SKATERAW - THE VILLAGE THAT DIED A poem by Andrew Christie Just ten miles sooth o' Aiberdeen A fishin' village could be seen Perched abeen the rocky shore Where 70 fishermen, maybe more Each made a livin' at the sea At the turn o' the century. Hooever, progress marches on The trawlers cam', the fish were gone Nae langer could they there survive They moved to Torry or Steenhive Nae mair will Skateraw hear the names O' the men wha had to leave their hames There's Codlin', Loupie, Swak, an' Major Their names wad nearly full a ledger In winter, fan the boats cam in The man, half frozen, weet to the skin Each wife cam' doon tae meet her man Wi' hauf a mutchkin in her haun Nae sae much a celebration But just tae start the circulation "Jing" an' "Auld Ondie" they stayed on an' "Bruxie", sometime ca'd Auld John But time wore on, they got ower auld An' couldna' stan the weet an' cauld An' so the younger anes took ower There warna' mony, three or fower. The big boats they were a' awa' An' sma' anes left, there were but twa Were there, the trade tae carry on, The "Pansy" an' "Kate Anderson" The years wore on...there time was past The fishin' village died....at last There were some worthies bade their still In the place that's noo called Newtonhill Jeck Riddell was a couthy chiel Wha fermed the Village Lands sae weel Jeck was aye ready fan-iver bidden Tae ca' some coals or teern a midden Jock Craig, a big man in his day When sober, nae a word wad say But when he had a drink, they tell He'd beat the dictionary a' tae hell Then Lang Fred Moir, ill spliced thegither Never married, lived wi' 'is mither Rock fishin' he did quite a lot The Braidsteen wis his fav'rit spot At whist he played a real good hand As quiet as ony in the land But he wad nearly wreck the place Gin onybody trumped his ace Geordie Taylor at the shop Was liked by one an' all He sold them a' their worldly needs Fae comic cuts tae coal The wives he greetit wi' a smile Nae matter whaur they came The Lairds wife or the Cotter wife He kent them a' by name Roger had the Bakers shop Up nearby the station The only ane for miles aroon A wonderful location The smells that wad come waftin' oot When he wad start tae bake The God's Ambrosia can't compare Wi' Roger's baps an' cake George Lamb lived by the joiners shop An' dearly lo'ed a drappie In the pub he'd book a corner seat An' there he'd stay quite happy Waddy lived beyond the pub But he just moved there lately He used to live in number six Wi' sister Jean sae stately His sayin's werna' very bricht In fact, some were plain silly "My wireless says it's rain today, fat diz yours say, Willie?" Then richt across the railway line The signalbox was there Nae mony trains rin past there noo In these days there were mair Three signal men, a' sonsy chiels Each worked eight hours a day Will Christie an' Jeck Duncan The third was Jimmy Rae A bricht an' spotless signalbox Was the fruits o' their endeavours For they took pride in a weel scrubbed fleer An' burnished signal levers Davie Kemp, a kindly chiel At souterin nane could beat He lived up in the Souters Road It's noo St Crispins Street Davie was a first class hand At playin' at the quoits An mony a game the team wad play In the lang licht summer nichts The fisher hooses, up for sale Didna' lang bide teem But were bocht by business folk wha had Commute fae Aiberdeen There were a lot o' weel kent folks Cam' oot there just for pleasure They'd sweem aboot doon I' the shore or just relax at leisure There was Strachan, number twenty three He workd for E and M An' Whyte, aye smokin' a cigar A painter on his ain John Fenton O' the Northern Ice An' Gilchrist had a bar McKenzie, a solicitor Look doon upon the shore Robertson the tinsmith Lived there for mony a day He bocht the Mary Watson Tae sail aroon the bay Pat Grant, he wis anither Made's money cuttin' hair He ca'd his hoose "Pitullie" 'cos his wife she cam' fae there Jeanie Hendry lived there too She was a dancin' teacher An' doon fae her was Maister Yuill A Plymouth Brethern preacher They had a fitba' team that won The Panmure cup ae year At their hame games the local folk Would a' turn oot tae cheer After the game, the weary players A' the twenty twa Had tea, prepared by Agg an' Liz Doon I' the Village Hall But that's a' deen awa' wi' noo It's nae the same awa' There's only twa-three natives left The rest's a' moved ava' It really is amazin' The way the place has spread There's hooses noo fae Bettridge Richt roon tae Millers ned A braw new school's been biggit Not far fae the station Wi' a' the new equipment For the bairns education Scores of new houses have been built Semi's and self contained But the residential status The planners have maintained Nae factories belchin' smoke are here The air is fresh and clean There's nae a village like it Tween Steenhive and Aiberdeen When you see the braw new hooses Yer herts wi' pride instill You ane and a' can proudly say I came fae Newtonhill.