Grat For Gruel

Trad

There was a weaver o’ the North
An’ o but he wis cruel
The very first nicht that he got wed
He sat an’ he grat for gruel
He widna wint his gruel
He widna wint his gruel, O
The very first nicht that he got wed
He sat an’ he grat for gruel

There’s nae a pot in a’ the hoose
That I can mak’ yer gruel, O
The washin’ pot it’ll dae wi’ me
For I maun hae ma gruel
For I maun hae ma gruel
I canna wint ma gruel, O
The washing pot it’ll dae wi’ me
For I maun hae ma gruel

There is nae a spoon in a’ the hoose
That you can sup yer gruel
O, the gairden spade it’ll dae wi’ me
For I maun hae ma gruel, O
For I maun hae ma gruel
I canna wint ma gruel, O
The gairden spade it’ll dae wi’ me
For I maun hae ma gruel

She gaed ben the hoose for cakes and wine
An’ brocht ’em on a to’el
O, gyae ‘wa, gyae ‘wa wi’ yer fal-deralls
For I maun hae ma gruel
For I maun hae ma gruel
I canna wint ma gruel, O
Gyae ‘wa, gyae ‘wa yer fal-deralls
For I maun hae ma gruel

Come all young lassies tak’ my advice
An’ niver mairry a weaver
The very first nicht that he got wed
He sat an’ grat for gruel
He widna wint his gruel
He widna wint his gruel, O
The very first nicht that he got wed
He sat an’ he grat for gruel

This satire on the weaver who thinks more of his porridge than of the charms of his new bride, was a favourite among the textile mill lassies, and some versions still use weaving terms. Of all industrial workers only the miners have produced a wealth of song and tradition comparable to that of the spinners and weavers, and it is still common to see a mill girl on the eve of her wedding paraded through the streets of Aberdeen in fancy dress with face blackened and L-plates hung round her neck.

grat = fretted
to’el = towel