Molly Sime’s Welcome to Salter’s Road
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On the third day of Roberta's labour
The last blizzard of the year hurtled in over Soutra
Smothering the tiny white flowers at Strawberry Hill
Will lambed all night amongst the bleating flock
Till his knuckles were raw
Only one was lost to the frost
A wet nurse was called in to attend the bairn
While her mother lay like a fresh-cut barley field
Her wailing was at an end, yes
But her breath was as brittle as muirburn
And the accelerating silence that followed was unbearable for Will
The snow melted the day after his daughter arrived
He left the ewes to their own work
And sat beside his Roberta that evening
Stroking her pale, clammy hand
She was waiting for a boy in her corduroy britches
Driving on a Clydesdale like her father once had done
From Muttonhole to Preston Hall through all the dells and ditches
And an avenue of burly beech that reached towards the Sun
For miles and miles and miles she'd roam
Down Salter's Road to Fala Dam and all the way home
For miles and miles and miles she'd roam
She was waiting for a boy in his trews of navy cotton
Something she'd half forgotten is as clear as water now
The horseman's only daughter takes the Friday boat to Bergen
And the waves swell like a barley field that's ready to lay down
For miles and miles and miles she'd roam
Down Salter's Road to Fala Dam and all the way home
For miles and miles and miles she'd roam
Down the spire of the St Lawrence
To Kirkwall's stony shore
The old North Wind gathers her up into his arms once more
She hadn't stopped bleeding since the bairn left her
And she bled and bled till the oak floorboards of the room
Were sodden with the life of her
There was no doctor or midwife worth sending for
No opium or ergot to ease her
It was just one of those things
Some make it, and some don't
Like yowes
Will would never comprehend it
The good society family who'd disowned Roberta
On account of her love of this quiet horseman
Sent a carriage for her body
Will wound her in sheets himself
Swaddling her like a bairn
And though he'd never know where they laid her in her grave
He'd bury her in his own way
Somewhere deep inside himself
He took an axe to their bed that evening
And tore every board from the back-room floor
He stacked them in a pyre
And threw on the bloody linen and the blankets
Then he struck a match and let the world burn
Will ties up the horses and takes his daughter's hand
Molly
She's his shadow, and her mother's
I knew that wee girl Molly when she was an old woman
She was my neighbour on the old Salter's Road
That winds past Fala to the Forth
On the last evening of her life I went to visit her
At Liberton Hospital in Edinburgh with my son
And he ran the full length of the ward, shouting
"Molly! Molly!"
Molly Kristensen, the only daughter of Will and Roberta Sime
Will and Molly wander the fields
All the way from Currie Lee to Fala Flow
And there they take off their boots in the heather
Tramp through the lush, damp mosses
And dangle their feet in the cool, lochan waters
She was waiting for a boy
He came skipping down to greet her
Through the starch and bleach and buttons
He was singing out her name
The evening clouds are huddled in so close that you could catch them
Granite sheen upon the river, and the shimmering of rain
For miles and miles and miles she'd roam
Down Salter's Road to Fala Dam and all the way home
For miles and miles and miles she'd roam
Down Whippielaw and Windy Mains and all the way home
All the way home (all the way home)
All the way home (all the way home)
All the way home (all the way home)
All the way home (all the way home)
All the way home (all the way home)
All the way home