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Poem about Kilbirnie #NorthAyrshire: The Mossend Mine

The Mossend Mine

While walking near the Mossend mine
I chanced upon a flower
I stopped and stared at beauty spent
and passed away the hour

Her leaves were yellow daffodils
where bees would pass the time
watching men go underground
While entering the mine

Her stem did sway with summer breeze
she slumbered on the brink
like a burdened miner walks
whilst thirsting for a drink

Suddenly a voice I heard
transported back in time
young men with blackened faces walked
deep inside that mine

Awaking, flowers, buttercups
Blessed me on my way
Whilst haunting thoughts of distant past
I carried through my day

So if a flower does call you back
to places, lands of yore,
dwell not in the realm of dreams
take only what is yours

Perhaps your flower is yet to come
in mountain, thoughts or clime
ne’er mind the times of centuries old
now is your only time

Martha Warnock Brisco, Kilbirnie.

Martha Warnock Standing by Knox´s mill where she worked, living at 12 Muirend Street, Kilbirnie during the 1930s. Her husband Charles Brisco died in Newcastle in 1906, at that time she brought their Children back to Kilbirnie.

They were:

Esther married Neil McTaggart, (Kilbirnie)

John, married Agnes K Docherty, (Johnstone / Paisley)

Mary married William Dignan (Kilwinning)

Margaret (Kilbirnie)

Joseph (New York and Dalmuir)

Martha married James Knox (Kilbirnie)

 

Poem at Dalry Cemetery June 2019.

At Sunset. Dalry Cemetery.

O gracious peace and silence, where voices lose their power.

The setting sun brings darkness to the last awaiting hours,

With Lords and paupers  stilled, together till the light

Where ‘er they are in consciousness, God speed to them tonight.

By Biggarts’ son or Uncle John. Youth and age does lie,

For the wall between the old and new, lies strong in earthly eyes.

But somewhere else upon the shores, Dalry does rise again,

where no walls or  tombs pervade, religion, class or kin,

And as our thoughts rise higher, away from bricks and stone.

That new Dalry will one by one come to take us home.

There at the crossings full of folk who long ago were ken’t.

Again the tears of union declares the time well spent.

 

#Poem #Glengarnock Station #NorthAyrshire

Glengarnock Station

One thought I had of you today
As people crowded by
Of sending soldiers on their way
Till 1945

Mothers kissed and lover’s words
Then anxious notes you passed
Bringing news of hero’s deaths
Or home bound boys at last

Pavements wet with women’s tears
For boys, to welcome home
While others sat in darkened rooms
Both silent and alone

Then later in your ageing years
Cemented floors did bloom
With flowers, lovely colours bright
While mighty engines boomed

Then darkness came with Beeching’s words
Your branches they were slain
For all your older dearest friends
Were killed for London’s gain

Now you stand with empty home
No soldiers pass your way
A house lies derelict above
Where once a guardsman stayed

You carried folk to far off lands
To meet their boats and planes
Babies laughing, children coughed
Sheltering from smoggy rains

There’s few stand now in early morn
Upon your tired brow
Yet ne’r can match those wartime scenes
Of hundreds, cheering crowds.

#kilbirnie #poem #northayrshire #scotland

 

If kilbirnie was 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.

Townhead, Kilbirnie, Ayrshire C.1880

This is an interesting photo of Townhead, Kilbirnie Ayrshire. The remains of Martin´s Shed (only a bit of a wall) can still be seen today just down from the supermarket (which was Morrisons), on the other side of the road in a little alcove behind some bushes.  In this picture Martin´s shed is the white building in the middle. Kilbirnie Brethren Assembly first met here in the 1800s as well as the Good Templars Hall in Bridgend, Kibirnie, before they built the Gospel Hall in Schoolwynd 1897, on the site where Jamie Clifford was born.

Townhead – pre-1900s

Townhead – today

Major General Sir. Charles Mathew and #Kilbirnie War Memorial

An article written  in the 1990s while in Dublin for the Pioneer Magazine.

What Does Wexford and a small town in the

Southwest of Scotland have in Common?

General Sir Charles Massey Mathew, a celebrated War Hero from the First World War. Sir Charles was born in Wexford, Ireland in 1866, educated privately at Portsmouth Grammar School, started his career in the Durham Light Infantry, in 1884.

Continue reading “Major General Sir. Charles Mathew and #Kilbirnie War Memorial”

A Poem for Paisley

The Threads of Paisley

If all the threads that Paisley made were found again one day

I’d hang them in the sky with Love to take away the grey

Upon the gold I’d write a tale of stories from our past

About the folk we´ve lost in time that’s moved away so fast.

Upon the red I’d see the war and all the men who died

I’d write the names of all their wives whose tears we left behind

Upon the Abbey darkened threads of blackened thoughts and times

A bygone age of killing folk for witchcraft and false crimes.

Threads of blue I’d give to schools, to teach them peace and Love

By leaving parts of history, while rainbows hang above

Upon the green, the Irish woe, migration, war and fear

While London pushes migrants out with hatred causing tears.

Upon the white I’d ask the kids to write their stories clear

To fill the sky with hopes and dreams of music for our ears

Upon this richest tapestry I’d paint a heart and crown

To show the world the triumphs of dear Paisley, my sweet town.