Carradale

[chuckiebay]

JD can you no tak yer camera and sprachle doon the scool wid and take a picture for us oldies. If that is too dauntin' you cood go in to the right before Dippen bridge and make yer way up the burn till ye see a great cliff - at lest that's my memory o' it. Mrs Semple (sen) cood direct yi or even accompany yi for she wis well acquaint wi it too.

Now in this new caboodle wi'room for dancin ah hope a corner can be found for a card table. Ah'm wild in the notion of playing 500 again. It used to be very popular in the village in the days before pub and tv. Wee Archie the butcher was a dab hand at it. I expect the toffier bridge is now all the rage.

[Bitter End]

Humphlock -- dae ye mind when the dungeon hud a richt dose o the red fellas in it? thats a tale o meny tails

[Humphlock]

Humphlock -- dae ye mind when the dungeon hud a richt dose o the red fellas in it? thats a tale o meny tails

Oh, wheest you naow, Bitter End. Don't be speakin aboot that poisonous episode. They met a Bitter End, right enough, the poor b-----s. A wild, wild thing altogether. And it wis a Sunday too.

Changin the subject, I'm thinkin o givin yeez another Wal poem startin tomorra night. I haena right time for't the night. Its title is The Epic of Ian Bahn. It's a good yin.

[chuckiebay]

Here's the man himsel ti add ti the night's enjoyment!

[Right Pongal]

Aye, he looks right pongal in this photo, like a man that was brought up on herring and porridge. The young folk in the village should take note of how healthy he looks, and jeest as fit as a butcher's doag. Oh and Wal as well!

Talking of Sgadan, I canna wait for the tale of Ian Bhan, must get Mrs Pongal to keep a weather eye out for your posting. For goodness sake, don't be encouraging JD to go sliding down Glory Holes, he's not as young as he used to be and may require his own services to get himself oot!

[SARID]

fine I mind back in the fifties, a favourite Sunday efternoon ploy wis tae hunt down courting couples. The "Bush " and the Point wir favourite hunting grounds. The hope wis yed be spotted and chased by the male half of the couple.
On wan occasion the suitor concentrated on chasing two of the group, and was gaining on them , and threatening to tell the lassie's Mother aboot the cerryon.
In their haste to get away, the couple jumped the dyke up from the deer shed, and found themsels knee deep in a bog, which did nothing to improve their appearance. The lad's best pale blue suit ( you got dressed up in those days ) would never be the same again

[Humphlock]

Roll up, roll up for the first part of another of Wal's poems. There's an accompanying note which explains that the story dates from about 1820 and deals with "Ian Bahn's race to Inverary, the object of which was to file a claim to ownership of Tea Gardens in Ceylon." Here we go:

The Epic of Ian Bahn
By Walter Paterson
-------------------------------------------------

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
A grandad's tale of the yester-year
My sight grows dim, yet the memory true
Recalls the tale I would tell to you.
No fictitious tale of a gallant grand
Who rescues a maid, from a villain's hand
Nor a tale of war in some distant place
But the tale of an actual Marathon race
Famed is that Greek, who raced upon
The dusty plain of Marathon
Yet Ian Bahn, like a greyhound sleek
Ran a greater race than the famous Greek.

The sun o'er Arran's peaks of grey
Has ushered in the Summer day
Her beams illume the grassy vale
Beneath the hills, of Carradale
There on a cot, the sunbeams fall
On roof of thatch, and whitewashed wall
The rough-hewn stones, in rugged form
Have weathered many a Winter storm
By Craftsmen wrought, whose building art
Defies the storm to tear apart.
Within that cot, our record tells
A poor, but honest, Crofter dwells
Inured to poverty and constant toil
He wrests a living from a stubborn soil
A toil-worn man, whose life's design
Scarce rises o'er starvation line
Within the cot, the rafters low
Are mirrored in the peat fire's glow
A Crusie, pendant from a ceiling beam
Scarce lightens darkness, in its feeble gleam.

The humble porridge crowns his breakfast board
No other diet does his means afford
This dawning day may change his fate
From crushing poverty to rich estate
He views the sun, his arms extend
And thus, to Heaven, his prayers ascend
Ye Powers above, whose heavenly plan
Controls the destiny of man
A poor man's prayer, in pity, hear
Nor turn aside the listening ear
Grant me that smile, the Gods bestow
On favoured mortals here below
For fortune's grace, I now compete
With fleetness bless my running feet
Bid penury and care begone
Shower wealth abundant from Ceylon
By this grim dagger, which I tore
From Robber Chief, in days of yore
I vow that ere that circling sun
Her great diurnal round has won
My nimble feet will again be seen
A-dancing here, on the village green.

