A. M. Shinnie jig

By Angus Fitchett

Also known as A M Shinnie, A.M.Shinnie, AM Shinnie.

There are 5 recordings of this tune.

A. M. Shinnie has been added to 15 tunebooks.

Download ABC

One setting

X: 1
T: A. M. Shinnie
R: jig
M: 6/8
L: 1/8
K: Dmaj
|:A|d>ef e>dc|Bcd A2 F|G>AB Ade|fdf e2 A|
d>ef e>dc|B>cd A2 F|GAB Adf|eBc d2:|
e|f2 f d>ef|a>gf e3|d2 d Bcd|fed c3|
B>GB dcB|AFA d2 e|f>ef a2 f|fed eag|
f<af d>ef|a>gf e3|d3 Bcd|fed c3|
B>GB d>cB|A>FA d2 e|f>gf fcd|eBc d2||

Five comments

“On Angus Fitchet” ~ a poem by Andy Stewart

Come rub the rosin on the bow
And let the warl’ gae roon’
Whiles I tae Angus Fitchet heed
That coaxes up a tune,

That coaxes up a bonnie tune
An’ maks yon fiddle sing,
The verra lame when he begins
Wad dance the heilan’ fling.

Syne when ablow his elfin chin
The trusty Hardy grips
The Merlin o’ the music, he,
Wi’ magic fingertips.

The shades of Skinner and of Gow
Wham nane shall e’er neglect,
I fancy tap their toes in time
And nod their grave respect.

Strathspeys sae stately and demure
Come singing frae his hand,
While jigs and reels, however gleg,
Dance out at his command.

Sae blythe and sweet his fiddle sings
And brawly fills the air,
His smiles and looks tell a’ the tale,
A lang-matched love affair.

Wha’ is sae heavy-fitted then
An’ weary as the Deil
But loups like ony skippin’ lamb
When Fitchet plays a reel?

An wha’ can keep frae beatin’ time?
I say he isna human,
When Angus plies his skill upon
“The Irish Washerwoman”?

(In Cork one night, I tell the truth,
He caused a fightin’ fuss
When Paddy said “Yon man’s no Scot,
He must be one of us”)

He plays a jig sae liltin’ sir,
A man condemned tae dee
Wad loup the thirteen steps an’ dance
Upon a gallow’s tree.

An’ fan a sweet sad bow he draws
In some auld plaintive air,
The sorrows o’ a lifetime come
An’ stoun’ the senses there.

“Bovaglie’s Plaid” or “Gow’s “Lament”,
Baith hymns tae mak us mourn
Great sabs frae oot yet greater hearts
For joys will ne’er return.

In black and white these printer notes
Lie lost of what they seek,
Yet cry aloud in haunting sound
When Angus maks them speak.

Auld Scotland kens nae brawer tunes,
And min’ she maks them well,
Than when oor Angus plays tae her
The yins he wrote himsel’.

His repertoire’s an endless dance
And were he ay sae clever
As nae need food or drink or sleep
He could play on forever

Here’s tae him then my prayer shall be
That happy he may dwell
And a’ the wishes I wad gie
That he could wish himself

Three score and more - I ken his age -
An’ Lord if it’s nae trouble,
In years tae come - Ye ken the sum -
I wish him,mair than double

An’ when at last at Heaven’s gate
Whaur he will surely stand
I like to fancy Peter say
As he hauds oot his hand -

“A welcome Angus Fitchet here
My pleasure is to gie ye,
An twice that welcome since I see
Ye’ve brocht your fiddle wi ye.

But och, there’s years o’ music yet
Tae stir the dancers roon,
Sae Angus rosin up your bow
An gie’s another tune.

The hame-spun garb o’ native worth
Wi’ cloth of gold we’ll stitch it
And lay the makkar’s mantle on
This man ca’d Angus Fitchet.

When he comes ben care hugs the wa’
An’ joy jinks in the middle
The doul’s awa, the dance is a’,
When Fitchet plays his fiddle

Mak a’ his ‘oors be sweet and sure
And happy a’ his days,
As happy as I am myself
When Angus Fitchet plays.

Thanks for that Gallopede, appreciated…