Norman Paterson

"A songwriter whose compassion pours out in every word and lyric, Norman's writing moved me to tears with its beauty"

- Declan Welch - Declan Welch and the Decadent West

"Norman's songs bypass the brain and go straight for the heart. (That's code for some of his songs make me a bit teary). I think of him as the "Hebridean John Prine"

- Findlay Napier The Magpie Arc

What People that bought my albums are saying

ABOUT

Norman Paterson

Like a fine Scottish whisky from his homeland, Singer Songwriter Norman Paterson has really set the tone for an artist that only makes their mark after years in the creative barrel. Originally from the windswept islands of the Outer Hebrides and now based in Glasgow, he penned his first song at the age of 65 and now has two albums in the pipeline!

Crafting songs in the style of Scottish Folk and Country, he is inspired by artists such as John Prine, Guy Clark and Leonard Cohen. Incorporating the acoustic guitar, mandolin, banjo and accordion as they sweep through his songs, Norman is making the kind of music that stirs the ancient soul. Painting memories of a nostalgic island life, his lyrics and signature vocals are warm, authentic and deeply intoxicating.

Acknowledging himself that he is a late starter, he is one of the best examples of ‘its never too late to try’. Cascading melodies and a delightful collection of intoxicating songs, his forthcoming debut album titled Torn with a July 2023 release date will deliver on all fronts. Perfect for those moments of quiet indulgence, Norman’s songs are a glimpse into a world that few will have experienced.

Gearing up for live performances later in the year, Norman Paterson is grabbing every opportunity to take his music to the world. Hang on to his every word and discover a musician whose stories resonate with the gifts of a life well-lived

TORN THE ALBUM

Torn the Story

From the wind swept lonesome shores of the Outer Hebrides and his current hometown of Glasgow comes a winsome collection of finely crafted songs from Norman Paterson titled Torn. Reflecting the picturesque cluster of islands renowned for their rugged beauty, untouched landscapes, and rich Gaelic heritage, Norman reflects a sense of peace and tranquillity with his debut album.

The moment you step into this 15 track opus, you will be transported to the breath-taking vistas and memories of a time long forgotten. At 65 years of age, Norman has brought together all of his experiences to craft an album that is a testament to the faith he has placed in himself. Embarking on a journey that would be challenging enough for someone in their twenties, he has the vision and the knowledge to add a new and exciting voice to the world of Scottish folk and country music.

Blending traditional Scottish melodies and storytelling with a dash of contemporary flavours, Torn is not a rip in time but a full blown dive into what makes the Scotland’s music of Auld so rewarding. From the spoken word opening of The Pier, to the imperious majesty of the Country infused Tender, and the more toe tapping creativity of Accident or Design, Norman wraps everything in a warm embrace of unbelievable textures.

Banjos, Accordions, Guitars, perfect complimentary female harmonies, are all given the chance to breathe in the rarefied air that Norman creates. His lyrics and their phrasing hark back to the time of the poets and traditional Gaelic storytellers. With a voice that carries the weight of centuries of tradition, he weaves a tapestry of words that transports listeners to a different place and time.

An example of the old adage that ‘it’s never too late to follow your dreams’ , Torn is a gift from the older generation to age groups that will have never experienced such beauty in the modern music world. Join him on his path as he shares his music to an audience that will fall in love with an album that defines the social fabric of the islands. It is a long player that will tear no person asunder but restore their faith in humanity.

Torn Tracklisting

The Pier
Torn
Two Rivers
Heart of The Hebrides
Tender
Silver Locket
The Tree That Bends
The Alchemists
Tides They Turn
Mary Ann
When Yellow is on The Broom
And The Healing Will Begin
Accident or Design
Suilisgeir

SONGS FROM TORN

The Pier

Piers play a significant part in island life however for much of the time they lie silent. In the 60/70’s most people traveled home by bus, so we’d rush to meet each ferry to see who was coming down the gangway.

A pier
Harboring no feelings of this or that
Stands silent
A ferry appears

Women in Glasgow frocks and heels
disembark down steep steps
clutching handbags and handrails.
Husbands in Sunday suits
carry cardboard suitcases

Waves of recognition
Children held at arms distance
inspected for likeness and growth
Wary cousins measured.

Chatter from arrivals
tears from departures
Arms placed round shoulders
Backs turned against land and sea
A pier empty
No longer echoing of sounds
Stands silent

Torn

Many island folk feel torn. In our younger years torn between leaving or staying and as we get older between returning home or making a life forever away from the Island. In this song a young girl yearns to leave the island unaware of the affect it will have on her parents.

She’s leaving the island
She needs to get away
An unfamiliar voice is calling
A And getting louder every day

She fears to break the ties that bind
But the voice will not be scorned
And as she looks across the water
She is torn

The boat sails Monday morning
Before the towns awake
They drive her to the harbour
A car full of heartache

Her world surrounded by the sea
Ends on every shore
And as she looks across the water
She is torn

She boards the boat turns back to wave
To her parents on the pier
The only place she’s ever known.
Will slowly disappear

Back home the house is silent
They sit and watch the dawn
As the ferry boat gets smaller
They are torn

Our world surrounded by the sea
Ends on every shore
And as we gaze across the water
We are torn

Two Rivers

This song is about the part the Creed River and the Glen River played in my upbringing. When we were young our parents allowed us to play near the gentle Glen. As we grew older and bolder we’d venture to the wild Creed.

There are two rivers in my hometown
Driving down the rain
Through the hills to the sea
Both these rivers flowed through me

The softer river hugs the town
Rolls along with a soothing sound
As a child I walked its course
I gathered its peace
It let me cross
Different rivers
Different rain
No two pathways run the same

The wilder river shuns the town
It’s waters fast
Its pull is strong
As a child I walked its course
It took my fear
It let me cross

Both these rivers played their part
In the design of my restless heart
I’m going back to where I came
Where the rivers know my name

Different rivers
Different rain
No two pathways run the same
I’m going back
To where I came
Where the rivers know my name
I’m going back
To where I came
Where the rivers know my name

The Heart of the Hebrides

The first half of this song is about places I remember from the Butt to Uist. The second half is about its people and industries.

I have watched a Bernera sunset
On a summer solstice night
Until the last threads of darkness
Surrendered to the light
I have felt the winter storms
Lash against the Port of Ness
Like Neptune’s ancient army
Charging merciless
Deep into the Heart of the Hebrides

I have crossed the Grimsay Causeway
Landed down on Barra Beach
Sailed across the sea to Scalpay
Where I saw the Devil’s Sheep
I’ve travelled the Golden Road
Up and down its bends and bays
Knelt inside the Rodel Church
On a late December day
Deep within the Heart of the Hebrides

I’ve watched the fishing fleet
Setting sail before the dawn
Stood amongst the fishermen
In a frozen auction mart
I have worked a kipper yard
Minded herring as they smoked
Hanging from the rafters
Above the burning oak
Deep within the Heart of the Hebrides

I have heard the weavers loom
Late into the darkest night
I have seen the single bulb
Spreading out its yellow light
I’ve stood on the Holm cliffs
Thought about the Iolaire
Trying to make some sense
Of what unfolded there
And tore the Heart out of the Hebrides

Tender

A song for my wife Angela about the sum of the parts. The whole is greater than the bits and pieces that go to make it.

