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Andrew Lammie / Mill o' Tifty's Annie

[ Roud 98 ; Child 233 ; Ballad Index C233 ; trad.]

Sheila Stewart sang Mill o’ Tiffy’s Annie on the 1968 Topic LP Back o' Benachie: Songs and Ballads from the Lowland East of Scotland and 30 years later on her CD From the Heart of the Tradition.

Ray Fisher sang Mill o' Tifty's Annie in 1972 on her Trailer album The Bonny Birdy.

The Boys of the Lough sang Andrew Lammie in 1973 on their Trailer album The Boys of the Lough.

Gordeanna McCulloch sang Mill o' Tifty's Annie 1997 on the Fellside anthology Ballads. Paul Adams commented in the liner notes:

The heroine is reputed to be one Annie Smith who died in 1673 and was buried in Fyvie Churchyard. Certainly the song has the feel of a ballad of considerable age. It's tune is a close relation of other “classic ballads” (c.f. Dowie Dens of Yarrow, Georgie, Barbara Allen). Gordeanna's source for this song was the fine Scots traditional singer, Sheila Stewart.

Martin Simpson sang Andrew Lammie in 2007 on his Topic CD Prodigal Son. He commented in his sleeve notes:

Andrew Lammie or Mill o' Tifty's Annie is a very big ballad indeed. Seemingly based on the life of Agnes Smith, daughter of William Smith, a close relative to the Laird of Inveramsay. According to F.J. Child who numbers this ballad 233 in The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, Agnes' gravestone is dated January 19th 1673. Mill of Tiftie was a mill and house standing a mere half mile North East of the castle of Fyvie, so the Lord would have regularly ridden by the door. I first heard this sung by Ray Fisher and compiled these lyrics from various sources. Just in case we thought honour killing to be a shocking new event, here it is in our high society.

Lyrics

Ray Fisher sings Mill o' Tifty's Annie

At Mill o' Tifty lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
And he had a lovely daughter fair
Was called Bonnie Annie

Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Whose name was Andrew Lammie
He had the art tae gain the heart
O' Mill o' Tifty's Annie

Lord Fyvie he rade by the door
Whaur lived Tifty's Annie
And his trumpeter rode him before
Even this same Andrew Lammie

Her mother called her to the door
Saying, “Come here tae me, my Annie
Did e'er ye see a bonnier lad
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie?”

Nae thing she said, but sighing sore
Alas for Bonnie Annie
She durst not own her heart was won
By the trumpeter o' Fyvie

At nicht when all lay in their bed
A' sleeped soon but Annie
Love so oppressed her tender breast
Thinking on Andrew Lammie

“Oh love comes in at my bedside
And love lies doon beside me
Love so possessed my tender breast
And love will waste my body

“For the first time me and my love met
Twas in the woods o' Fyvie
Wi' kisses sweet he did me greet
And called me his Bonnie Annie

But the last time me and my love met
Says he, “My Bonnie Annie
It's I will gang to Edinburgh toon
But I'll soon win back to Fyvie”

But word is soon has gotten round
That the trumpeter o' Fyvie
Has had the urge to gain the heart
O' Mill o' Tifty's Annie

So Tifty's wrote a letter breet (?)
And sent it up to Fyvie
Tae say his daughter was bewitched
By his servant Andrew Lammie

So Fyvie rade straight tae the mill
Saying, “What ails ye, Bonnie Annie?”
“Oh it's a' for love that I maun dee
Aye, it's a' for Andrew Lammie”

“Oh Tifty, Tifty gie consent
And let your dochter marry
It will be tae ane o' higher degree
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie

“Had she been born o' richer kin
As she is rich in beauty
I wud hae ta'en the lass mysel'
And made her my ain true lady”

“Oh, Fyvie's lands they're far and wide
An' they are wondrous bonny
But I wad nae leave my ain true love
No' for a' your lands o' Fyvie”

At this her faither struck her sore
As likewise did her mother
Her sisters a' they did her scorn
But wae be tae her brother

