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The Gallant Ninety-Twa

[ Roud 3776 ; Ballad Index Ord289 ; Mudcat 33189 ; trad.]

Archie Fisher sang The Gallant Ninety Two in 1976 on his Topic album Will Ye Gang, Love. He noted:

Several Highland regiments, notably the Black Watch (“The Gallant Forty Twa”) and the Gordon Highlanders (“The Gallant Ninety Two”) had their regimental praise songs, sung by soldiers and civilians alike. The present song, made early in the 20^th century, was a lengthy affair, commemorating the Gordons’ exploits from the Peninsular War (“the dark Pyr’nees”) to the Boer War (“dark Majuba’s plunder”), but Archie has—perhaps mercifully—compressed the long panegyric into a brief and nuggety lyric. There’s a twelve-verse version of the words and tune in Ord’s Bothy Songs and Ballads in which Waterloo is more generously celebrated as a British victory rather than, as here, a Scottish one.

Lyrics

The Gallant Ninety Two in Bothy Songs and Ballads

Brave Ninety-Twa, I’ve read your story,
A valour tale of fadeless glory
For brave auld Scotia braw.
Won by her mountain sons o’ fame,
You’ve laurel-wreathed auld Scotland’s name,
Brave, gallant Ninety-Twa.

Reared ’mong these glens ’mid which I stand,
The brave, heroic Gordons grand,
Wi’ stern and dauntless front.
On mony a rude and bloody field,
Where thousands from their bayonets reeled,
Bore fiercest battle’s brunt.

True kilted heroes o’ the North,
Weel may auld Scotia praise your worth,
An’ cheer your noble arms;
She lo’es her kilted sodgers a’,
But nane mair than the Ninety-Twa,
Her martial ardour warms.

Frae Maya’s Pass an’ dark Pyr’nees,
Your cheers cam’ on the hameward breeze,
To mony a Highland glen.
An’ there around the auld peat fires
Your brithers brave and hoary sires,
A’ hardy, stalwart men,

Looked sternly up wi’ pridefu’ mien,
Ne’er shamed to claim you as their ain,
When battle news cam’ hame.
An’ aft the reeky rafters rang

Wi’ warlike pibroch, loud and lang,
To cheer your martial fame.

The lads o’ Avon an’ the Spey,
O’ Deveronside and Bogie gay,
An’ glens by Dee and Don,
Hae won your noble tartans braw,
And raised the Gordons’ wild hurrah
On fields right stoutly won.

Red Waterloo, beyond a’ praise,
Your valour there burst to a blaze,
In bayonet charges free,
An’ when the Grey’s, wi’ warlike cry,
O’ Scotland’s name, went cheering by,
You joined the wild melee.

The veteran Frenchmen, thousands deep,
Fled ’fore your charge like stricken sheep,
Your bayonets redly shone,
While wild the grand auld pibroch blew,
The French retreat from Waterloo,
An’ British victory won.

Through dark Majuba’s blunder sore
Ye bore your dauntless mien of yore,
An’ only bowed to death.
Had but the Boers braved your steel
They’d had another tale to tell,
A tale o’ wae and skaith.

March proudly on, brave Ninety-Twa,
The gallant Gordons, leal and braw,
The bravest of the brave;
We know the record o’ your fame,
An’ lang may Scotland lo’e your name,
An’ you her honour prove.

Frae oor green glens fu’ many a son
O’ brave auld kilted Caledon
’S gane forth to ne’er return.
An’ while your famous deeds we hail,
Loud let the wailing pibroch tell
For those who fell we mourn.

They fell amidst the bloody fray,
On many a fierce and fateful day,
By ball and bayonet keen;
But ’midst these northern glens o’ oors
We’ll keep their fame thro’ coming years
Untarnished, fresh, an’ green.