There is no colour in the moon
It just reflects the sun
The forest makes no sound
When no one is around

When I first laid my eyes on you
I’d no idea did you
But the sun and moon both knew
You’d stop me running

So I keep it on the tender
Leave it on the true
I wear it on my sleeve
Only for you

If I should lose you
In whatever shape or form
The moon would lose its colour
The forest give up its song

I have no answer
To thoughts of this kind
So, I don’t give them time
Or space in my mind

When I first laid my eyes on you
I’d no idea did you
But the sun and moon both knew
You’d stop me running

So I keep it on the tender
Leave it on the true
I wear it on my sleeve
Only for you

A Silver Locket and A Key

When World War One was announced within 48 hours all the fit men from the Hebrides enlisted. Of the 6712 that went off to war 1151 never returned. (source www.hebrideanconnections.com ) Many would have been fathers leaving behind wives and children. This song could be one family's story. Maybe the wee girl in this song went on to be someone's mother, Granny or even great Granny.

On the edge of the harbour looking east
East toward the light across the bay
Following a ship that’s disappearing
She lifts her tiny hand begins to wave

She looks at her mother stood beside her
And the other mothers in the line
Holding their children so tightly
As if letting go would anger the divine

Below the wind she’s singing Jesus loves me
A song she learned upon her father’s knee
while her other hand deep in her coat pocket
Clasps a silver locket and a key

With his back to the bridge, he looks homeward
Home to those gathered on the pier
He closes his eyes to freeze the moment
Filled of the those he holds dear

In a mud filled trench called Gordon Alley
By a village in the Somme
While his brothers in arms are sleeping
He’s crouched in a corner writing home.

Below the guns he’s singing Jesus loves me
A song he learned upon his father’s knee
While his other hand deep in his coat pocket
Clasps a silver locket and a key

And when the guns fell silent
On the 11th day
He heard a small bird whistling.
And he fell to his knees

And he sang out loud Jesus Love Me
A song he learned upon his father’s knee
And he thought about his wife and daughter
And kissed the silver locket and its key

The Tree that Bends

I liked the idea of writing a song that sounded like an old traditional folk song. It’s about protecting your children while giving them space to learn.

The tree that bends
Toward the sun
Grows its roots down
Deep and strong
Learns to sway
With the gentle breeze
Come the winter
Weathers the storm

When the farmer goes
To plant the tree
He protects the bark
Leaves the branches free
By following this
Ancient way
The tree grows stronger
Day by day

When the farmer goes
To build a house
He’ll build from stone
Face it south
By following this
Ancient way
It becomes a home
Day by day

The tree that bends
Toward the sun
Grows its roots down
Deep and strong
And learns to sway
With the gentle breeze
Come the winter
Weathers the storm

The Alchemists

For almost 100 years, from 1850 up to the Second World War up to 3,000 island women were employed in the industry as “Herring Girls”. The work while lucrative was harsh. My Granny from Point was a herring girl. My Grandad originally from Glasgow was a Kipper Man. That’s how they met. The line “turning silver into gold” refers to the Silver Darlings which were turned into the famous golden Stornoway Kippers

My Grandad was a kipper man
He smelt of wood and smoke
His hands were red from kipper dye
He coughed before he spoke

Born in the Glasgow Gorbals
At the turn of the century
Shipped out to the east coast
Brought up by the sea

He spent his life in red brick kilns
Amongst the burning oak
Or standing on the quay side
With the other fisher folk

They told me they were Alchemists
Back in the days of old
Traveling Scotland’s herring towns
Turning silver into gold

My Granny was a herring girl
She left before the war
And headed for the herring ports
Along the Scottish shore

One of 2000 island girls
Who worked in teams of three
Gutting curing packing fish
Outside on the quay

With fingers wrapped in cotton rags
Made from old flour sacks
To save her hands from the gutting knife
Salt water and the cracks
They told me they were Alchemists
Back in the days of old
Traveling Scotland’s herring towns
Turning silver into gold

Now the herring are no more
And the gold has turned to dust
Kipper yards demolished
boats turned to rust

These days will never come again
But stories will be told
When herring girls and kipper men
Turned silver into gold

They told me they were Alchemists
Back in the days of old
Traveling Scotland’s herring towns
Turning silver into gold

Tides They Turn

I started writing this song in an ambulance rushing me from Wishaw to Hairmyres Hospital after my heart attack. Things can change in the blink of an eye.

Tides They Turn
Clouds they pass
Sand runs through
the hourglass
Minutes’ walk
While years fl
Things change
In the blink of an eye

You cast a stone
You choose your way
Some roads are colours
Some roads are grey
You see her face
It melts you heart
She returns your smile
The music starts
A butterfly
flaps its wings
The movement changes
Everything
Every thought
Every sound
It spins them all
Round and round
Tides They Turn
Clouds they pass
Sand runs through
the hourglass
Minutes’ walk
While years fly
Things change
In the blink of an eye

Mary Ann

A young girl’s journey from the hills of Harris to working in Oban before getting caught up in the Clydebank Blitz in WW2. The song was inspired by a photo Elizabeth MacDonald posted on Facebook of her auntie and two friends taken outside the hotel they worked at in Whiting Bay on Arran.

Three old photographs
Caught my eye today
In a faded envelope
Hidden away

A girl on a motorbike
By a passing place
Striking a pose
Sun in her face

On the back is Mary Ann
March 31
In the Harris Hills
Before she left home

Three laughing chambermaids
On a sea front wall
Strong breeze in their hair
Billowing their shawls

On the back is Mary Ann
June 38
On Oban promenade
With Catherine and Kate

A mother with child
On a on bombed out street
Dressed in black
Rubble at her feet

On the back is Mary Ann
April 41
Outside whats left
Of their Clydebank home

Captured in black and white
Her spirit shines through
Oh Mary Ann
What happened to you
The girl on the motorbike
The woman on the wall
The mother with child
I wonder who
Captured it all

Three old photographs
Caught my eye today
In a faded envelope
From a lifetime away

When the Yellow’s on the Bloom

This song started its life as a challenge on a song writing retreat in Moniak Mhor. We were asked to write a song about what the place felt like. I looked outside the window at the broom and gorse bushes and came up with this idea. A young man from Lewis fallen during the first World War dreams of seeing his loved one and the yellow gorse bushes again.

