Gordon Morrison
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This book contain's Story's and Poem's written in "Boddam Doric" a form of Scot's language, about Gordon Morrison's experience's in the Inshore Fishing off the North East Coast of Scotland, even though these story's can be quite funny, all these story's are true and are written from Gordon's memories of his life in and around Boddam, a small Crab Fishing Village, born out of the Herring Fishing Industry. The Harbour was built in 1831. If you like anything to do with Scotland and it's people and language, then this is the book for you.
Gordon Morrison, son of Rachel and Gordon, was born at the Cottage Hospital, Peterhead Scotland in August 1963. The youngest of four brother's and one sister Katherine Angela Morrison, who sadly died of meningitis at the age of nine month's. Gordon was brought up at number Two Seaview Road Boddam, and hence, became a Boddamer. Gordon still lives in Boddam, a place he loves so dearly, and was compelled to write in Boddam Doric to help preserve some of his "Mither Tongue," the Scot's language that he was brought up in and mean's so much to him.
“THI WINTER DAWN”
Thi Winter Dawn wis a Clinker Biggit Yawl, aboot twinty fower fit lang, an eit thi tyme am spikken aboot she belanged tae ma aulest brither “Dassen.” She wis an aul boatie, bit “Bhoy,” she cood taka coorse day. Thi onley theing eit aye fun, aboot er wis er deesle injin wis fair duun, en ither wurd’s eit hid seen baitter day’s. She run awa, bit she wid reek a bit an didna hay a lot a power. Oneywuiy, Dassen deseyded tae gin fur a sail aye day, an geid me a shout, so fyle waken bain thi peer, we caim across “Baggy,” an speert hem eif hee wis sikken tae gin oot ena. Noo, “Baggy” wis an ex skipper a meyn. Fin a geid we hem on hee’s boatie thi “Charm.” So Baggy say’s, “O aye, al gin an get ma Ripper’s an Lyne.” We at, we aw loupit aboord, loused awf thi Winter Dawn an set sail fur thi Middle Grun. Fin we got oot, we wis sitten bonnie fur thi rippen, couse thi win weis cummen fae thi North an gan against thi Aib tyde. En spey’t o at, we wisna taken muckle Codlin’s so we tried thi Earl’s a bittie farar oot. Steil naithen deein, so we steem’t er en a bit, til we reached thi Houpee, jist Sooth o thi Lichthoose. WE lost a couple a Ripper’s bit et leest thi feish wis taken noo. Aye say’s tae Baggy “Boy’s, yea coodna ask fur neithen better, a fyne chunse, feish taken, “ye ken eiss,” yeev nay wurrie’s fin yer oot heer!” Baggy jist looket at ma, an sayd, “Dinna spik ower seen!” Noo, nay seener did hee say at, fin thi win hid swung en tae nor Wast an startet freshnin faist. Nor Wast wis nivver a gweed win, evin thoo eit blaw’s aff o thi laan eit Buchanness, eit wis kint tae freshen awfa qwick, nay geein ye muckle tyme tae mak fur shoar. Oney ither win apairt fae Wast or Nor Wast, seemed tae gee yea mair tyme tae get tae thi hairber afore blawin up. Oneywuiy, thi tyde hid turen’t, en far we wis, fit mayd eit a waist a tyme Rippen, couse we Flood Tyde an thi win gan thi saim wuiy, et maid yer lyne’s streem up tae thi tap o thi water. So thi skipper “Dassen” say’s “Well at’s pet pay’d tae at,” So we hid nay mair adee thin heed fur shoar. Jist eis Dassen wis furlen roon eih boatie an tryen tae peyn’t er entae thi win, thi aul injin startet tae strain an slow doon a bit. “Look eit thi reek!” Baggy roart. An aye said, “Shee’s nay liken eiss ata.” An shoor anuff thi peer aul injin wis strainen tae keep thi boatie gan throo thi win an tyde. Dassen pet thi hunnel richt doon, so’s tae mak sum progress, bit eit didna seem tae mak muckle difference, thi injin jist seemed tae reek aw thi mair, eit actually lookit an sounded lyke a steem injin. Then Baggy pypet up, “Er’s ste
