a.k.a. Thurso Berwick: Doon Amang the Eskimos

The Glasgow Herald: 28th March, 1961: Three anti-Polaris demonstrators yesterday boarded the U.S. submarine Patrick Henry at the Holy Loch. Michael Nolan (26) made the most strategic approach by climbing up onto the top of the vessel's after-fin jutting 7 feet up in the air. U.S. naval ratings offered him a cup of coffee if he would join them, but he politely refused and for three quarters of an hour remained cold and damp on his perch. A U.S. naval launch with civil police on board then drew alongside and brought his escapade to an abrupt halt.

The Glasgow Herald: 22nd May, 1961: U.S. sailors turned fire hoses on demonstrators who tried to board the submarine depot ship Proteus in the Holy Loch from kayaks, dinghies, launches and a motorised houseboat. The houseboat, bearing a red cross and the words "Life Not Death", bore down on the Proteus. Giving chase, two Police launches collided, one of them carrying senior police and naval officers.

The Glasgow Herald: 25th May, 1961: Anti-Polaris demonstrators today lost the last of their 13 kayaks in the Holy Loch. The depot ship Proteus was held up as she entered the loch by lone canoeist Sean Edwards from Dublin who put out from Kilmun where the demonstrators are encamped. Edwards evaded pursuing launches and got within 20 yards of the vessel before being tipped into the water by naval frogmen.

Ma Maw's a millionaire (hiv a banana)
Blue eyes and curly hair.
Doon amang the Eskimos,
Playin a gemme o' dominoes
Ma Maw's a millionaire
Glasgow Children's Street Song—Tune: "Let's All Go Down the Strand")

Despite the comic opera overtones of events following the first arrival of the Proteus at the Holy Loch on March 3rd, 1961, there was no doubting the serious commitment of the anti-Polaris movement. These events had been preceded by vast marches and demonstrations throughout Europe, and, perhaps most notably, at the British Atomic Weapons Research Institution at Aldermaston. The captain of the Proteus, however, declared himself, (with hindsight unwisely) to be unmoved by the anarchic goings-on at the Holy Loch. "They don't bother us" he scoffed dismissively "They're just a bunch of goddam Eskimos". At this time the most influential group of political song writers in Scotland was The Glasgow Song Guild ... they seized gleefully upon Lanning's remarks ... and almost overnight, it seemed, they had transformed themselves, by some mysterious weegee alchemy, to become The Glasgow Eskimos:

It's up the Clyde comes Lanin, a super-duper Yank,
But doon a damn sight quicker when we cowpt him doon the stank,
Up tae the neck in sludge and sewage fairly stops yuir swank
—We are the Glesca Eskimos.

CHORUS:
Hullo! Hullo! we are the Eskimos,
Hullo! Hullo! The Glesga Eskimos,
We'll gaff that nyaff caa'd Lanin
We'll spear him whaur he blows
We are the Glesga Eskimos.

It's in an oot, an up an doon, an on an aff the piers,
There's councillors, collaborators, pimps an profiteers,
The hairies jook the polis, an the polis jouk the queers,
—We are the Glesga Eskimos.

There's dredgers and there's sludgie boats tae keep the river clean,
Ye lift yuir haund, an pu the chain—ye ken fine whit ah mean,
But how in the hell has the Holy Loch been left outside the scheme?
—We are the Glesga Eskimos.

We've been in mony a rammy, lads, we've been in mony a terr,
We've sorted out this kind afore, we'll sort them onywhere,
So get your harpoons ready, boys, he's comin up for air,
—We are the Glesga Eskimos.

(TUNE: Marching Through Georgia)

The Glasgow Eskimos had not, however, sprung fully-formed into the political arena. Previous incarnations of the loose groupings of Scottish political poets and songwriters from the early 50s onwards (The Bo'ness Rebel Literary Society; The Glasgow Song Guild) had produced a steady stream of low-cost chapbook-style collections of rebel songs, including early publications of the celebrated Rebel Ceilidh Song Book series.

There is little doubt that the seminal event in the development of Scottish Republican songwriting had been the removal of the Stone of Destiny from Westminster Abbey in 1951, described at the time by the Dean of Westminster, in a radio broadcast on the British Home Service, as "a senseless crime carefully planned and carried out with great cunning ... a truly squalid deed". The London Times thundered that it had been "a coarse and vulgar crime". Popular opinion in Scotland subscribed to an entirely different view. John McEvoy's "The Wee Magic Stane", set to the tune of "The Ould Orange Flute", captured the exuberant combination of farce and derring-do that was abroad at the time:

Noo the cream o the joke still remains to be telt,
For the bloke that wis turnin them aff on the belt,
At the peak o production wis sae sorely pressed,
That the real Stane got bunged in alang wi the rest.

CHORUS: Wi a toora, li oora, li oora, li ay.

So if ever ye come on a Stane wi a ring,
Juist sit yourself doon an proclaim yourself King
For there's nane will be able tae challenge yuir claim
That ye'd croont yourself King on the Destiny Stane.

The core Eskimos were five in number: Trade Unionist Jackie O'Connor, singers Josh MacRae and Nigel Denver, and songwriters Jim Maclean and Morris Blythman. MacRae was then decidedly better-known than the other members. He had enjoyed considerable popular success through his television appearances, as well as through frequent performances at Folk and Jazz clubs. His repertoire was, for the most part, (though not exclusively), taken from American political song, especially the dustbowl ballads of Woody Guthrie. To this day, however, perhaps his most enduring popular recording remains "Messing About on the River". [...]

This article has 4 pages. Go on to page 2 or view the entire article.