As I lie on Flanders Field
The sound of battle fading fast
I slowly close my eyes (my love)
And I’m with you in Luskentyr
Where the sea is emerald green
And the curlew call is clear
We will walk those hills again (my love)
When the yellows on the broom

When the yellow’s on the broom (my love)
When the yellow’s on the broom
My darling will you look for
When the yellow’s on the broom

As the sun dies in the west
I feel a darkness creeping in
Until I hear your sweet voice (my love)
Telling me I’m going home
And the boat will wait for me
To sail me back across the sea
We will walk those hills again (my love)
When the yellows on the broom

When the yellow’s on the broom (my love)
When the yellow’s on the broom
My darling will you look for me
When the yellow’s on the broom

And the Healing will Begin

This song based on personal experience is about finding the right person at the right time. And having the courage to trust in them.

When the storm is at its strongest
The wind has knocked you down
When your hope has lost its anchor
There’s no comfort to be found

When your road begins to crumble
And you’re still so far from home
The drifts begin to deepen
The wolves come creeping in

When you’ve no one left to turn to
You’re running on you own
Raise up your head
And look around

And in the middle of the maelstrom
Deep within the blue-black light
There will be a place or person
Put there to make things right

And if you find the courage
And the trust to let them in
When the storm is at its strongest
The healing will begin

Accident or Design

This song was inspired by a Facebook post. One day we will do something for the last time without knowing it. I’ve set this song in the Renden Café on a Friday evening in the Autumn of 1975.

Downtown Stornoway Friday night
Autumn of 75
The bars and pubs are heaving
It feels good to be alive
Me and my pals are hanging out
In the Rendezvous Cafe
Not knowing this is the last night
It will ever be this way

There’s a clock in our town that never chimes
Stands there silent stuck in time
While all around lives unwind

Tommy’s off to college
Then he’ll head to sea
Colin starts on Monday
In a local factory
Danny’s not made any plans
Except for signing on
Me I’m scared of leaving
And scared of staying around

There’s a clock in our town that never chimes
Stands there silent stuck in time
While all around lives unwind
All things change
Stars re-arrange
Whether by
accident or design

That night was 50 years ago
But feels like yesterday
When everything was simple
Till life got in the way
Four young lads hanging out
In the Rendezvous Cafe
Not knowing it was the last night
It would ever be that way

Suilisgeir

Our Grannys' houses were such special magical places. Its sad to see so many of them abandoned.

Suilisgeir built from
pebbles and concrete
stood closer to wave than village,
a strip of machair,
sandstone
walling off the inches
between the Minch and land.

Tides would spring
aligning boundaries,
lapping against doors
before neaping to
halve the distance from
The Church on the opposite shore
where the minister’s mother
would walk me.

And I spent my summers
overturning rocks,
stretching seaweed in a tightrope
as if I were trying to undermine
our home’s foundations.
allowing space for hermit crabs
to creep and crawl within

Suilisgeir now empty
each winter moving
nearer the sea
They say
It would take a foolish
man’s money to repair
the pebbles and concrete
Would I had it.

All songs written by Norman Paterson
Produced by Angus Lyon at Grans House Studio

STORNOWAY THE ALBUM

Stornoway the Story

With its rugged coastline, historic sites like Lews Castle, and a vibrant Gaelic-speaking community, Stornoway provides a glimpse into the rich heritage of the Hebrides. Its surroundings include dramatic landscapes, ancient standing stones, and pristine beaches, making it a destination for both historians and nature lovers alike.

When you grow up there, you may be blissfully unaware of the magical moments it provides but as time marches on, you can reflect on how much it added to your life. Norman Paterson is one such artist who in his later years as a musician memorialises places, friendships and experiences that resonate with him today.

Following up on his stunning acoustic album Torn, he has moved to a full electric band with his sophomore release Stornoway. Set amongst the exciting period of his youth in the 60s and 70s where life was full of the spectacular and the vibrant colours of rock music, Norman has still retained that Celtic country feel but added elements that makes the album exceptional.

Celebrating the place he called home through a mixture of pleasure and guilt, listeners are transported to a place and time where you can imagine what it was like growing up in the Western Isles. From the opening track and the heartfelt lament of Sailing Away, to the loss of a dear old friend, and the thrill and exhilaration of a night on the town as a teenager depicted by Saturday Night; the album is full of nostalgia and dreams of days gone by, comprising of 14 songs that touch the spirit.

The pictures Norman paints are extraordinary, textured and tugging at the heartstrings to impel you to want to visit its wind-swept shores. Spiritual and blessed with a backdrop that is unique, Stornoway is a remarkable statement on what life was like over half a century ago. Innocent yet full of energy whilst exploring what it means to have existed on the edge of the open Atlantic, Norman Paterson has discovered a way to write his own songs into the narrative of the town.

Critics always say that the second album can be the most difficult to make because the ideas of the first can sometimes use up all a musician’s creative forces. This is not the case for Norman Paterson. He has expanded his reach and added more to his sound, and for that, Stornoway, The Outer Hebrides and Scotland should be forever grateful.

Stornoway Tracklisting

Sailing Away
Back On The Rock
What Became of Renden
Luskintyre
I’m Going Home
Plenty Days
Stornoway Down Town
Kenny Fags and His Red Guitar
When I Was Young
Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
Dalmore
Days
Saturday Night
Sailing Away Reprise

SONGS FROM STORNOWAY

Glossary of Terms

Dail Mhor

Beach on the exposed north coast of the Isle of Lewis the next stop is Iceland. This secluded section of the coast takes the full brunt of the Atlantic swells. A good stretch of golden sand flanked by rugged cliffs

The Braighe

The Braighe is a narrow stretch of land – linking Point (Eye Peninsula) and the villages of Branahuie and Melbost

Coupon’s Been Busted

Winning the pools was the only way we could see we’d get a continental holiday. Busted means the results didn’t go your way.

Ullapool

Village and port located in Northern Scotland where the ferry to Stornoway leaves from

Kenny Fags

An iconic and well loved Stornoway guiter player and singer.

Pink Panther

Popular Saturday evening cartoon based on the Peter Sellers film.

Loch Broom

Loch Broom is a sea loch located in northwestern Ross and Cromarty on the west coast of Scotland. The small town of Ullapool lies on the eastern shore of the loch

Luskentyre

Luskentyre beach has been named as one of the top ten beaches in the world, a spectacular combination of beautiful white sand stretching for miles against a backdrop of calm blue waters and an unspoilt shell sand bay.

Brucie

Bruce Forsyth host of the Generation Game. Required viewing back in the 70’s

Yellow on Loch Broom

The signal is that the yellow blossoms have come out on the broom bush that grows by roadsides. Its bright yellow flowers appear in spring, from April to June, and smell of vanilla.

