Willie Mackie left Kilbirnie Scotland to emigrate to the USA as many people did before him, in search of a better life. As the title suggests, this was his homecoming celebration in Kilbirnie Gospel Hall Brethren Assembly.
This photo would be from the 1930s. I’m not sure if he returned to the USA at a later date or settled in Kilbirnie again.
The bing was a huge mound of gravel and stone which was left there after the housing estate was built in the 1950s. It was replaced with a kids play area in the 1980s. The other Warriors bing in the Largs Hills was presumably called that because of where the Battle of Largs took place,
O 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 an older life 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, and brings with it a sense of calm,
And behind the trees sat Warrior’s bing, perhaps a sign of future years,
With bigger slopes and hills to climb amid the darker fading years.
A poem for the Installation of the New Minister Elspeth McKay.
The first Abess in Cloister´s grove, forcing change as Love demands
The poisoned chalice passed in sight, yet Love demands she does not drink.
Continue reading “Paisley Abbey New Minister Installation October 2021”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
Notice how strongly the fire begins to burn, fed by the air of Freedom
Who has ever fought against our Freedom and won?
See how it burns away bad opinions, and the water of our burns flood
For our betterment, our blood and our places, the water rises.
See the fire and water rise
Hear the winds of our mountains roar
See how they come to take their own, calling for us to stay faithful
Do not stem the water or extinguish the fire
Leave our land’s trees and its streams and it´s fires
To call Freedom, the voice carried in the wind
The courageous gun and sword laid down before our enemies
Shining and moving in museums of a time long ago
Quaking and shaking of cannons in castles
Water and fire is what defends us now, ancestral whispers, Fed by Freedom´s breath of air
See the fire and water rise
Hear the winds of our mountains roar
See how they come, to take their own, calling for us to stay faithful
Do not stem the water or extinguish the fire
Let our land’s trees and its streams and it´s fires, be,
To call Freedom, the voice carried in the wind
(John 5: The Pool of Bethesda)
An angel clad in white winged robes with hands upon the pool
A surge of water gushes forth, clear, transparent, cool
Children watch upon the bridge with raincoats, darkened caps
My mother calls me not to fear, the bridge’s missing slats
Like needles dropping in the stream, rain pierces to the ground
Raising thoughts in Children’ s minds with every plopping sound
And as the Angel, golf course walks, the clouds clear with his step
Revealing brighter thoughts for man with every place he treads
By Crawfurd’s castle, blue skies clear and children move away
Their raincoats filled with water still seem strange in Summer’s days
Shadows clear upon the fields and hope again appears
Within the showers, sunny glades where man has nought to fear
Long after Angels hands descend or sun upon Man’s dreams
Still the pool, it gushes forth pushing all upstream
And on the Minds of local men an Angel dares to tread
Stirring healing loving thoughts upon the dying bed.
Perhaps upon the River Cart or by its dwindling streams
We feel a heart that’s beating power without another means
A power that turns the waiting tide and waters plants and flowers
Turning students to their books in every waitng hour
A power that lights the morning dawn and dusk a gentle glow
A power that hold each swan intact as waters gently flow
A guiding light which simply “Is” with no demands on man
While preachers loudly scream and shout that all the folk are damned
A power that needs no words nor praise to move within it’s place
For it has the world for man to feel it’s gentle guiding pace
And if by chance an apple tree should spring in Barshaw Park
Or nestling feathers after flight, you see a morning lark
Look upon its shining beak or feathers black and pure
Worship not the image, mind, but the power that it endures
And when the apple tree no more, holds up it’s greenish fruit
Look toward the power in Life for all things absolute
Only the real stands up to time, with majesty and robes
All else disappears from sight, with pain and anxious throws
And so the real in everything is found not in the clay
But in the power of Life itself which opens up the day
Dwell not in things which are not real but look behind the eyes
There you find the real idea of all that Love implies
Perhaps nearby the Walker Hall or up at Jacob´s well
a random act of kindness comes from strangers who can tell?
Perhaps a gentle smile when all is grey and bland
A man in Tesco car park, who gives a helping hand?
The face of God is ne´er seen by looking to the sky
or pleading with an unseen God to ask the question “why”
But in the smaller random acts, of hope and gentle charm
Music springs from little things which keep us from all harm
And if by chance we cannot see the goodness in Schoolwynd
Let us play the Harp we think is somehow left behind
From Cochrane Street to Loadingbank it doesn´t take a while
to offer random kindness acts or give a sincere smile
He does not see the cries and woes of bitter words well meant
He does not know the mental wounds of times much better spent
He knows only Peace and Love and wholeness of our Soul
Far above the human clouds where Man is free to Go
In Glasgow Street or Ladeside Vale, perhaps in Dalry Road
A Mind can freely choose to live in mental sweet abode
Far above the darting arrows, foes and kin at war
There is a place, another Mind for mankind to explore
Found in silence, ne´er in hate, a Harp string sound does come
Taking man to far above from words and human glum
If Angel´s are His thoughts indeed of swirling pools of Love
Let them take us anytime to consciousness above.
In silence comes the lyre harp of goodness Peace and Love
A state of mind but Heaven is, so take yourself above
To where no siblings voices fight or hatred´s idle dreams
Free yourself from earthly ties however fair they seem
Gently on piano keys or,
strung upon the harp,
strummed upon the guitar strings or
words said from the heart,
A colder breeze in winter time
or withered flowerless briar
all are made to break your dreams
and draw your thoughts much higher
An Ocean beach in times more calm
At home with people stern
A tempest storm or healing balm
Higher thoughts that you must learn
Ne´er upon life´s empty shores
no matter how it seems
For going to reach a better place
you have to break the dream