For her brither struck her wondrous sore
Wi' cruel strokes and mony
He broke her back gainst the high ha' door
All for loving Andrew Lammie

“Oh faither, mither, sisters a'
Why so cruel tae your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love
Noo my brither's broke my body

“Oh mither, mither mak' my bed
An' turn my face tae Fyvie
That I may lie and thus may die
For the trumpeter o' Fyvie”

Gordeanna McCulloch sings Mill o Tifty's Annie

At Mill O' Tifty lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
He had a bonny dochter fair
And they ca'd her Bonnie Annie

Her bloom was like the springing flo'er
That greets the rosy morning
Her innocence and graceful mien
Her beauteous face adorning

Her hair was fair and her eyes were blue
And her cheeks were like the roses
Her countenance was fair to view
And they ca'd her Bonnie Annie

Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
And his name was Andrew Lammie
And he had the art tae win the heart
O' Mill o' Tifty's Annie

Her mother cried her tae the door
Says, “Come here tae me, my Annie
Did e'er ye see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie?”

Nae thing she said, but sighing sore
Twas alas for Bonnie Annie
For she durst not own that her heart was won
By the trumpeter o' Fyvie

Her faither cam' tae hear o' this
And a letter wrote tae Fyvie
Tae tell his dochter had been bewitched
By his servant Andrew Lammie

Her faither locked the door at nicht
Laid by the key sae canny
And when he heard that trumpet sound
He said, “Your coo is lowing, Annie”

O faither dear, pray forbear
Reproach not your Annie
I wud raither hear that cooing low
Than all your kye in Fyvie

And if ye strike me, I will cry
And gentlemen will hear me
Lord Fyvie he'll come riding by
And he'll come in and see me

But her faither struck her wondrous sore
And also did her mither
Her sisters also took their score
But wae be tae her brother

For her brother struck her wondrous sore
Wi' cruel strokes and mony
And he broke her back on the temple stane
Aye, the temple stane o' Fyvie

At that same time the Lord comes in
He sais, “What ails thee, Annie?”
“It's a' for love that I must die
For loving Andrew Lammie”

“Oh mother dear, mak' me my bed
An' lay my face tae Fyvie
It's there I'll lie till I will die
For loving Andrew Lammie”

Her mother then she made her bed
And turned her face to Fyvie
Her tender heart then soon did break
And she ne'er see'd Andrew Lammie

Now people here both far and near
Oh pity Tifty's Annie
Wha'd died for love of one pair lad
For bonny Andrew Lammie

Martin Simpson sings Andrew Lammie

At Mill o' Tifty there lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
And he had a fine lovely daughter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie

Her bloom was like the springing flower
That hails the rosy morning
With innocence and grace likewise
Her lovely face adorning

Now Fyvie had a trumpeter
Whose name was Andrew Lammie
And he had the art for to gain the heart
Of Mill o' Tifty's Annie

Proper he was, both young and gay
His like was not in Fyvie
Nor was one there that could compare
With this same Andrew Lammie

Lord Fyvie he rode by the door
Where lived this Tifty's Annie
And his trumpeter rode him before
Even this same Andrew Lammie

Her mother called her to the door
Saying, “Come here to me, my Annie
Did you ever see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie?”

Nothing she said, but sighing sore
Alas for Bonnie Annie
For she dared not own that her heart was won
By the trumpeter o' Fyvie

At night when all went to their bed
All slept full soon but Annie
Love so oppressed her tender breast
Thinking on Andrew Lammie

“Oh love comes in at my bedside
And love lies down beside me
Love has possessed my tender breast
And love will waste my body

“The first time me and my love met
Twas in the woods o' Fyvie
And his lovely form and his speech so soft
Soon won the heart of Annie”

He called me “Mistress”, I said “No
I'm Tifty's Bonnie Annie”
And with apples sweet he did me treat
And kisses soft and many

But now alas her father heard
That the trumpeter o' Fyvie
Had had the urge to gain the heart
O' Mill o' Tifty's Annie

And her father soon a letter wrote
And he sent it on to Fyvie
To say his daughter was bewitched
By the servant Andrew Lammie

Then up the stairs his trumpeter
He called full soon and shortly
“Pray tell me now what is this you've done
To Mill o' Tifty's Annie?”

