An Ode to No. 10



You’ve heard the tale how Robin Hood

Came riding through the glen

His merry men were not a match

For Kilwinning Number Ten

Like a bank of border reivers

They came sweeping to the toon

The keepers in the castle even

Locked up Scotia’s Croon

And on their way they passed through

A place called Little France

Their piper gie’d his bag a squeeze

And led them in a dance

Some local chiels were sair afraid

And did’na hae a bash

They took exception to a tune

We know it as the sash

For they’re wild men from that south land

Where miners oft tell

Of how the Lodge gave shelter to

A dame called Eskimo Nell

Just by the Lodge, a graveyards stands

‘Twas there, Nell got her licks

They chased her round the tombstones

Waving the Deacons’ sticks

Some years ago along they came

With a good sized deputation

To visit the cream in Number Eight

And caused a sensation

They missed the door and round the street

These heroes gaily went

Marched into St Patrick’s

Just imagine, it was Lent

Yes ! They’re heroes from that bare land

Where the ale they brew is strong

And when they work the third degree

It lasts for three hours long

Perhaps sometime in the future

I shall maybe have the pleasure

To call at Dalkeith Number Ten

And have a drink at leisure

For o’er a year has passed by since

Last you heard my rhymes

And at that time you promised me

A dram for auld lang syne

Your Lodge’s ancient minutes record

A tale I know is true

You’re bound to grant a nip

To a brother wearing blue

So if I’m spared, I’ll make a trip

To enjoy that dram

But heaven protect your worthy steward

If he serves me up with spam

So accept my personal welcome

And all the cheese don’t snaffle

I trust you’ve done your duty

And supported our poor raffle