--------------------------------------------------------------

What a build-up eh? Tune in tomorra night for part 2.

That wiz a divilish good phota o Wal, chuckie. Man, he's lookin smert smert.

[cuach]

That wiz a good photo of Wal, chuckiebay - a handsome man he wiz too. Did he ever have a girlfriend? Ah'm sure nobody wid " follow" him if he wiz as crabbit as some of you say! Ah mind "following" courting couples too, especially to the old castle or the Bush. It wiz a great sport gettin chased if you had nothing else to do. Ah wonder if any folk who were followed remember it. We must have been wee pains in the E--- !

As for the Gory Ghost Hole , ah've heard on good authority it no longer exists. The cliffs have all collapsed into the burn so don't be tempted to try an get a photo jd in case yer camera gets swept away.

[Sweltered]

I seem to recall Attie P. relaying a story about "following" Uncle Douglas and some young impressionable "visitor" to a tin shed below the golf course and pounding the roof with stones whilst the occupants were in the throes of passion (if they had such a thing in the village in them days).

[Humphlock]

Is there anybody there? Are yeez all away to the dance in Skipness?

Anyway, here is part 2 of the Epic of Ian Bahn. If yeez can mind, we left Ian last night vowing to run from Carradale to Inveraray and back in the one deh.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

No runners on his feet he wore
His brogues upon his back he bore
The Kilt, high hitched, above the knee
The Sporran held the barley bree
A Tam-o-shanter, coloured red
At a rakish angle, crowned his head
Oat cakes and Bannocks in a sack
By strap suspended on his back
A Cromack in his powerful grip
For aid, if on the rocks he slip
A dagger, sheather, in scabbard neat
At hand, if hostile force he meet
In leaping strides, he sets the pace
And starts his memorable race
Beneath him, on Kilbrannan Sound
The fishing boats are homeward bound
With joy the fishers greet the sun
Their night is o'er, their work is done
In haste, they ply the sturdy oar
And seek again the peaceful shore.

He runs along through Grogport's street
No native hears his running feet
By cattle track, across the moor
He reaches to the farm at Cour
Then onwards, by the shore to win
The moor again, at Clonaig Inn
The cattle, on this pasture bare
Watch his approach with sullen stare
Head, horns and life on scanty feed
Prove they are stock of Highland breed.
As if by instinct, warned of storm
They gather close, in compact form
With frightened roars, they closely scan
The lithe, fleet-footed, kilted man
So quick he passed that dreary place
He seemed to fly, and not to race.

Now Spionkop, the greatest height
Brings West Loch Tarbert into sight
And turning left, at inner end
Straight for Loch Fyne his footsteps bend
With shout of joy, the loch he views
And on its shore his way persues.

------------------------------------------------------------------


I don't know aboot you, but I'm fair exhausted efter that. Next time ye're goin up the Tarbert rodd, ye'll need to stidy on Ian.

Part 3 coming up tomorra night, if I'm spared.

[spangles]

A wee bit of history on this boys (and girls)?

S

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/BERTHA-HARLEY-WAT ... dZViewItem

S

[morenish]

now humphlock thats just what i'll be thinkin on the next time i'm heading up loch fyne, he was good at the words was wal.

as for water colours of the burn, very nice im sure but £200 oh mó chreach!
only a bochan could aford that
my old fella has an original of the glen carradale by iain macDonald i wonder what thats worth?
painted long before she became the most photographed wreck in the history of cameras.
cmon humph dont keep us in suspense i'll need to away an see if i can get my name on this pool cup in the cruban thenight

[Bitter End]

"fair exhausted" Humphlock - - Ahm richt surprised thet yer nae f-n knackered Grand Grand stuff mair pooer tae yer weery didgits fur the next part

[Bochan Mor]

now humphlock thats just what i'll be thinkin on the next time i'm heading up loch fyne, he was good at the words was wal.

as for water colours of the burn, very nice im sure but £200 oh mó chreach!
only a bochan could aford that
my old fella has an original of the glen carradale by iain macDonald i wonder what thats worth?
painted long before she became the most photographed wreck in the history of cameras.
cmon humph dont keep us in suspense i'll need to away an see if i can get my name on this pool cup in the cruban thenight

Are you sure it was Iain MacDonald and not Angus? Where did he purloin that from?

[SARID]

Well, Cuach,ah can answer yir question aboot Wal's romantic life. When he wis young he had an eye for the wemen, and in particular he had a wild fancy for a Greenock lassie ( as she had for him) Efter a long trip ( he wis away for months ) wi Blue Funnel, he arrived back ready "to pop the question" I dont think he had gone as far as haaving a ring in his poket He was hertbroken to find she was either betrothed or maybe even merried to another. I don't think he iver properly got over it