Caledonian Safari

Raymond Harris wrote this after hearing that 432 people own 50% of Scotland.

You’re only an urban audience,
Streets of postcode – lottery free.
How can you talk of land reform?
Leave that to the landed classes
Or those of us that sound like them,
Our ‘pied a terres’ and country retreats,
Campervan elites,
Wellies for the dog walks,
Flat caps not to be doffed,
Matching cagoules,
Spotless denims,
Shotguns if needed,
Everything in its place,
Empire accents,
Malt whisky rich,
Caledonian safari,
Beaters and bearers,
Keeping valuable jobs
For faithful Jocks,
Preserving Victorian space
For the old boy network,
Feminist conspiracy of course,
For an urban audience,
But still stalking together
And testing the wind,
Not to startle our prey
With tweed aftershave.
All in the handshake,
The name and the wellies,
Dog pooh or bird feathers,
We’re the ones in the know,
In the landed big picture,
Vast tracts of picture
Posing with our kill,
Not picking up the pooh,
But back to the camper
Or the job creating lodge,
Moaning about our postcode lottery,
And bloody wind turbines,
Yet glad to be here,
Living in the clear,
With all the right gear,
Networking away,
Keeping the urban masses at bay,
So what do you say?
Let’s keep it this way.
Forget about history,
Life before Clearances,
We own it now,
Thoroughbred stewards,
Passing it on,
Not dividing it up
Like pieces of cake,
Our bloodlines diluted
For the majority’s sake,
Barbarians at our gate.
Let’s agree to differ,
We’ll give you a slice,
Now off you trot,
Oh what a good shot!
Are you still here?
So it’s me who must leave?
That’s fine old man.
My campervan’s waiting,
No more debating.
You’ll mess it all up,
Spoil the hunt,
Wear the wrong tie,
Or some radical stunt.
A storm in a brandy glass,
That SNP lot.
It’s gone to their heads,
But we have the class,
The accents and power,
Just give us the chance,
We’ll pay zero hour,
Once back in place
Owning that space,
Leading the chase,
Watching your face,
For signs of unrest,
-But we’re trained by the best.
Tally-ho,
After the SNP we go.
Just have our drinks ready,
And keep your hands steady,
Nothing to fear,
It’s all first names here,
-Jock.

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