Harris

Harris is the southern part of the Scottish Hebridean island of Lewis and Harris. It’s known for sandy beaches like Luskentyre and Scarista on the west coast, and for rugged mountains in the north

Playhouse

Local cinema known as the Flicks. Saturday afternoon for the kids. Saturday evening for the teenagers

Arnish Point

Arnish Point Lighthouse marks the entrance to Stornoway Harbour. As such, it is often referred to as Stornoway Lighthouse

Stornoway

Stornoway is the main town of the Western Isles and the capital of Lewis and Harris in Scotland.

YM

Where us teenagers spent our time. Snooker, Table Tennis, Juke Box and dancing. All we ever wanted.

Wranglers and Platforms

Standard uniform for the dedicated follower of fashion back in the 60/70’s

Cromwell Street

The main street running through Stornoway

KD’s

Local Off-license. Our first quest every Friday night was to find a suitable adult to buy our carry out

Grattans

If our mums didn’t have a catalogue our aunties would

Hoachin

Full of or swarming with people or things

Lochmaddy

Lochmaddy is the village capital and main settlement on the island of North Uist. It is also the terminus for the ferry to Uig on Skye

The Smiths

The shoe shop brothers who were on the YM committee and ran the door at the dances. 50p to get in

Neptune, Crown, County, Caber and Carltoan

Popular Stornoway pubs

Tilley Lamps

Oil lamp used for light before electricity was introduced to the Hebrides.

Sticklebacks

Tiny translucent fresh water fish

Jack, Dollaig, Chico and Sandy

Popular Stornoway landlords and landladies

Coves

Stornoway slang for boy

Red Admirals

The Red Admiral is a frequent visitor to gardens throughout the British Isles and one of our most well-known butterflies

Lido

Popular Italian Café in Stornoway

The Nicolson Institute

The best secondary school ever

Crush Hall

Where we all hung out in the Nicolson Institute

Renden

Popular Stornoway Café run by the Andrew an xxx xxx Cabrelli

Blones

Stornoway slang for girl

Sailing Away

For those of us living away this is the hardest part. The early morning sail off looking back at the town getting smaller. If we do iot in the summer and the day is decent we get a wonderful sunrise. But often times its pitch dark and blowing a gale. Like the song says it don’t get easier. I wanted to keep this final song plain and simple so its just me and my guitar with Keith and Scott on backing vocals. And only two chords.

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown

The Suilven leaves the harbour
And turns itself around
I am facing west
but I am eastward bound

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown

Every time I leave
I leave some part behind
And it don’t get easier
No matter how many times

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown

The Island sits silent
As the boat goes sailing by
Passing all my memories
Under a tear-filled sky

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
And I don’t feel much like talking
To anyone right now

Back on the Rock

I’m not sure when we started calling Lewis The Rock. The title Back in the Day comes from the Stornoway Gazette Magazine they publish periodical. The song covers the period from my first memory through to when we first discovered alcohol, music and girls. Like we were the first generation to do so.

The first thing I remember
Is standing in a crowd
Outside our local tv store
Staring at a black and white
Flickering from dark to light
Watching a man step on the moon

La la la la
La la la la

The next thing I remember
Is sitting on a wall
Across from the Rendezvous Café
We hear the sound of pipes and drums
Marching through the town
We jump up and C pretend to play.

Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day

One of us who looked the part
kinda cool kinda smart
Knew someone who’d get us rum
We hid between the fishing nets
Trawler Rum and cigarettes
The burning taste lingered on our tongues.

La la la la
La la la la

We found music drink and girls
Late night radio
We all sang Maggie May
I’d walk Kathleen home from school
I could always make her laugh
Somewhere I still have her photograph.

Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day

Summers came and summers went
I remember all the time we spent
Just hanging out downtown
We were never on our own
We had pals from all around
Nothing ever seemed to bring us down

Back on the Rock
Back in the Day
Back on the Rock
Back in the Day

What became of the Renden

Growing up we were blessed to have so many wonderful Italian and Asian businessmen and women who brought us so many things we’d not had before. We had the Capaldi’s for ice cream, the Scaramucci’s for apple pie and the Cabrelli’s for frothy coffee. My gangs meeting place was the seats along the far wall in the Renden near to the Juke Box.

What became of the Renden
The Lido and YM
I turned around & they were gone
But my memory still is strong
What became of the Juke Box
Where we played our favourite songs
With our fingers on the glass
Searching for the one we heard last

Can I have that last ham roll
And a frothy cup of coffee Andrew please
And see that Caramel log
It’s been waiting there for me
I promise I’ll not smoke
No that not a joke
Just you wait and see
And has herself been in
You know who I am talking about

Can I go back again back to the Ren Den
The way it was
D And sit with all my friends
On the tables at the end one last time
Laugh and joke about the days
Long forgotten memories of the past
With a word for those who’ve gone
But who presence linger on in us all

Luskentyre

Luskentyre regularly features on lists of the best beaches in the world. For Stornowegians it meant a day trip and a place you needed a car to get to. For us without a car it was a mythical place.

Last night I dreamt that dream
The one where we’re back home
On the pure white sands at Luskintyre
You’d made corn beef sandwiches
A flask of Lipton tea
And you wore a new dress just for me

Laughing like a little girl
You ran down to the sea
Screaming as the water
Reached your knees
I caught you with my camera
the waves up to your waste
A summer smile

Lighting up your face
And if the architect above us
In his master plan
Had granted me the power
We’d still be on those sands

We lay our blankets on the ground
And towel dried our feet
Lay down In the gentle Harris heat
Then we watched the sun set
With its yellows, blues and reds
Woven by a million coloured threads

And if the architect above us
In his master plan
Had granted me the power
We’d still be on those sands
And if the architect above us
In his master plan
Had granted me the power
We’d still be on those sands

I’m Going Home

I wanted to start the album with a song about the journey home and the landmarks we see along the way. Then include a typical conversation we have when we get there. When my ma says “You’re looking well” its a kindly Stornoway phrase. However when she says “You’re looking really well” it means you’ve put on weight. The final paragraph harks to a period when I wasn’t able to get home as much as I wanted.

500 miles of open road
And 50 miles of sea
I close my eyes
I’m going home
I feel my spirits rise
With every passing mile
I close my eyes
I’m going home

CHORUS
Where old friends will stop me on the street
Smile and say you’re looking well
Hows your Ma keeping these day

And it’s good to see you back home again
I see the whitewashed walls of Ullapool
And the yellow on Loch Broom
I close my eyes
I’m going home
The sun set over Arnish Point
And the lights across the Braighe
I close my eyes
I’m going home

Where old friends will stop me on the street
Smile and say you’re looking well
Hows your Ma keeping these day
And its good to see you back home again

And if only it were that simple
And if only I could find a way
And if not for a hundred thousand reason
I’d be on my way home today

Plenty Days

Written in memory of Colin Montgomery. Although I came from Manor Park and Colin from Battery Park, we became good pals through a shared love of music. However, we lost touch as life took over. We reconnected via Facebook 45 or so years later and met up in Inverness for tea and scones promising to do it again. Then came COVID. Colin caught the virus prior to the first lockdown and passed away eight weeks later.

