I met Donald at the shop today. It was a busy little place today and as Donald was out helping his sister celebrate her birthday at the Inn he gave me this poem promised at the shop. It has been around for many decades and no-one knows who is the author.
In Applecross that pious place, Where men are far from gay.
They found a hen that laid an egg, Upon the Sabbath Day.
With shameless glee she clucked aloud, And made her proud confession,
So forthwith she was summoned, To appear before the Session.
With faces long, with mournful mouths,And woeful eyes to heaven,
They sat in judgement on that hen, Who could not be forgiven,
At once they sentenced her to death, And so her neck was riven,
And thus another sinner, To her destiny was driven,
‘This wicked hen had sinned’ they said, ‘And had to pay the price.
Alas, the creatures of this earth, Are sunk in sin and vice’
Happily in Applecross, This is rare experience,
We know that all other hens, Are good Free Presbyterians.