For mighty lords and leaders sold and leased what wasn’t theirs.
Betrayed their highland kinfolk to be mutton millionaires.
Whole families were scattered to the damp and boggy glens.
Seeking shelter in the hollows and behind the cattle pens

Can you see and feel the terror, the hysteria and fright?
As helpless stricken families were ravaged in the night.

In Strathnaver homes burned furious from Grummore to Skail.
Two thousand souls uprooted, in a cold and icy gale.
The oppressors showed no mercy, to infirmity or age,
But set upon the innocents in a cold destructive rage.

*******

An old man from the Clan Mackay, crawled from his croft ablaze,
Inched to a ruined mill nearby, in shocked and painful haze.
While his landlord dined on wine and cake from an overflowing store,
The old man licked the flour-dust from the old mill floor.
Mackay lay there for two whole days, starving, sick and spent,
Then died alone, no clansmen near, no pipers sad lament.

*******

Son of Conn of The Hundred Battles. Race of Colla your spirit’s flown.
You have joined your ancient clansmen. No more you’ll be alone.

*******

What kind of leader values kinsmen’s lives worth less than sheep?
No guilt, no troubled conscience, to interrupt their sleep.
What kind of law allowed this crime, didn’t halt the pain and grief?
What kind of clergy sided with an avaricious chief?

*********

And so, these ancient Highland clans, were beaten, spurned, forsook,
Not routed by the foe - but kin. Not sword - but shepherds crook.
Their chieftains broke their promises, their spirits and their hearts.
Cruel factors broke their bones and sent them off to unknown parts.
No tales of long past glories told, no ancient songs were sung.
They embraced a foreign culture, and lost their native tongue.

********

Sons of Conn of The Hundred Battles. Race of Colla your spirit’s flown,
Yet in every corner of the earth, the seed of Conn is sown.

Gerry Haughey 28 August, 1996