He was one of those people that found the hard stuff easy. Great at sports, skilful footballer and wonderful guitarist.

I’m sorry for your loss
We were pals back in the day
And I’m sorry we lost touch
When I moved away

But I’m glad we met up
On that sunny Saturday
Shared a pot tea
yarned the years away

I wish we’d done it more
We lived not far away
But I guess that’s what happens when
We think there’s plenty days
Plenty days.
Plenty days
We think we’ll always be plenty days

We do what we can
Live from day to day
So many little things
We quietly push away
Thinking there’ll be time
For us to show face
Until we realise
We’re running out of days

Plenty days. Plenty days
We think we’ll always be plenty days
Plenty days. Plenty days
We think we’ll always be plenty days

Stornoway Downtown

My memory of growing up in Stornoway is of a vibrant bustling town. Bars and pubs were so busy buying a round took a while. Stornoway was the hub and buses from all over the island arrived on a Friday and Saturday evening packed. Each pub had its iconic Bar Manager/ess who set the tone. I’ve tried to include as many as I can remember.

Do you remember
Stornoway downtown
When all the country buses
Would come from miles around
Off would pour the passengers
Onto Cromwell Street
And if you had a sweetheart
That’s where you’d meet

Do you remember
Stornoway downtown
When Jack bossed the Neptune
and Dolaig ruled the Crown
Chico ran the Charlton
Sandy poured the drams
In the lounge in the County
Which had a certain charm

Back then the town was hoachin
From the Caber to the Star
We were happy standing
Four deep at the bar
Perhaps we saw the best of her
Perhaps that’s still to come
But nothings ever bettered
Stornoway downtown

Do you remember
Stornoway downtown
Hanging out with your pals
From the Lido to the YM
Checking out the blones
Checking out the coves
Then off to the town hall
To dance to the Karltoans

Kenny Fags and his Red Guitar

In the 60/70’s best dance halls in Stornoway were the YM, Town Hall and the Nicholson Institute. If you saw Kenny’s red guitar and Ewens drum kit onstage you knew you were on for a great night. Everyone over a certain age will have a memory of Kenny with a huge big grin on his face playing way more chords that we realised.

My island home
From a distant past
A Lifetime memories
Built to last
Friendships forged
During night less days
My island home
With its island ways

It was our time
we were its stars
When Kenny Fags
played his red guitar
And Caesar sang
Tonight will be fine
And we danced
Till morning time

My island home
With its eightsome reels
Songs sung with
A country feel
Dance hall floors
In a smokey haze
My island home
With its island ways

It was our time
we were its stars
When Kenny Fags
played his red guitar
And Caesar sang
Tonight will be fine
And we danced
Till morning time

When I Was Young

Granny’s houses were magical places. As soon as the school broke for summer hols, we were off to Lochmaddy via the Tarbert bus and Calmac ferry. I associate this journey with watching Wimbledon on the ships black and white tele. This was the time of Rod Laver and Billie Jean King. Even now the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket brings me back.

When I was young
And summers long and warm
And everyone I loved was still alive
We’d take a boat
And sail across the sea
To Lochmaddy where my mother was born

In a stone built house
Sitting on the shore
Where the lighthouse lamp lit up my bedroom wall
And there we’d stay
All summer long
My brother my grandmother and me
This is how it was when I was young
This is how it was when I was young

We’d spend our day
Playing by the sea
Learning how to fish and how to swim
We’d look for crabs
In the rocky pools
Until it came the time to head back home

And she’d have baked a cake
In her peat fired stove
And had it ready iced there for tea
And when it got dark
She’d light the Tilley lamp
Beneath it’s golden glow she’d read to me
This is how it was when I was young
This is how it was when I was young

And now we’re old
But memories still clear
Of her stone-built house sitting on the shore
Of Tilley lamps
And the peat fire glow
And endless summer days spent long ago
This is how it was when I was young
This is how it was when I was young

Sticklebacks and Red Admirals

This song is about the Nicolson Institute, the best secondary school I ever attended and doing things for the last time. Throughout our lives we continually do small things for the last time often without knowing it. Accident or Design on TORN has a similar theme.

In the autumn of 69
When I turned 13
I caught my last Stickleback
On the banks of the River Glen
Across from the YM
I just didn’t know it then

Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
We caught them when we were young
Looking back
I wish we’d let them go
Cause they F never.
Saw their own world again

That year we learned to dance
In Campbell’s PE class
Lined up across the Assembly Hall
I grabbed an arm she grabbed mine
We tried to waltz around in time
But all we really did was a sideways walk

Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
We caught them when we were young
Looking back
I wish we’d let them go
Cause they never
Saw their own world again

Ain’t it funny those tricks
Our memory plays
Some days we loose
Others never fade away

In the Summer of 73
When I turned 17
I went to my last school dance
My last Crush Hall hug
My last cloakroom snog
Had my last fag in the bogs

Sticklebacks and Red Admirals
We caught them when we were young
Looking back
wish we’d let them go
Cause they never
Saw their own world again

Dal Mhor (Dalmore)

Looking back, I wish I’d gone home more. There have been times when for various reasons I invented excuses not to. This song is about that period. The chorus came from a visit to Dam Mhor beach with Willie Campbell and Fin Napier during a song writing retreat at Black Bay. The weather was typical for November.

Standing in the airport and I’m watching the sky
While all around people are waiting to fly
To so many places all over the world
Some leaving loved ones
Some heading home
The terminal billboard with its shimmering lights
Show the flight I want ain’t leaving tonight
So I make my way back
To where I came
And early tomorrow
I’ll try once again

When I close my eyes I’m on the cliffs at Dal Mhor
I feel the North Atlantic
I hear its angry roar
I see the ocean breakers crash onto the shore.
When I close my eyes
I’m home once more

Memories of leaving fly round my head.
Places and faces Things left unsaid
It’s been such a long time since I made it home
I’ve lived in this city
And I’m still unknown
Then the terminal billboard whispers in my ear
the flight you’re waiting for
has always been here

When I close my eyes I’m on the cliffs at Dal Mhor
I feel the North Atlantic
I hear its angry roar
I see the ocean breakers crash onto the shore.
When I close my eyes
I’m home once more

Days

Days harks back to a period in my life when time didn’t matter. Our stomachs were our watches. We spent as little time as necessary indoors and only came home when hungry or tired. I now have a cat that does the same.

