Lorna Moon (A Ballad) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Lorna Moon (born Nora Helen Wilson Low; 16 June 1886 - 1 May 1930)

In echteen hunner an echty sax, in Strichen toon wis born
A quine wi een o broon an green, an flecks o gowd like corn
Wee Nora Helen Wilson Low tae daein weel wis thirled
Her faither Chae wis a plaisterer, fa'd wirked aroon the warld

He'd plied his trade in Canada, Sooth Africk's diamond mines
Chicago, San Franscisco, aa throwe maist excitin times
At hame he bigged an ae roomed neuk, twis caad ten Downing Street
An there this socialist entertained his fiers throwoot the week

Her mither's name wis Margaret, she keepit rooms tae hire
She beat the bairns e'en flang a weel lued dollie in the fire
There Nora larned the violin fin she wis verra wee
An brakk her neb fin lowpinheich bi thinkin she cud flee

In nineteenhunner an seeven, William Hebditch cam tae bide
An verra sune he tuik the bonnie Nora as his bride
He wis a watchmakker tae trade, weel daein, o gweed cheer
He bore her aff tae Yorkshire, an their son wis born neist year

Bit twa years on, in Britain, fowk wir offered lan tae ain
Awa in hyne Alberta, fur ten dollars, bigg yer hame!
Sae frae her gran hoose she'd tae flit an be a frontier wife
Humf water frae the burnies an takk on the frontier life

At nicht coyotes skirled, while in her cabin Nora shook
She cad the biggin Tumbledoon, her neb ay in a buik
An in the local grocery store anither cheil she met
His name wis Walter Moon, he vowed her sorras she'd forget

She gaed tae Winnipeg, wi him, a note left in the shack
It said ‘Will dear I'm gaun awa an I'm nae camin back.
I've left oor Billy wi ye, fur he likes ye mair nur me
Ye'll finn him at a neebor's hoose, he'll keep ye company'

She cheenged her name tae Lorna Moon, a secunt bairn she bore
In nineteen fowerteen, she caad her Mary Leonore
At sax month auld, tae Yorkshire, wi a nurse the bairn wis sent
For Lorna wis a journalist, on thonher time wis spent

Fin three years passed, the couple meeved tae Minneapolis
An Lorna's life as a screiver wis a godsend tae the press
Syne Cecil B. De Mille's play Male & Female wis on stage
Based on a tale bi Barrie, fegs, thon wirk wis aa the rage.

Noo Lorna screived the director, o his cheenges makkin fun
An back cam a repon that said ‘Weel, show us foo it's done
Puir Walter Moon wis left his lane, she packed her bags an gaed
As script quine an screenscreiver, sure her fortune wid be made

At Hollywood, her lover wis William de Mille himsel
An verra sune wi anither bairn, the Strichen lassie fell
Bit syne she wis afflictit bi a hoast that gart her grue
T.B., the fite plague creepit up inbye her breist tae brew

Noo tae a sanitorium tae Doctor Pottinger
The pregnant lassie gaed, an there he tuik gweed care o her
His best advice wis tae abort the foetus in the wame
Bit Lorna winted it shouldhae the famous De Mille's name

She couldnae even haud her son, fur he wis wheeched awa
Fur fear he'd catch the smit an like a snawdrap fade an faa
In Neil McCarthy's car the bairn wis plunked anonymous
An orphan bairn, tae seem tae show that naebody gaeda cuss

Noo Charlie Chaplin nae langsyne, in his movie caad the Kid
Had the selfsame plot an byline, as the new born bairnie did
The littlin aff tae Castelar Crechwis taen awa tae bide
The boord's director plottin there tae be his help an guide

Twis Lorna's luver's brither's wife, a leddy o gweed faith
An she adopted the bairnie fur she kent his parents baith
They caad him Richard, until he wis thirty three years auld
At last the secret o his birth tae him they quickly tauld

Bit ay his secret mither screived, fur screivin wis her dream
The Doorweys in Drumorty peintit mony a waesome scene
In Graciosa Drive, she bedd owerluikin Hollywid
Bit ay the fite plague creepit back nae maitter fit she did

At Hillcrest Sanitorium, she lay an hoastit bluid
Bit niver tint her bonnieness, the derk waves roon her heid
‘I'll be a better quine, ' she said ‘bit mebbe I'll be worse
It isnae in me tae be gweed except inside a hearse'

At nicht anither luver cairriet Lorna frae her bed
Tae woo her on the sandy beach, an there sweet naethins said
The jasmine scentit nicht she lued twis wild as hersel
Wee Nora Low frae Strichen, Nor East Scotlan's bonnie belle

Awa in nineteen twenty nine the Wall Street market fell
Fowklowped frae windaes, ruined, fin their shares they cudna sell
Sub heidins statit on thon day that Lorna Moon wis deid
She read her ane obituaries, an unca thing indeed

Afore her time wis ower herDark Starwis a success
An made intae a film sae weel twis likit bi the press
In Albuquerque, Mexico, the fite plague creepit back
An Daith steppt forrit saftly, an pit Lorna in his pack

Her luver, Everett Marcy, pledged he'dbring her ashes hame
Tae scatter them frae Mormond hill, the place frae far she came
Her faither an her luver tramped up heather in the sun
Like fermers sowin corn, an sae wis Lorna's story done

The great fite shelt o quartz laid oot on Mormond'sbonnie side
The ruined Hunter's Lodge, wis far thon restless stoor wid bide
An gin ghaists wauk the yird again fin fowk hae ceased tae be
She's watchinyet the shiftin waves ootower the braid North Sea