Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing.
Vivas, cortinas, weaving in their wake.
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling,
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.
And it's ``all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''
There's home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [cuillins]
[blessed?] [cuchulains?]
[cuchulain == mythical irish hero --- wee plastic cuchulains?]
[jo-l@kcbbs.gen.nz (jo lobb) explains: broadford is a town on
Skye (where the road that passes dun ringill leaves the main
Road, incidentally) and skye's famous cuillin hills are nearby.
I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models
Of spectacular hills .... also, the cuillin hills are ``also
Known as the coolins or cuchullins, possibly after an ossianic
Hero...'', so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after
All.]
The day of the broadford bazaar.
Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting.
And jobs for the many are down to the few.
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer.
Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.
And it's ``all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car''
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
There's only swear-words in gaelic
To say at the broadford bazaar.
All kinds of people come down for the opening.
Crofters and cottiers, white [wild?] settlers galore.
[crofter == farmer renting land]
[cottier == farmer renting land]
And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying,
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.
And it's ``all come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the back of your new motor-car.''
We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled,
And stamps from the green shield.
The day of the broadford bazaar.