There’s a cottage on the shore
Two steps up to the front door
Days I wish that I could have again
Smokey flames from a peat fire stove
Tilley lamp with a golden glow
Days I wish that I could have again

When a clock was just an ornament
Sitting idly on a shelf
And time was something we had plenty of
When childish laughter filled the air
And everyone I loved was there
Days I wish that I could have again

Summers filled with endless days
Secret places where we played
Days I wish that I could have again
We built castles in the sand
We picked berries with our hands
Days I wish that I could have again

Saturday Night

Does anything ever come close to that Saturday night feeling you have in your teens. This song is about a time of teleprinter football results, Pink Panther cartoons and The Generation Game. Then came the walk down town collecting your pals along the way. Ahead lay a night of underage drinking and YM dances.

Its Saturday night
Just had my tea
Coupons been busted
No holiday for me

Pink Panther is over
Here comes Brucie
But it’s the weekend
And I’ve places to be

The Playhouse is calling
So is the YM
There’s a bottle of Strongbow
In KD’s with my name

I’m wearing my wranglers
Platform’s on my feet
And a jacket from Grattans
I’m paying up each week

But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
No matter what happens
that tonight will be fine

There’s a new girl in town
Her dads runs the Crown
She’s awful pretty
Maybe she’ll be around

The YM is jumping
The Smiths are on the door
They know we’re all steaming
They’ve seen it before

But I know from your eyes
and I know from your smile
No matter what happens
that tonight will be fine

Sailing Away

For those of us living away this is the hardest part. The early morning sail off looking back at the town getting smaller. If we do iot in the summer and the day is decent we get a wonderful sunrise. But often times its pitch dark and blowing a gale. Like the song says it don’t get easier. I wanted to keep this final song plain and simple so its just me and my guitar with Keith and Scott on backing vocals. And only two chords.

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown

The Suilven leaves the harbour
And turns itself around
I am facing west
but I am eastward bound

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown

Every time I leave
I leave some part behind
And it don’t get easier
No matter how many times

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
Sailing away
Away from my hometown

The Island sits silent
As the boat goes sailing by
Passing all my memories
Under a tear-filled sky

I am sailing away
Away from Stornoway
And I don’t feel much like talking
To anyone right now

All songs written by Norman Paterson
Produced by Keith Morrison and Willie Campbell and recorded, mixed and mastered at The Wee Studio, Dell, The Isle of Lewis

LOVED THE ALBUM

Norman Paterson Releases His Third Album Loved

Norman Paterson’s latest release, “Loved”, delivers a heartfelt dive into Celtic folk and blues traditions, capturing the very essence of Scottish romance and storytelling in his third album released in just over a year. Paterson’s music transports listeners through a journey brimming with wistful charm and a passionate spirit.

Drawing inspiration from cherished memories, Scottish folklore, and his own deep-rooted affection for his wife—a woman he lovingly describes as moving to the beat of a unique drum—Paterson masterfully blends tales of past and present, firmly anchoring his passion for life in every melody. “Loved” is a testament to his enduring devotion to his craft and proof that no matter how old you are, brilliance will always shine.

The album, made up of 12 finely crafted tracks, is delicately nuanced and intelligent, reflecting Norman’s remarkable skill as a songwriter. His collaborations with an impressive lineup of musicians bring depth to each composition, allowing him to fully explore the traditions of folk music. Guitar and mandolin by Anna Massie, pedal steel contributions from Alan Train, percussion by Ian Sandilands, accordion played by Angus Lyon, and vocal harmonies by Ruby Shah and Susie Wall collectively paint a rich narrative.

From the opening notes of “Abandoned Homes,” inspired by a striking photograph from visual artist John Mahors, listeners are invited into a world imbued with longing and nostalgia. This track sets the tone, guiding listeners through a landscape of misty hillsides and rugged shores, places where stories are etched into every stone and breeze. “The Crofter,” gently reflects on simpler times with heartfelt sentimentality, offering a glimpse into lives lived close to the land and sea.

The album’s mood undulates languidly like a brook, evoking a range of emotions that chatter in the moonlight. In songs like “The Mapmaker” and “The Night of the Loraire,” Paterson delves into themes of melancholy and tragedy, allowing listeners to feel the weight of dedicated hard work, loss and sorrow. Yet, in the sweetness of “Lullaby,” there is an equally quiet place for peace to take a bow.

“Loved” is more than a collection of songs; it’s a living, breathing testimony of stories. Norman shares snapshots of afternoons spent at the cinema watching cowboy films and recounting tender moments shared with loved ones. Despite its title “It Ain’t Like Scotland,” the album is very much a Scottish love affair with home and all it embodies. Each song builds upon the last and resonates with listeners on both a personal and universal level.

In “Loved”, Norman Paterson extends the boundaries of traditional folk music, infusing each melody with a simplicity that is both seductive and generous. His ability to capture and convey the essence of Scottish life speaks directly to the soul. With every track, he shares not just music, but the gift of a life richly lived and beautifully remembered.

“Loved “is an album that leaves a lasting impression, filled with a tenderness and sincerity that is impossible to forget. Experience the magic of Scotland, the enduring power of love, and the art of storytelling with Norman Paterson.

Loved will be available on all streaming platforms DD/MM/YYYY

For more information, press inquiries, or to schedule an interview with Norman Paterson, please contact:

Loved Tracklisting

1. The Crofter
2. Abandoned Homes Abandoned Hearts
3. When A Memory Awakes
4. The Night of the Iolaire
5. The Tumbling Waltz
6. The Saturday Cowboys
7. The Map Maker
8. Daisy in December
9. Ain’t Like Scotland
10. Remembering St Kilda
11. Big Red
12. Lullaby

SONGS FROM LOVED

The Crofter

A way of life that has existed for centuries in the Northwest Highlands and Islands. I visited a lot of crofts and spoke to a lot of crofters during my time on the Royal Bank mobile van back in the 1980s. This song is my tribute to them and their unique way of life.

Guitars & Banjo: Anna Massie
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson
Accordion: Angus Lyon

He worked the land He fished the sea
In the night he wove the tweed
Knew things you’d not find in books
Put back more than he took
And lived the honest life of the crofter

He did not live a life of comfort
Ruled by calendars and clocks
He understood the seasons
Respected all the reasons
And lived the honest life of the crofter

He raised his family on the sheep and the tweed
Cast his nets where the sea ran deep
Watched his brother move away
While he knew he must stay.
And protect the honest way of the crofter
He spoke only of what he knew
Gave respected where it was due
Looked out for all his neighbours
Help them in their labours
For that was the way of the crofter

Twice each Sunday he’d climb the hill
Like his father did before
Stand with good book in hand
Lead the line across the land
For he lived the honest life of the crofter.