In wicked art I had no part
Nor therein am I canny
It was love alone the heart has won
Of Tifty's Bonnie Annie

Woe be to Mill o' Tifty's bride
For it has ruined many
They'll not have it said that she should wed
To the trumpeter o' Fyvie

“Oh Tifty, Tifty give consent
And let your daughter marry
It would be to one of a higher degree
Than the servant Andrew Lammie

“Had she been born as rich in kin
As she is rich in beauty
I would have taken the lass myself
And made her queen of Fyvie”

“Oh, Fyvie's lands are far and wide
And they are wondrous bonny
But I would not trade my own dear love
For all your lands of Fyvie”

At this her father did her scorn
And likewise did her mother
And her sisters too did her disown
But woe be to her brother

For her brother struck her wondrous sore
With cruel blows and many
And he broke her back on the temple stone
All for liking Andrew Lammie

“Oh mother, father, sisters dear
Why so cruel to your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love
Now my brother's broke my body

“Oh mother, mother oh make my bed
And turn my face to Fyvie
And it's there I'll lie and there I'll die
For the servant Andrew Lammie”

At Mill o' Tifty there lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
And he had a fine lovely daughter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie

Digital Tradition version of Mill O' Tifty's Annie, apparently as sung by Jean Redpath

At Mill O' Tifty there lived a man
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie
He had a bonnie dochter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie

Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
By the name o' Andrew Lammie
He had the art tae win the heart
O' Mill o' Tifty's Annie

Lord Fyvie he rade by the mill
Whaur lived Tifty's Annie
And his trumpeter rade him before
Even this same Andrew Lammie

Her mother cried her tae the door
Saying, “Come here tae me, my Annie
Did e'er ye see a bonnier man
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie?”

Nothing she said, but sighing sore
Alas for Bonnie Annie
Love so oppressed her tender breast
Thinking on Andrew Lammie

“Love comes in at my bedside
And love lies doon aside me
Love so oppresses my tender breast
And love will waste my body

“The first time me and my love met
“Twas in the woods o' Fyvie
He ca'd me 'Mistress', I said 'No
I was Tifty's Bonnie Annie'

“It's up and doon in Tifty's den
Where the burn runs clear and bonnie
I've often gane tae meet my love
My bonnie Andrew Lammie”

Her faither cam' tae hear o' this
And a letter wrote tae Fyvie
Tae say his dochter was bewitched
By his servant Andrew Lammie

Lord Fyvie he rade by the mill
“What ails ye, Bonnie Annie?”
“It's a' for love that I maun die
For bonnie Andrew Lammie”

“Oh Tifty, Tifty gie consent
And let your dochter marry
It'll be tae ane o' higher degree
Than the trumpeter o' Fyvie

“Had she been born o' richer kin
As she is rich in beauty
I was hae ta'en the lass mysel'
And made her my ain lady”

“Oh, Fyvie's lands are far and wide
An' they are wondrous bonnie
But I wadnae gie my ain true love
No' for a' your lands o' Fyvie”

At this her faither struck her sore
And likewise did her mother
Her sisters a' they did her scorn
But waes me for her brother

Her brother struck her wondrous sore
Wi' cruel strokes and many
He broke her back on the high ha' door
A' the likin' Andrew Lammie

“Oh faither, mother, sisters a'
Why sae cruel tae your Annie?
My heart was broken first by love
Noo my brother's broke my body

“Oh mother, mother mak' my bed
An' lay my face tae Fyvie
Thus will I lie and will I die
For my ain dear Andrew Lammie”

Links

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Garry Gillard for transcribing the lyrics and collecting all the information.