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.
Romans 8:17
In every year thats passes by, there’s friends from overseas, visiting a little town with dreams of family.
Perhaps Place castle some will say, or found in Walker Hall, perhaps a line of great descent, behind Tianna Falls.
Walking streets which long since gone, with hopes of names or face, wearily they pace around to find the slightest trace.
And when we ask about the task, the answer’s never clear, identity or Grandpa’s home or memories they hold dear.
Still there is a waiting wealth, which passed through every line, a joyful welcome and a smile to all who take the time.
And legacies of golden bowls surrendered long ago, exchanged for joy preserved in time, for future folk to know.
Heirs of joy, and stewardship still, which lasts beyond our peers, kindness, smiles remembered still throughout the passing years.
If today a search does come to wanton lonely minds, think not of watches or old clocks to search for back in time.
Instead to know their sense of joy, is shared today by all, a random act of kindness do, instead of searching halls.
For welcome, joy and happiness was theirs and ours today, there is no forgetting acts of Love which fall on minds today.
Make your mark for future lines, by random acts of good, remembered more by other folk than silver, gold or wood.
(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.
Some days the mountains speak to me defending Truth and Love like Angels climbing Jacob´s Ladder to and from Above With thoughts so clear and brightly shining fields of grass and green stretching to horizon´s line and farms lying in between Other days the mountains seem an obstacle of view which stop me seeing o´er the sky and leave me feeling blue Tis these weeks the hardest are when shadows mark my way when people´s words like arrows fly and hinder all my days To search for good in every thought dispels the darkest night for through the words and tempers flared lie Angels in disguise To take us higher in our thought to bless us every day find the Love in everyone it is the only way.
To avoid confusion, let me explain:
Here is the roll of Honour from the staff magazine about Glengarnock with the Steel works Employee names on there:
This book has a lot of detailed information about the Auld Kirk in Kilbirnie, River Garnock, Place, Fairs, as well as the history of prominent families and findings of the area,. Barclays, Crawfurds, Cunninghame, etc History of the kirk etc including names of early people serving there.
This book has also very detailed sections about Parishes: Dundonald, Dunlop, Fenwick, Galston, Girvan, Irvine, Kilbirnie, West Kilbride, Kilmarnock, Kilmaurs, Kilwinning, Kirkmichael, Kirkoswald, Largs, Loudoun, Mauchline, Maybole, Monktoun, Muirkirk, Ochiltree, Riccarton, St Quivox, Sorn, Stair, Stevenston, Stewarton, Straiton, Symington, Torbolton.
Appendix.
Oh draw near, Great Love Divine, and sooth my waiting mind.
Whiting Bay and Holy Isle, surely all are thine, within my heart appears the long forgotten saints.
Passing holy hours, like a tired monk I wait to find you in the maze of liturgies and pathways.
My naked head does burn, like earthly passions turn, to a higher calling, to vistas set eternal.
With a yearning voice so strong, I turn to what I long, to find my peace in thee.
May the mountains of the isles teach me humility of heart, to see beyond the peaks of shortcomngs to higher views of Love.
The sweeping vistas of Love, higher than the highest peak, swirling winds appear.
The joy of meeting departed ones, to commune again on the shores of thine Isles, I wait, I come.
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
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.