He saw how things began to change
Understood they always would
He’d think about the old day
Remembering the old ways
When he lived the honest life of the crofter.

Abandoned Homes Abandoned Hearts

Based on a photograph from John Mahers exhibition of old Hebridean houses “Nobody’s Home.” After I contacted John, he kindly gave me permission to use the image for this song.

Guitars & Mandolin: Anna Massie
Pedal Steel: Alan Train
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Bass: Angus Lyon
Vocals: Norman Paterson
Backing vocals: Ruby Shah

An abandoned old cottage stands by an overgrown track
A broken-down van sits propped up on blocks round the back
A red iron roof dissolving and turning to rust
Where brick built walls crumble and return to dust

And I still don’t know
Why they left that day
If I leave a light on
Maybe they’ll come back to stay

Abandoned Homes
Abandoned Hearts
When you close that door
They fall apart
Little by little
Day by day
They lose hope and fade away

A Classic Car calendar hangs on the sitting room wall
While a clock with no hands tells no time to no one at all.
A battered old suitcase destined to travel no more
Rests next to a box of 78’s by the door
And I still don’t know
Why they left that day
If I leave a light on
Maybe they’ll come back to stay

Abandoned Homes
Abandoned Hearts
When you close that door
They fall apart
Little by little
Day by day
They lose hope and fade away

When A Memory Awakes

In the early 70’s in the Hebrides we enjoyed an Indian summer. One Saturday my brother and I walked four miles from Stornoway to Braighe Beach. We got there in time to see a haar coming in from the sea heralding the end of the summer.

Guitars & Mandolin: Anna Massie
Vocals: Norman Paterson

A memory awoke in me
Of a long-forgot September day
From somewhere in my faded past
Two brothers running down to the sea
laughing without care or fear
Sea salt on a sun kissed face
Waves rolling in coming up to their waist.
Resting on the sand for the long walk home

When a memory awakes from slumber
It can reach right up and pull you under
Or it can make you softly smile
Stop and linger for a while
In rich remembered reels of yesterday

If this memory serves me well
The weather broke the next day
And all my childhood summer things
Were safely packed and stored away
As way leads onto way
And sun surrenders to rain
Despite our talk of next year
We never walked that road again

When a memory awakes from slumber
It can reach right up and pull you under
Or it can make you softly smile
Stop and linger for a while
In rich remembered reels of yesterday

The Night of the Iolaire

Many songs, poems and books have been written about the Iolaire over the years. This is my take based on Malcolm MacDonald’s The Cruelest Dawn. I wrote it as a chronological tale of the night’s tragic events. I wanted someone who had never heard of Iolaire at the start of the song by the end they would know the story

Guitars & Banjo: Anna Massie
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson

Don’t come home without Murdo
Mor MacLean was heard to cry
As her daughter left the village
To meet her brother off the Iolaire

The Iolaire set sail from Kyle
New Years Eve 1918
Bringing home to the Hebrides
Her survivors of the War
The ship was overcrowded.
Her crew unprepared
The captain did not know
The safest course to steer
On the blackest of nights
Came the fiercest of gales
Just a mile from the harbour
Came the cruellest twist of fate
At 5 to 2 in the morning
The Iolaire struck the Beasts
In less than 90 minutes
she sank below the sea
201 men perished
20 yards from the shore
Ten men gone for every yard.
And a knock for every door
Meanwhile across the island
Food was being prepared
For fathers sons and brothers
That never would be shared

Mary MacKenzie woke in the night
Disturbed by a distant noise
She saw a car stopped in the road
And recognised every voice
Then came the sound of wailing
As the news began to spread
The Iolaire had gone down
Most on board feared dead

John MacAskill 19 from Sandwick
Was swept overboard
He was found next to the graveyard
Half a mile from his parents’ door
Donald Macleod swam to shore
Saw his brother was not there
Returned to try and find him
Both washed up on the sand
In villages across the island
Similar stories you would hear
As the horror of the night
Passed from mouth to ear

A deep sorrow fell on the island
Once the funerals were all done
And for many generations
Iolaire would not pass a tongue

There now hang 100 portraits
And a rope taken ashore
By John Finlay MacLeod
That will stretch for evermore.

Don’t come home without Murdo
Mor MacLean was heard to cry
As her daughter left the village
To meet her brother off the Iolaire

The Tumbling Waltz

I wanted to write an old fashioned waltz where dancers swirl round rooms with polished wood floors and huge candelabras in country house halls and men led women onto the floor by raised hand.

Guitars & Mandolin: Anna Massie
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson
Backing vocals: Susy Wall
Accordion: Angus Lyon

On the night we first met
with no fear of regret
I fell Tumbling
I fell Tumbling
Head over heels
Cause that’s how it feels
When you’re stumbling
Tumbling and stumbling
Just a look and a glance
A chance of romance
Left me mumbling
Bumbling and mumbling
From my castle on high
The night you caught my eye
I fell tumbling
I fell tumbling

The band played a slow waltz
despite all my faults
I was gliding
Sliding and gliding
In rhythm and rhyme
¾ time
We were dancing
Spinning and dancing
When the band packed away
We decided to stay
In the moonlight
The ivory moonlight
And watched as the night
let its silver blue light
Come tumbling
Come tumbling

The Saturday Cowboys

This song harks back to the days of the Saturday matinees on the BBC. We’d sit on our settee watching black and white cowboy films then meet up with our street pals and we’d all become cowboys for the rest of the day. There were no cowboys in Coll

Vocals: Norman Paterson
Backing Vocals: Ruby Shah
Percussion: Iain Sandiland
Guitars: Anna Massie
Pedal Steel: Alan Train
Bass: Angus Lyon

There were no cowboys in Coll
Tolsta never saw a train
Stornoway had no sidewalks
No Indians rode our plains
But come the Saturday matinee
In flickering black and white
We’d ride our pale palomino’s
Firing caps from our colt 45’s

Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away

There was no Manor Park Posse
Sandwick had no saloon
Springfield had no Sheriff
No stagecoach rolled into town
We never circled the wagons
Or spoke with forked tongue
We saw no main street shoot outs
Or rootin tootin around

Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away

As soon as the movie was over
We’d all hit the trail
To warn the engine driver
The outlaws were on his tail
And when we reached the Glen River
We’d climb to the top of the ridge
Then all shout Geronimo
And tumble down to the bridge

So take me back Gary Copper
Take me back John Wanye
Back to the days before colour
When cowboys rode the range

Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away
Yipee Kay Oh Yipee Kay Ay
The Saturday Cowboys have ridden away

The Map Maker

Twenty years or so ago I did some work for a very dapper old gentleman in Kippen who dressed each day in shirt, tie, waistcoat and tweed jacket. As I got to know him, he told me of his fascinating working life in Canada.

