Dirty white caravans down our road, sailing.
Vivas, Cortinas, weaving in their wake.
With hot, red-faced drivers, horns flattened, fists whaling,
Putting trust in blind corners as they overtake.

And it's ``All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the bag of your new motor-car.''
There's home-dyed woolens, and wee plastic [Cuillins]
[blessed?] [Cuchulains?]
[Cuchulain == mythical Irish hero --- wee plastic Cuchulains?]

[jo-l@kcbbs.gen.nz (jo lobb) explains: Broadford is a town on
Skye (where the road that passes Dun Ringill leaves the main
road, incidentally) and Skye's famous Cuillin Hills are nearby.
I suppose tourists could be expected to buy wee plastic models
of spectacular hills .... Also, the Cuillin Hills are ``also
known as the Coolins or Cuchullins, possibly after an Ossianic
hero...'', so maybe wee plastic model heroes do make sense, after
all.]

The day of the Broadford Bazaar.

Out of the north, no oil-rigs are drifting.
And jobs for the many are down to the few.
Blue-bottle choppers, they visit no longer.
Like flies to the jampots, they were just passing through.

And it's ``All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the bag of your new motor-car''
Where once stood oil-rigs so phallic
There's only swear-words in Gaelic
To say at the Broadford bazaar.

All kinds of people come down for the opening.
Crofters and cottiers, white [wild?] settlers galore.
[Crofter == farmer renting land]
[Cottier == farmer renting land]
And up on the hill, there's an old sheep that's dying,
But it had two new lambs born just a fortnight before.

And it's ``All come willing now,
Spend a shilling now,
Stack up the bag of your new motor-car.''
We'll take pounds, francs and dollars from the well-heeled,
And stamps from the Green Shield.
The day of the Broadford Bazaar.