The Model Village Plean

Older Plean Songs

THE MODEL VILLAGE PLEAN [1926]
TUNE: The Wearing Of The Green

There’s a model little village
The finest ever seen
It must have dropped from heaven
Cause the Government called it Plean

Oh the model village Plean
Oh the model village Plean
They’re going to build a prison wall
Roon the model village Plean

We got to court on Tuesday
Tae stand before the Dean
And the prosecuting fiscal says
‘It’s Reynolds frae the Plean’

They go to church on Sunday
Half an hour too late
They pull the buttons off their shirts
And put them in the plate

It’s full of thieves and robbers
And honest men are few
If you ask Big Johnston the polis man
He’ll tell you that it’s true

It’s early in the morning
You’ll hear the warders bark
Here comes the chip cairt robber
And his name is Dizzy Clark

 

Coorie Doon
by Matt McGinn (1928–77)

Coorie doon, coorie doon, coorie doon
my darling,
Coorie doon the day (Repeat)

Lie doon my dear, and in your ear,
To help you close your eye
I'll sing a song, a slumber song,
A miner's lullaby.

Your daddy's doon the mine, my darling,
Doon in the Curlby Main,
Your daddy's howking coal, my darling,
For his own wee wean.

There's darkness doon the mine, my darling,
Darkness, dust and damp.
But we maun hae oor heat, oor light,
Oor fire and oor lamp.

Your daddy coories doon, my darling,
Doon in a three foot seam,
So you can coorie doon, my darling
,
Coorie doon and dream

Words:
Coorie: snuggle, nestle
Howking: hewing, digging
Wean: small child

 

Collier Sweetheart

In 2003 Ewan McVicar was asked to write songs with class P5 in East Plean Primary near Stirling. Ewan’s mother was born in Plean, and he remembered that his grandfather, Hugh Reynolds, had told him about being in a mining disaster. Ewan's grandfather had heard the sound of the 1921 explosion where he was hewing (cutting coal) in the next-door pit. Ewan looked up old newspapers to get details of what happened. Then he and P5 wrote this song.

My mother said I could not have a collier
If I did it would break her heart
I didn’t care what my mother told me
I had a collier for my sweetheart

But one day up Cadger’s Loan
The siren screamed at Pit Four head
All of Plean ran to find out
How many living, how many dead?

Lowsing time in the Carbrook Dook
The young shotfirer fired his shot
Dynamite blew up the section
Twelve lads dead, seventy caught

Their holiday bags were lying waiting
The men were lying down below
The wee canaries they died too
Salty tears in the sad Red Rows

The young shotfirer had no certificate
My young collier gave his life
Fate was cruel to my sweetheart
And I will never be a wife

My mother said I could not have a collier
If I did it would break her heart
I didn’t care what my mother told me
I had a collier for my sweetheart

 

Today Is Hogmanay
 

Today is Hogmanay
Tomorrow's Hogmananny
And ah'm gaun doon the brae
Tae see my Irish grannie.

Ah'll tak her tae a ball
Ah'll tak her tae a supper
And when ah get her there
Ah'll stick her nose in the butter.

Singing ah ah ah, ah ah
Ah ah ah ah ah ah
Ah ah ah ah ah
And that's the Gaelic chorus.

Make the bagpipe sound of the 'ahs' by holding your nose with one hand, and beating gently on your throat with the edge of the other hand.

Ewan McVicar's mother Beth Reynolds learned this song in East Plean School playground in the 1920s.

PLEAN SCHOOL SPACE MACHINE

Plean school space machine
It’s roon the back an it can’t be seen
But we know it’s purple, yella an green
An made bi a man ca’d Wull

It’s made wi glass an rusty bars
That come frae rusty motor cars
But it’s good enough tae go tae the stars
Wi the man ca’d Wull

It’s awfy ecological
It’s run bi rottin vegtabuls
Ye throw them in in bucketfuls
Hurray fur the man ca’d Wull

Maybe he wis the jannie here
Maybe he’s Santa’s engineer
Whoever he is, gie three cheeers
For the man ca’d Wull

Plean school space machine
It’s roon the back an it can’t be seen
But we know it’s purple, yella an green
An made bi a man ca’d Wull

Shirley MacCurl the Space Girl
Birls by and gies us a twirl
Cause her machine wis made as well
By the man ca’d Wull

Some fowk say his name is Billy
That’s no right, that’s just silly
We ken better, we ken really
That his name is Wull