in shape o’ beast”
-
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge;
He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl—
offins stood round like open presses,
That shaw’d the dead in their last dresses
-
‘As England’s green and pleasant land
Consumed itself with fear
A shout in Scotland loud and proud;
The anti-Brexiteers
-
‘Ah, Scots you kept your sanity
Land of art and science
Your European bonds are strong
And your auld alliance
-
‘Ye Land of mountains and of floods,
Your chief in Louboutins
“Give us all your waifs and strangers
The poor of distant lands”
**************************************
And now the STORM-BLAST came, and she
Was chivalrous and strong:
“Freedom come all ye,” she called,
“Let’s right an ancient wrong”
-
“Not now,” cried the m’luds of May
With voices sharp and sleekit ,
“For we are trying to have our cake,
And also trying to eat it.”
-
“We’ll have our trade deals fair and good
For we are mighty Brit’n
These twenty seven wretched states
Well know all what’s good for ‘em.”
-
“A curse upon your workers’ rights;
Your protests and your rage;
Your talk of human dignity
And that silly Living Wage.”
-
‘But overhead dark clouds did gather
Forth came a mighty roar
Those EU states that once we spurn’d
Turned round and yelled: “No More!”
-
“Cease now all your wars and bluster
Perfidious and malign
You can stick your tea and your rosbif too
Where le soleil don’t shine
-
‘Two score years and five have passed since
We were left bereft,
Reduced and kept afloat by
Loans from the IMF.’
-
That’s how with shame it came to pass
That Albion’s grip did falter;
Farewell to Caledonia
And adios Gibraltar!
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