Submitted From Feb 2013
Index Back to First Page
A general
note
Me Smoke?
Another wee Item
A matter of individual
perception?
On Target
The quiet man
The dominant gene (or Jean?)
The (Just too mobile) Phone
Just one over the top
Boy or girl?
Stupid?
The 'Wee Lassies Face'
The Rookery
Not Wullies day (or mine)
A tear
Lassies Again?
Exploding a myth
Industrious Scots Generalisations
The
Story of the Scottish Lady and The Lavatory (Or Water Closet (WC))
And now for something
completely different.
As I looked at her, with the tears
still in her eyes I said to her, “If that means so much to you then I swear that I
will never smoke another cigarette or anything like it again, I promise you this”.
A Scottish mathematician who invented
the first reflecting telescope (the ‘Gregorian’ telescope) in 1663, describing
his design for it in his published work, ‘Optica Promota.’ He also described the
method for using the transit of Venus to measure the distance of the Earth from the Sun,
which was later advocated by Edmund Halley. The following however is :-
“That’s just wonderful”
says the mother “and what part is it?”
“I play the part of the adoring
Scottish husband of a beautiful Scottish lady” Answers the boy.
At this the mother scowls and says,
“No just you go back to the teacher and tell her that you want a speaking role or you
will not be a part of the play”
I have just added these first few lines to this short
story because I have just thought of something that I should have noted before, I wonder
if anyone else in their youthful days noted this kind of oddity. The three guys that were
with me were all from Meek Place and Borgie Crescent. When I normally ‘go a
wandering’ elsewhere my compatriots will be from Kirkhill. It would be very unusual
for the twain to meet, I have just realised that I was the odd man out. Was there some
kind of segregation rule here? Strange that I had not thought of this before, we were all
the same, as far as I knew there was never any animosity there, but we still had that
segregation thing going. Do others have this? Other than politicians I mean. I think that
the parents had some input here, I had no parents, was that why I was multi area
non-denominationally included?
It was a very mild and quiet autumn day, there is just the four of us, I think, I am sure
that along with me there is Wullie Lyons and Gordon (Ging) Kennedy, possibly Henry
Ferguson also because I remember we had a ball to kick around. (Note: no one from
Kirkhill?) On this occasion we have decided just to ‘go a wandering’ in this
instance it means to venture into uncharted territory, well it was new to us anyway, we go
down to the Clyde and over the Orion bridge, on this occasion we decided to have a look
eastwards, we had never been that way before, so this was to be a new venture for us. I
suppose we were about nine or ten at the time, and our venturing normally took us west in
the direction and on to the Skudgie, but that was usually done in order to get stung by
the countless nettles, have a swim in the Clyde and to feed the leeches and other aquatic
bloodsucking creatures found therein. I distinctly remember that it was in the mid to late
autumn, the reasoning there was because of what eventually transpired happened as we
sauntered along.
Having come to the outskirts of a very large field we spotted a huge apple orchard, this
was a great surprise, generally orchards would be plundered and laid waste before the
fruits had left the blossom stage in this area, but what we saw was a great number of
apple trees, I am going to guess that there was around 40 of them and all were showing a
great number of apples, so many in fact that they were scattered all over the grass under
the trees. The odd thing was that there were cows grazing there also, and they were not
the normal black and white dairy cattle that were usually seen all over our normal haunts.
These were kind of reddish brown and had huge wide horns, which I now realise were the
highland cattle, but to us they looked ferocious. Undaunted one of us crawled through the
fence and got hold of an apple that had fallen and scuttled back to safety. We all had a
bite and decided that it was too old and was not worth the hassle of trying to get fresher
ones, after all, my Gran’s back garden had a huge apple tree and plenty of apples
there, cookers but fairly sweet and certainly scrumptiously edible. We decided to carry on
with our walk.
