Andrew Lammie (Mill o’ Tifty’s Annie)

Mill_o_Tiftys_Annie_p-1

The ballad of Andrew Lammie and Bonnie Annie, also know as The Mill O’ Tifty’s Annie, describes the love of one Agnes Smith for the Laird Of Fyvie’s trumpeter, Andrew Lammie. At first sight, she is enamored with him, but, as is the way with so many ballads, her love is disapproved of by her Father, and she is finally murdered for it.

The ballad traces back to as far as the death of Agnes Smith, which, if her gravestone in Fyvie churchyard is to be believed, occurred in 1673. Hers is still one of the most popular and varied ballads in Britain, with some versions having in excess of 50 verses.

The scene of the ballad is the surrounds of the Castle Of Fyvie, which looks across the the Mill O’ Tifty whereby Annie lived. Lewis Smith and son writes of the Castle that, ‘At the apex of the Preston tower there is a figure of Andrew Lammie, the trumpeter, in the act of blowing his trumpet towards Tifty.’

‘At the distance of about half a mile northward from the castle, and in view of its turrets, is Mill of Tifty, the home of the damsel who figures as the heroine in the ancient and ever popular ballad Mill of Tifty’s Annie ‘

Peter Buchan referred to Andrew Lammie as “one of the greatest favourites of the people of Aberdeenshire” in his 1828 Gleanings

The lyrics to this version by Jeannie Robertson go as follows;

Annie's gravestone, restored by Colonel Gordon of Fyvie

Annie’s gravestone, restored by Colonel Gordon of Fyvie

At the Mill o Tifty’s lived a man
In the neighbourhood o Fyvie
For he had a lovely daughter fair
An they ca’ed her bonny Annie

Her cheeks was like the bloomin’ Rose
That hails the rosy mornin
And her innocence and graceful mien
Her beauteous face adornin

Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Wha’s name was Andra Lammie
And he had the airt for tae gain the hairt
O the Mill of Tifty’s Annie

For proper he, was both yang and gay,
and his like was not in Fyvie,
Nor was there one, that could compare,
with this same Andrew Lammie

Lord Fyvie he rode by the door
Where lived Tifty’s Annie;
His trumpeter rode him before,
Even this same Andrew Lammie.

Her mother called her to the door,
“Come here tae me, my Annie.
Did ever ye see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o’ Fyvie?”

She sighed sore, but she said no more
Alas for bonny Annie.
For she durst not own that her heart was won
By the trumpeter o’ Fyvie.

But the first time me and my true love layed,
Was in the woods o’ Fyvie.
his lovely form, and his speech so soft,
soon gained the heart o’ Annie

He called me mistress, but I said no,
I was Tifty’s bonnie Annie,
with apples sweet, he did me treat,
and kisses soft and many.

It was up and doon in Tifty’s glen
Where the burn runs clear and bonnie
It was there we went, and knew’t our love
Before he went and leaved me

But now alas, her Father haird
That trumpeter of Fyvie,
had had the art, to gain the art,
O’ Mill O’ Tifty’s Annie,

Her Father soon, a letter wrote,
and sent it on to Fyvie
For tae tell his dochter was bewitched
By his servant Andrew Lammie

It’s up the stairs, to his trumpeter,
he called him soon and shortly,
“Pray tell me soon, what is this you’ve done,
To Tify’s bonnie Annie”

It’s woe be to the Mill O’ Tifty’s pride,
for it has ruined many,
for they have said, she should not wed,
with the trumpeter of Fyvie

“Oh where shall I find, a boy so kind,
that will carry a latel canny,
and who ran on, to Tifty’s Glen,
did that to my love Annie

For Tifty, he has daughters three,
and they all were wondrous bonnie,
but you will ken her, o’er the rest,
gave that to my love Annie,

For you will come, to the bridge of sin,
where I will come and meet you,
and it’s there we will renew our love,
before I gang and leave you.

I’ll buy to you, a brand new bound
My love I’ll buy it bonnie,
but if you come back, I will be layed,
in the green church yard of Fyvie

Her faither struck her wondrous sore
And also did her sisters
Her brother broke her back, O’er the hall door,
for the lovin’ O’ Andrew Lammie

O’, if you strike me, I will cry,
And Gentlemen will hear me,
Lord Fyvie, he’ll cam riding by,
and he’ll cam in and see me.

O’, Annie dear, O’ Annie dear,
I can hear your cooing low,
for I would nae geh my queer lo’,
For all your kind in Fyvie,

Lord Fyvie’s lands, are broad and lang,
and they are wondrous bonnie,
but would nae geh, my ain true love,
for all yer lands in Fyvie.

And another, more popular version;

At the Mill o Tifty’s lived a man
In the neighbourhood o Fyvie
For he had a lovely daughter fair
An they ca’ed her bonny Annie

Her bloom was like the springin flower
That hails the rosy mornin
And her innocence and graceful mien
Her beauteous face adornin

Noo her hair was fair and her eyes were blue
And her cheeks as red as roses
And her countenance was fair tae view
And the ca’ed her bonny Annie

Noo Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter
Wha’s name was Andra Lammie
And he had the airt for tae gain the hairt
O the Mill of Tifty’s Annie

Noo her mother cried her tae the door
Sayin, Come here to me, my Annie
Did e’er ye see a prettier man
Than the trumpeter o Fyvie

Oh but naethin she said, but sighin sair
‘Twas alas for bonny Annie
For she durstnae own that her hairt was won
By the trumpeter o Fyvie

And at nicht when all went tae their bed
A’ slept fu’ soond but Annie
Love so oppressed her tender breast
And love will waste her body

Oh love comes in to my bedside
And love will lie beyond me
Love so oppressed my tender breast
And love will waste my body

My love I go tae Edinburgh toon
An for a while maun leave thee
Oh but I’ll be deid afore ye come back
In the green kirk yaird o Fyvie

So her faither struck her wondrous sore
An also did her mother
And her sisters also took their score
But woe be tae her brother

Her brother struck her wondrous sore
Wi cruel strokes and many
And he broke her back owre the temple-stane
Aye the temple-stane o Fyvie

Oh mother dear please make my bed
And lay my face tae Fyvie
For I will lie and I will die
For my dear Andra Lammie

Noo when Andra hame fae Edinburgh came
Wi muckle grief and sorrow
My love she died for me last night
So I’ll die for her tomorrow

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