Page 52 of A Bonny Pretender
Brigid rolled overand pulled the blanket over her head. She was dreaming about her family, drunk and singing Rabby Burns’ “Get Up and Bar the Door.”
There lived a mon in yonder glen,
And John Blunt was his name, O
He makes good malt and he brews good ale,
And bears a wondrous fame. O
Brigid sat up and blinked. It wasn’t a dream.Saints and sinners!What were those men up to?
The wind blew in the hallan that night,
Full snell out oer the moor.
Says auld John Blunt to Janet the wife,
“Rise up, rise up, auld Luckie,” he says,
“RISE UP AND BAR THE DOOR.”
She gasped. That last line had been Frank’s voice, more of a shout and very English. She threw back the counterpane and shrugged into her robe. Below her window stood—well, swaying, mostly—her brother, her cousin, and her love, all roaring drunk. Looking at Frank, her anger melted away. He was so different from her and the other two men. Yet, there they were, with their arms across each other’s shoulders, serenading her… in kilts. Allthreeof them.
They made a pact between them,
They made it firm and sure.
Whoe’er should speak the foremost word,
RISE UP AND BAR THE DOOR.
Brigid giggled as she threw up the sash. It must be the only line the poor man knew. The whole house would be roused soon. A smaller figure stepped from behind the men, leaning his slight weight against the trio as they swayed dangerously far to the left. “Boy-O?” He nodded and waved as the men continued their ballad with gusto.
Three travelers that had tint their gate,
As through the hills they foor, O,
They airted by the line o light,
Full straight to John Blunt’s door.
“Shhhh,” she warned.
She was rewarded with a very loud and sloppyshhhhh’sback at her. Brigid couldn’t blame them. It was a braw, humorous ballad, and they wouldn’t stop until it was finished. They leaned to the right. Boy-O ran to the other side and leaned his back against the leaning tower of men.
They hurled auld Luckie out o her bed
And laid her on the floor,
But never a word auld Luckie would say,
For barring of the door.
“Ye’ve eaten my bread, ye’ve drunk my ale,
And ye’ll make my auld wife a whore!”
“Aha Johnnie Blunt! Ye have spoke the first word,”
