Iain Macdonald has been supporting Mountain Views with his priceless cartoons for as long as I can remember.   It has taken to Issue No. 48 for us to discover however that drawing is not his only talent.   Slipped in with delivery of cartoons for this issue, produced as ever to fit the bill with only the leanest of briefs, was a CD with a wee note to listen to track number 4.

Working late as ever to get the next issue ready I put the CD on for a spin going straight to the recommended track.  My word, but did I not have to stop and listen – what a lovely piece of work!   Iain has let us reproduce the words of track 4 here but can I recommend the whole CD.  It has 13 tracks by Iain and his brother Neil, is entitled from scenes like these, costs £8.50 plus £1.50 p & p.  It is available from:  Neil Macdonald, 10 Avon Place, Strawberrybank, Linlithgow EH49 6BL – email:

So, take it away …….


Morning comes slow to the city, colours still veiled in the haze
People who never know silence, scurry like rats in the maze
Hemmed in by neon and concrete, living the life of the blind
Time to discover the wealth of your country, and leave city problems behind

Step back in time to a land almost tireless
A land filled with wonders we scarcely deserve
Follow the pathways that lead through the mountains
Search for springs where the water runs clearest
And savour this heritage nature has left us That only ourselves can preserve

Here’s to the stalkers, the climbers and the walkers
Those who are part of the unbroken chain
The ones who’ll continue to come to the mountains
As long as the mountains remain

Up on the plateau the sweet taste of freedom
Clean mountain air where the eagle is king
Soaring for miles as it rides on the thermals
High over lochs that are green in the sunlight
And circling the cliffs of the north-facing corries
Where snow lingers late in the spring

Here’s to the nights in the howffs and the bothies
A tent by the river, the earth for your bed
Cooking a meal in the quiet of the evening
Sharing a dram by the last flickering flame
And waking at dawn to the murmur of water
Another day stretched out ahead

Legend dies hard in the heart of the highlands
Here, in the mountains, the past holds its spells
Rowans still grow where the houses stand empty
In glens that once range with the clamour of battle
And history’s a blind bard who travels the byways
With mostly sad stories to tell.

Iain MacDonald

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