Original February 1920 issue of Colvilles Magazine featuring the poem “On Strikes” by William Ferguson of Glengarnock Works. Written in Scots, the poem reflects on labour, conflict, and the hope for peace and cooperation between workers and employers. Fully transcribed and preserved below with an image from local artist J.W Sorbie – original scan is above.
Continue reading “Glengarnock Gleanings (1920) | Colvilles Staff Magazine, Poem.”I couldn’t resist publishing this again, it’s my poem about the “Bing” which was a huge amount of debris that sat as a mound at the corner or Place View and Newhouse Drive, Kilbirnie before it was converted into a small playpark for kids around 1983 or 1984.
In Scottish terminology, a “Bing” refers to a large pile or heap of waste material, especially the waste rock and debris piled up in the process of mining, such as coal mining. These Bings are remnants of the industrial era, particularly in Scotland’s coal mining regions, where they were created from the spoil that was brought to the surface during the mining process. Over time, some of these Bings have become landmarks or have been reclaimed for various uses, while others still dominate parts of the Scottish landscape.
Continue reading “The Bing, Fudstone, Kilbirnie (a poem)”Upon your brow of vanished hours, a shadow does appear,
Of lost and lonely sufferings,
Which took away your years.
A soul now flies with knowledge strong,
A higher recompense,
A woman’s death to feed a hate,
Has no reason rhyme or sense.
This is a poem I have written about Bessie Dunlop. A female burned as a witch, from Dalry.
Witch of Lynn, Dalry, arise
Return across our minds and skies
Free us from our bonds and chains
As deep divisions rise again
Banish sadness in your path
Hatred gone and Love at last
Minds of hatred let them rot
Come in peace Bessie Dunlop
If Kilbirnie were a harp with strings I'd surely sweep a strain, An everlasting melody Which no man could restrain I'd write a song of thanksgiving Of peace and love and cheer To bless the town with all its woes Bring pleasure to their ears I'd play the song on Knoxville road And at the Walker Hall I'd play it at the Labour club While drunkards take their fall I'd play the harp so silently For those who hate the sound To aid them out of hopelessness To turn their lives around I'd sweep a strain of sad refrain At steel works passing by I'd touch upon a melody And older folks would cry I'd play it softly at the match While folks would cheer their team And move along the park so long To watch the Garnock stream I'd play the harp across the tracks As cyclists speed me by I'd play and wait at graveyard's gates For mourners with their sighs I'd play it at the Garnock's heart Right up at Jacob's Well, where no one goes to see it flow Or care to even tell I'd play a tune right at the school The Children would be pleased I'd pass the harp to little ones To hold upon their knees So to the town with all my sounds And everlasting strains I leave the harp right at the cross For others who remain To strain their sounds of happiness And hope for all the town To watch it grow with sadness no! As an everlasting crown.
Easter 2023 A gentle rising over mountains and hills The new, God filled mornings where birds gently shrill Small new born lambs dance closely by mills as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire Sacred songs, worship, with words full of praise In Churches surrounding the Largs hills and braes Children hunt eggs and voices are raised as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire Another ray shines, o'er those still asleep Hope for all people from the Great Mercy Seat A baby is born, little feet, mothers weep as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire O'er darkened bleak forests, beams shafts of white light Laying beacons of hope, joys, filled with delight The Saviour has risen, o Beautiful Sight as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire Every day of our lives we await his appearing Through our darkened thoughts and opinions still seething Power so Gentle and soft,ever nearing as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire Shining with hope for people oppressed And those with anxiety, seeking some rest Bringing peace to our town, all people are Blessed as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire Pillars of light upon earth's lofty shafts Old time honoured rituals falling at last A new Light is dawning and all are agast as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire An angel appears and rests on our thoughts Like butterflies clinging to their earthly lot Of Thoughts and Prayers higher than possessions sought as Easter dawns upon Ayrshire Joseph McTaggart
The bing was a huge mound of cement and gravel where kids climbed on the corner of Place View and Newhouse Drive. It was converted into a playpark in the mid 80s. Oh the years upon the bing with cousin Margaret children played climbing up with all our power by Newhouse drive where people stayed Amid the thorns and grey cement there seemed a moment, time well spent and sliding down the gravel slope I skinned my knees without a hope My grannie waiting at the door with borax, plasters by the score O the hills we thought were steep when now in older lives we keep Mountains slopes upon our minds perhaps a bing of different kind climbing o’er our darker thoughts just like the thistles we did trod Lessons from the bing well learnt of my granny’s soothing balm o how that Love returns to me a nd brings with it a sense of calm And behind the trees sat Warrior’s bing perhaps a sign of future years with bigger slope and hills to climb amid the darker fading years
And comes a pure white blanket laid around the river Cart Across the darkened thoughts of man a Love which does impart And o´er the bogs and swamps there´s ice up to the Abbey door A voice says “Man with all your cares be still for just an hour” The darkened views of waning health, exchanged for winter cheer The snow reflects a gentle calm upon the town so dear And on the braes the deer are seen walking proudly by For no man can touch their safety now upon their mountain high Upon the tombs of rested men lies layers of icy sense Reflecting that the One great Mind preserves their innocence
Last night I dreamt of Lilac buds Upon the Garnock Stream amid the thorns and briars thick a purple colour beamed I thought about the folk who came and chanced upon this sight perhaps ancestors,long since gone who left it burning bright Perhaps a bird did carry it from far and distant lands or from a child´s hands it fell and grew to proudly stand Or from Place Castle seeds did blow across the glade and vine to where the lovers meet in quiet with bodies deep entwined From where before the lilac came no man knows for sure cemetery or Moorpark House or from the Fairlie Moor So when you come and chance upon the purple lilac hue Give a thought from whence it came Ancestors before you
And comes a pure white blanket laid
around the river Cart
Across the darkened thoughts of man
a Love which does impart
And o´er the bogs and swamps there´s ice
up to the Abbey door
A voice says “Man with all your cares
be still for just an hour”
The darkened views of waning health,
exchanged for winter cheer
The snow reflects a gentle calm
upon the town so dear
And on the braes the deer are seen
walking proudly by
For no man can touch their safety now
upon their mountain high
Upon the tombs of rested men
lies layers of icy sense
Reflecting that the One great Mind
preserves their innocence
