Oh, What a Parish!
Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish
Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkel';
They hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor,
Dang doon the steeple and fuddled the bell.
The steeple was doon, but the kirk was still staun'in';
So they biggit a lum whaur the bell used tae hang.
A still-pot they got and they brewed Hieland whisky;
On Sundays they drank it and ranted and sang.
Oh, had ye but seen how gracefu' they lookit,
Crammed in the pews - socially joined.
MacDonald the piper struck up in the poopit.
He made the pipes skirl wi' music devine
When drink free'd their care they would curse and they'd swear;
They ranted and sang what they darena weel tell;
"Bout Geordie and Cherlie they bothered fu' rarely,
Wi' whisky they're worse than the Devil himsel'.
When the heart-cheerin' spirit had mounted their garrets,
Tae a ball on the green they a' did ajourn.
The maids in coats kilted then steppit and lilted;
When tired or dry tae the kirk they'd return.
If kirks a' owre Scodand held sic social meetings,
Nae warnin' they'd need frae a far-tinklin' bell,
For kindness and friendship would ca' them thegither,
Far better than roarin' the horrors o' Hell.
Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish.
Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkel'.
They hangit their Minister, droon'd their Precentor,
Dang doon the steeple and fuddled the bell.
But let me advise ye that mischief there lies,
When neebours are drinkin wi' mair than themselves.
O' yer heart and yer hand try tae keep some command,
Or ye'll end up as bad as the folk o' Dunkel'
So then I found this on a google search....
Kinkell is now best known, probably, for its bridge over the Earn-- for there is not another between Crieff and Dalreoch on the main A.9, a stretch of nearly a dozen miles. But it was a place of some importance once--a parish, indeed, and a notorious one:
Oh, what a parish, what a terrible parish,
Oh, what a parish is that of Kinkell;
They hae hangit the minister, drowned the precentor,
Dang doon the steeple and drucken the bell!
This alludes to the 17th century Reverend Richard Duncan, who was convicted of child-murder and executed at Muthill, 4 miles away, much to the anger of his parishioners, and just before the reprieve they had sought reached Strathearn. The said parishioners thereupon drowned the precentor in the Earn--presumably they considered him the guilty party, though the dead child was found under the minister's fireplace--and sold the church bell, possibly to pay the expenses of the reprieve.
So are the lyrics a bit of a stretch aboot the hielan whisky bit then?
Anyone know anymore about the sordid history of Kinkell???? 
Jean