We had not gone very far when one of the guys stopped and said, “hey look over there
that cow has just collapsed, it is trying to get up”. And sure enough we could see
the poor thing struggling, someone suggested that it was probably just too fat” but
as we stood looking we then noticed for the first time that another couple of the cows
were also struggling. I cannot remember exactly what happened just after that point, I
think we just carried on along eastwards. What I do remember, and vividly, was that when
we were making our return journey and approaching the field with the cattle was that the
cattle were now in a very agitated state, they were virtually all down on the ground and
some trying to get up, some were making mooing sounds and some even looked as if they were
dead, this was serious, we made the decision to find the farmer and let him know that
there was something wrong. This we did, it took us ages before we found the owner, and
that was after asking quite a few people on the way.
I can only vaguely remember one of our group talking to the guy that we found, he listened
intently to what we were saying and then he said something like; you saw the apples all
over the grass, yes? You saw the cows staggering, yes? Ah, it’s OK. But thanks for
letting me know, and then he told us the story. The cows had just been moved to this
particular field early on this particular morning; the best of the apples had already been
harvested. It transpired that each year at about this time, so many of the apples which
were not really for eating anyway, would fall and begin to rot, this was good fertiliser,
and would help trees and the grass to grow better, but when the cows were in the field
they would eat them and they having fermented, were now quite high in alcohol and
subsequently what we had seen was a load of cows stoned out of their minds, just like the
lads from the town on a Friday night, they probably enjoyed it. I wonder if they had
hangovers next morning?
After that and on subsequent Friday and Saturday nights, I could not help but smile as I
watched the antics of the men stumbling out of the Sefton pub; only the large horns were
missing. Anyway they never needed the horns, they made enough noise without them.
Boy or girl?
I just remembered this one. Dawn (First of five daughters) having plucked up enough
courage to confront me with a question regarding the gender of children, well she was
actually side stepping and was speaking of herself. Anyway the question was, “Dad,
when the baby comes out at birth, how did you know that Michelle and I were girls?”
And from me “well darling it is very easy you see, when you and Michelle were born
you did not have any clothes on, that is how we could tell.” She then wandered off
upstairs to try to explain to Michelle what I had said, and after a few minutes she
returned. “Ok dad, does that mean that boys are born with clothes on?”
Stupid?
There was one teacher; I so wish that I could remember his name, (Possibly Mr Mc Kenna, or
Big Jimmy) quite a stern chap, and did the maths in Secondary school, anyway I remember I
was in class 2B, that was for the Stupid but possibly saveable kids. I cannot for the life
of me remember what brought about the situation, but at one point the teacher had lost it,
from his own desk he stomped out to the front of the class and really quite angrily
shouted something to the effect; “OK; I cannot believe what I am reading here in
these papers, are you all stupid or what?” No one moved he then said, “OK,
Right; now stand up anyone who actually does think that they are stupid.” Obviously
no one flinched; there was quite a Long pause and I heard a noise behind me as someone had
obviously moved. Looking round I saw one lad up near the back had stood up and if my mind
serves me well the ensuing conversation went something like this. From the teacher
“Oh I see, and you think that you are stupid, how did you finally discover find that
boy? (I think that his name was Owen but not sure)? Then from the lad who had stood up
“ Well sir, you are the only one standing up so I thought that I would join
you.” Then silence. After a few seconds when realisation had entered the collective
brains the class erupted, even the teacher laughed as he bade the lad, “Be
seated.”
The ‘Wee lassies face’
At the top end of Greenlees road and what was then (1957/8) almost at the end of the
housing area if you took a left it took you down to an attractive and fairly quiet and
more picturesque area of the public park, I remember in those days that if you then took a
left turn over a grassy area towards what was a small valley, there was a large granite
boulder sticking out and on it an engraving or sculpture of the face of a young girl. For
whatever reason I or mostly we, always went down to look, it was almost an obsession, who
was she, who carved the stone and so on? For years we had no positive answer, all sorts of
ideas were muted but nothing positive. Now, I am absolutely sure that someone must know
the whys and wherefores of this sculpture. At the time there were many stories going
round, such as “she fell from the other side of the valley and was killed then her
brother or father did the carving, she just died, she disappeared, and so on”.
