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.

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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.

To Our Friends in Canada

Brightly burns the glow of friends
constant, true and pure
No one can claim he has no kin
where Love always endures

A lamp that´s lit by Kin´s red flame
of blood spilt on the earth
for need of Love, a better life
on your land boats did berth

The boys who glowed within the light
were taken in your arms
for in the darkness their was hope
of new lives safe from harm

So to friends on distant shores
for many and the few
and a toast to those we cannot name
lost in the sea of blue

Lilac Poem

Lilac

Last night I dreamt of Lilac trees,

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

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 the Castle seeds did blow

across the glade and vine

to where the lovers meet in quiet

with bodies deep entwined