Carradale

[Dunc R]

Humplock you have me hooked, what is the name of this wee book. I have looked on the internet and can only find one poem by Walt.

[bubbly jock]

Aye, good stuff Humphlock. Trust the Dale boys tae bring some class back tae the forum. Look forward tae the next episode.

Must admit though Milldam was doing a good job ‘till he was interrupted. So jeest you carry on unimpeded.


bubbly

[Humphlock]

The wee booklet is entitled "Poems of Walter Paterson". It's been typed on an old typewriter and there's no sign of a publisher's name or date. The first page says "In memory of a man out of the ordinary". It looks like the sort of thing you might have seen on the Baker's coonter or for sale in Donald Campbell's years ago. Am I the only wan wi a copy? Sorry I canna be of more help, Dunc.

[morenish]

well,well humphlock now thats a damn fine bit of writing you have there and fairly puts our drivel on here to shame, when the old yins put pen to paper they made sure it wasn't a waste of ink.
bochans that can hardly write their own name,
snoddy MD well nobody ever deciphered what a DR wrote anyway,
bubbly only writes by scrabbling in the dust and thats why he's been quiet so long.
sanyanya gets the wummin in the dss office to type up his posts.
bitter end takes a long time because he only types wi wan finger
and right pongal has to wash his hands twice before he does any typing and wance efterwords!
JDs got wan o them voice recognition bits o software that saves any embarrassment, he got it from jackie the tyler because it widna work for him for some reason.
an witchnettles got more than fingers hitting the keys wi all that dancing.
so im fair lookin forward to the next/last(?) bit

as for the bochans business venture in the garden, it'll never work, he'll never make any money because he's far too chenerus a sole.......och we better no start that again

[Right Pongal]

[Humphlock]

Gosh seff's, Pongal, that's the very man. He's young, young in that phota.

Well, I'm dashed.

Kin anybody mind what musical instrument he used to play?

[With apologies to the younger members of the forum for all this ancient history.]

[Bochan Mor]

A great likeness that Pongal has conjured up there, but no sign of his fiddle!

As for the typing, Morenish forgot to mention that he has Cumberland Sausages for fingers, so won't be able to keep up with buttering the scones and sandwiches this summer at the rate that I'll be selling them out of the Tormhor Rock Cafe!

Anyway, I always thought that the Humphlock was destroyed by visitors down the Shore Road, but its good to see that it has regenerated back in sight of the Kilbrannan Sound.

[Humphlock]

Anyway, I always thought that the Humphlock was destroyed by visitors down the Shore Road

Well now, Bochan, that was a sarach indeed the day they destroyed my big neebor, the Big Humphlock. I mind it fine. They used to call me the Wee Humphlock but, as there's only wan o us left now, I jeest go by Humphlock. Yiz are lucky I managed to post on here the night. I was near droont wi the helluva bastin I got in that gale of win the day.

Now away yiz go tae yer beds. It'll no be this in the morning.

[Right Pongal]

Morenish is still haunted by Hun's fiddle playing. His faither used to threaten to take him down to the Port if he misbehaved.

Aye, he was looking young in thon picture. I bet you have a few classics in your collection that you'll maybe share when your done with Wal's poems?

[Bitter End]

Aye Morenish wi wan finger an damn lucky still tae hae it wi Her swingin a knife at me every time ah try tae lift anythin fae the denner table whin its nae ma turn.
Humphlock its jeest as weel ye survived the maelstrom wi the visitors or the poems o Wal wid maybe hae bin loast an the rest o us bin left in ignorance o his wurks !

[bill]

Forward then, to Heaven, McCallum, happy live throughout the years

I'm sure that's me he's writing aboot

[Bochan Mor]

Forward then, to Heaven, McCallum, happy live throughout the years

I'm sure that's me he's writing aboot

Ach yer toodlie Bill!

[bill]

Forward then, to Heaven, McCallum, happy live throughout the years

I'm sure that's me he's writing aboot

Ach yer toodlie Bill!

Aye yer probably right enuf Mr Mor.

[Humphlock]

Are you sitting comfortably, ma freens? Hold on tight and we'll away back up to Heaven, courtesy of Wal, to eavesdrop on the third Carradale pilgrim's conversation with St Peter. This is the final episode, and it's a wee bit longer than the others have been.


I'm a Councillor, St Peter, so to Heaven pass me through
For I've done my duty always, as my conscience bade me do.
I have tried to get a harbour, I have sought for water pure
I have craved for houses often, for the needy and the poor.

In all works of local interest I have always done my share
In the Free Church, good St. Peter, I was leading elder there.
In the paths of truth and justice, I have walked and did not fail
The only honest Paterson, down there in Carradale.

St. Peter listens quietly, then he speaks, in manner sage
While he checks the pilgrim's story, from the sacred ledger page.
An Elder of the Free Church, said St. Peter with a frown
And you hope to enter Heaven, and to wear a heavenly crown.

I have searched the records closely, and sad am I to say
That all members of the Free Church have gone the other way.
We strive to keep our Heaven in every way select
But reserve a place of honour for the Parish Church elect.

We do not rate the Free Church as a heavenly training sphere
So to keep our heaven exclusive, we debar its members here.
In the change from utter darkness to heaven's glorious day
The path leads through the Parish Church, the sure and only way.

Yet your story is most truthful, as these records clearly show
Therefore, you shall be rewarded, for your good work down below.
Your case is so deserving, that in justice, I believe
I am giving honest judgement, in granting a reprieve.

Resume your earthly calling, in the sordid world below
Cast aside your robes of office, to the poor your riches throw.
Join the church that leads to Heaven, in her councils state your views
Work to fill her empty coffers, strive to fill her empty pews.

Cast aside the Tory party, range yourself on Labour's side
Help along your poor relations, struggling hard against the tide.
Keep this steadfast in your memory, while the lamp holds on to burn
Though the road be rough and dreary, yet the sinner may return.

By precept and example, show to all the human race
How to shun the fire of Hades, and to win in Heaven a place.
May the record of your conduct merit well the Master's call
Well done, thou faithful servant, rise triumphant over all.

Then when earth and time have ended, in this bitter age of strife
When, from out your nerveless grasp, have dropped the working tools of life
At the sound of Gabriel's trumpet, we shall welcome you above
Where we have to party politics, and all is peace and love.

The pilgrim lifts his burden, shakes St. Peter by the hand
And thanks him for the second chance to gain the heavenly land.
Good St. Peter, said the pilgrim, your judgement has been fair
But before I leave your presence, conscience bids me to declare.

Bob McCallum is eligible, to join the heavenly flock,
But I question much your wisdom, in admitting brother Jock.
With his wisdom called in question, St. Peter gave a scream
And I woke up from my sleeping, glad to find t'was all a dream.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
.
.

There ye are now. Some great lines there. There'll no be many o ye who'll be able to identify who the third pilgrim wiz? Mind you, Pongal will probably be scanning in his phota as we speak.

[bill]

EXCELLENT,WHAT'S MORE TO BE SAID, THANKS FOR SHARING.