Nothing was positive but just one thing sticks in my mind more than anything else. I was
with another lad at the time, I Forget who, probably Wullie Macintyre’ but after
having our look at the carving we went back up to the track, there was an old fellow
raking the edges of the main track, obviously a park worker. I asked him if he knew who
sculpted the face and without any hesitation he said, “It was a student from the road
on the other side, the wee lassie never existed, he was just practicing and was actually
and artist, that’s all.” And then from me somewhat jokingly, “who carved
the soldiers memorial statue? “I did that in my spare time up here” he said with
a laugh. At the time I felt relieved about the girls carving after all the stories
regarding the carving, she never died and that was good to know.
On the other hand, even after many years away from Cambuslang, and even now, I started to
have my doubts again. I would now love to hear from anyone the correct or other version if
there is one of ‘The wee lassies face’. Please!
The Rookery
Another little question I have noticed and that is the origin of the name ‘The
Rookery’ when speaking about the tenement buildings in Kirkhill. One of the
explanations is that it resembles a rook-nesting site?
Definition: - No 1; The Rook is a member of the crow family according to the English
dictionary; and I read that is the reasoning behind the name, the ‘rookery’, the
human crowding? The manner in which the rooks, or crows make their nests could fit.
However if you look at the second definition of the word
Definition - No 2: - A rook is a Swindler, or to rook someone is to cheat them? I know
that the people who lived there were a fairly rough old lot, but I cannot remember anyone
swindling or cheating anyone, you have to look at the political classes for that kind of
activity, the people that I met there were always good to me and I never once had a
problem with any of them. On the contrary many of them went out of their way to help me
and that was because of my own personal deprived circumstances I personally rule out the
common reasoning behind the name ‘Rookery’,
Have a Goosy Goosy (A Gander) at the picture in Edwards site, the one that shows the
Kirkhill swings area and in particular the one with the see saw in which a fair haired
child is standing in the middle balancing it, that is Wullie Macintyre, on the extreme
left side of the see saw I am seated. The girl between us I am almost sure is Maureen?
Vertically above Wullies head is the Kirkhill steeple and a glance to the left a `mass of
leafy trees, centrally in the trees you will see three trees, equally large but devoid of
leaves, but in their place a large number of crows nests. (It is on page 3 of the main
photograph galleries 3rd line down RH picture Kirkhill swings) I personally know that all
of those trees were full of nests, the leafy ones also, all of them, and if people were
walking along the single pavement of Cairns Road you would notice that the sidewalk was
covered in bird droppings. That area was called the ‘Rookery’ for very obvious
reasons. People generally walked on the road or on the other side to avoid being S***
upon, (That was the main job of politicians and lawyers).
The three main buildings I think had about thirty flats and one wee shop Myrtles. * I think that was hardly enough to be termed a
rookery. On the other hand, if you went down to Cambuslang and looked at the tenements
there, I think that the majority of the population of Scotland lived there, that area was
never termed ‘A rookery,’ Well to the best of my knowledge anyway. Incidentally,
I cannot remember seeing even one tree in the town at all, then again, a tree would never
have survived there.