Guitars: Anna Massie and Norman Paterson
Vocals: Norman Paterson
Backing Vocals: Susy Wall

I met this old man years ago
Who read maps like they were books
With watery eyes and preachers’ hands
And a gentle long lost look
He’d run his fingers along the rivers
The mountains and contours
Reliving all his journeys
The straight lines and detours

He worked his life in Canada
A map maker to trade
And had a copy safely stored
Of each map he ever made

One time while I was there
He took one down
Pointed to a place
This village back in 54
Was the first time I saw her face
And here’s where we honeymooned
In September that same year
In a little West Coast Guest House
We found which wasn’t dear
Then with a slow and half bent finger
He traced for me his life
As he took me on his journey
Mapping Canada with his wife
As it got dark he fell asleep
And I slipped out the door
But sadly due to circumstance
I never saw him any more

He worked his life in Canada
A map maker to trade
And had a copy safely stored
Of each map he ever made
Now and then he’d take one out
Settle in his fireside chair
Pour himself a memory
And his wife would soon be there
Pour himself a memory
And his wife would take him home.

Daisy in December

It’s okay to be different. In fact, often times it’s better. This song is about my wife Angela who, as anyone who knows her will tell you, dances to the beat of a different drum.

Vocals: Norman Paterson
Guitars & Mandolin: Anna Massie
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Bass: Angus Lyon

She’s the one in the backrow
Pulling a funny face
Climbing over the playground wall
Dirty knees and an untied lace

She’s the one splashed out in red
When everyone’s in grey
Who never takes the easy road
when she sees a better way

While everyone is falling
She is learning how to fly
She’s my daisy in December
My snowdrop in July

She’s the one with the smile
That lights up every room
Dances in her petticoat
On a Tuesday afternoon

She’s the one they cannot change
No matter how they try
And when your world’s come crashing down
She’s the one still standing b

While everyone is falling
She is learning how to fly
She’s my daisy in December
My snowdrop in July

Ain’t Like Scotland

Originally written for a Creative Scotland brief during a song writing course, it has been included because it’s one of Angela’s favourites. The brief was to write a song about what Scotland means to you. “It ain’t like Scotland” is something Angela and I would say often when we were abroad. Anna Massie’s ragtime acoustic guitar and Angus piano drive the song along at breakneck speed.

Guitars & Banjo: Anna Massie
Piano: Angus Lyon
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson

Drinking Hurricanes on Bourbon Street
French Quarter Downtown New Orlean
Listening to lazy Louisiana blues
In the hotel Ragtime Rendevous
Part of me thought I will confess
This aint whisky this aint Inverness
These aint fiddles accordions or guitars
This aint jumping like the Gellions’ Bar
And it aint like Scotland
Scotland’s oh so good
This world would be Scottish
If this world could
Walking down 5th heading for Times Square
Giant faced billboards everywhere
Pavements thick with billowing steam
Big yellow taxis in a constant strea,
Part of me thought as I looked around
This aint Glasgow this aint my town
And where is the Duke
With the cone on his head
I wish I was walking through Glasgow instead
And it aint like Scotland
Scotland’s oh so good
This world would be Scottish
If this world could
Lying on a beach in Frenchman’s Cove
Reggae band playing One Love
The sun was shining the weather sweet
I felt I’d moved to Sunshine Street
Part of me thought as the sun rose higher
These aint the sands at Luskentyre
There aint miles of turquoise sea
Or Hebridean tranquillity
And it aint like Scotland
Scotland’s oh so good
This world would be Scottish
If this world could

Remembering St KIlda

Based on a story in Tom Steels’s 1965 book “The Life and Death of St Kilda this song tells the story of a young boys first venture over the edge to collect sea bird eggs

Piano: Angus Lyon
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson

I was ten summers old
When he first lowered me down
1000 feet below
Waves fought the rocks

Sea spray upon my face
His rope tied round my waist
My father standing strong
Bound to one another

I can hear them still
Their cries lie
On the hill
Gannet Fulmar and the Gull
Seabirds of St Kilda

Remembering
St Kilda
As if I ever would forget

I could barely stand up straight
Working at a terrible rate
Passing to my father’s hand
Fruits of the air

And though I was but a kid
I knew the work we did
Would see the village through
Maybe one last winter

The pull upon the rope
The slippery sliding slope
The words my father spoke
Stood with me forever

Remembering
St Kilda
And the cliffs of Connacher

1000 years away
Is where I lie today
Far from the crags and cliffs
We climbed that day

We faced the wind and sea
My father the rope and me
I knew what I must do
For St Kilda

Remembering
St Kilda
And the Cliffs of Connacher
Remembering
St Kilda
As if I ever would forget

Big Red

A song about disappearing characters. Back in the day everyone in Stornoway knew Big Red. At first, he seemed a terrifying character blocking the entrance to dance halls growling. But it was all stuff and bluster. He was a gentle kind man and never did anyone any harm. There was probably a Big Red in every town.

Guitars & Banjo: Anna Massie
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson
Bass: Angus Lyon

Big Red was a painter
In our town
He painted houses all around
And he loved homers
Lockins and all nighters
And village hall dances
And we all knew him
And were scared off him until we knew him
And its got me to thinking
And its got me to thinking
Was he the Last of the Stornoway C Coves
Big Red was a Teddy Bear
In our town
He loved to go dancing on his own
Come Saturday night you’d find him
Standing tall on the last bus home
Growling at everyone
Shouting at no one
Words I’d not understand
And it could have been poetry
It might have been poetry
For all we knew
And it got me to thinking
It got me to thinking
Was he the Last of the Stornoway Coves

Big Red was a legend
In our town
One of our own no longer around
And we all had our stories
So many stories
Of this gentleman
And it got me to thinking
And it got me to thinking
And it got me to thinking
Does anyone know anyone anymore
Does anyone know anyone anymore
Than from a distance
Than from a distance
Than from a distance
Than from a distance

Lullaby

As a young parent getting baby to sleep was like a military exercise. The maneuver from arm to cot then holding your breath as you backed out of the bedroom was so stressful. Often the third step back down the stairs would creak and like snakes and ladders you were back to the start again.

Guitars & Banjo: Anna Massie
Percussion: Ian Sandilands
Vocals: Norman Paterson

Go to sleep my little angel
Go to sleep my little one
As I cradle your soft head
And we walk round your room
May you sleep until the sun rise
Sees off the yellow moon
Don’t you rush now to grow up
Cause that happens all too soon

I don’t know what lies before you
As you sleep safe in your bed
But know I’ll be there for you
And whatever lies ahead

And I feel your baby breath
As I lay you gently down
May your dreams be of rainbows
And pink fluffy clouds
May the sun in every sunrise
Put a smile upon your face
And may that smile stay with you
For all your days

I don’t know what lies before you
As you sleep safe in your bed
But know I’ll be there for you
And whatever lies ahead