Not Wullies Day (or mine)
Again it is just one of those little memories that click in the brain, a silly film on TV
last night about a guy who got caught on an electric fence, it pushed me all the way back
to the Public Park in Cambuslang. There is a track at the top of the large field where the
football fields and posts are, I don’t know if they are the same now, but the field
as you can see from the pictures on Edward's site were on a slope. That would make the
game a problem I would have thought. However, at the top of the field the track runs west
from where the tennis courts are and takes a left fork at the end of the field. A right
turn would take you down to the Grandstand area, on this occasion we, my friend Wullie
Lyons and I go left at the junction, some way along and before you leave the area to join
Greenlees road there is an area on the left, the south side of the track, locally called
‘The Plateau’ it is an elevated area, and to me at the time I would think about
20 metres or thereabouts higher than the track, the top was flat and a common play area,
long grass and lots of trees, a must for ‘Cowboys and Indians’
This particular day there is only Wullie and myself, we climb and mess about as per norm,
climbing, swinging and falling down as usual. At one stage I went over to the field
bordering the area and climbed through the fence, then over to the area where the
‘Tumshies’ (Turnips) appeared every year, we used to wait until they were the
size of footballs and use them as lanterns at Halloween time, we would eat the centre
fleshy part of course. Now they were as yet very small and not even the size of golf
balls, I looked over and as I did so put my hands on the thin white wire that bordered the
field. This was my very first encounter with an electric fence. Naturally I leapt back and
fell over; at that point. I first saw the small sign attached to the fence some way away.
‘Danger Electric Wire’ the actual shock was no more than a small thump on the
elbows and a sting on my hands.
Wullie was still in the wooded area and so I thought I would get one up on him, I crawled
under the fence and went back into the field about ten metres or so. “Hi Wullie”
I shouted Come and see what I have found” or something similar, after a time Wullie
appeared and stood on the other side of the small wire fence, “come on” I
shouted, “what is it” from Him’ “come and see this” from me. He
then moved forward and in doing so grabbed the fence in both hands.
Well, that was it, his language was unprintable and he jumped over and punched me on the
nose, that stopped me laughing for a time, he had obviously lost his sense of humour,
“Idiot” or something from him, we never spoke to each other for a short time,
like a half an hour or so.
When one is young there are two forces at work, Mega or Minor, very long or very short,
and so on, this peters out as one ages. We were as if nothing had happened within the
hour. But then unfortunately something did happen. Having made our way back to the large
football area it was now our intention to go up to the reservoir, about half the way along
the track there is a stile and a narrow dirt track between two fields that leads to the
road outside the park area. Having reached the stile we saw that a youth about fourteen or
so sitting on the top rung and when we tried to climb over he said, “no, you are not
using this stile.” He did not appear to be outwardly offensive or show any
inclination to attack us, or anything like that, we argued for a time but he was
unrelenting and then suddenly Wullie just ran at him. At this point I have to say that I
was carrying a lemonade or whatever bottle which was half filled with water, as Wullie
struggled with the fellow I unfortunately swung the water bottle and the guy had just
pulled back, the bottle caught Wullie right across his nose, blood everywhere. The guy
just stared, he said, “that was not me” or something and I could see that he was
quite shaken, he then ran off, I think that he was just messing around out of boredom more
than any need to bully us.
I thought that Wullie at the time would have gone absolutely haywire, but he did nothing
of the sort, he just held his nose and said, “we will go home now Jamsie” he did
not at the time show that he was in pain, but the fact was, his nose was quite badly
broken, I now believe that the septum was badly damaged, I suspected that his attitude
towards me would change, but no, we remained the best of friends until he and his family
migrated to Canada. The nose? Well it was very badly disfigured but I hope, and indeed
suspect that he would have it reconstructed, as he got older. About one month after he got
to Canada he wrote to me, he would be around fifteen then, he explained that he had to go
back to school till he became sixteen or eighteen, I replied but that was the last I heard
of or from him.
I have tried to get some information by scouring the Internet but have come up with
nothing so far. Well my dear friend William, if you ever get to read this you will know
that I am alive and kicking and would love to hear from you, also. I am still so sorry
about the nose job. So Wullie, wherever you are, Best wishes. Wee Jamsie.
A tear
I have never really given it much thought until now, it is just one of those things that
happen to everyone at some time or other. I am speaking of a tear not a rip but a tear
shed from the eye or the eyes, people have the oddest idea about tears without realizing
the basic facts, for example what physically causes a tear, that little salty water drop
to cover the lens of the eye, and at times a simple film, at others, almost a torrential
downpour? Tears are not simply because there is physical pain, or to clear dust or
lubricate the eye, on the other hand tears are definitely caused by mental or emotional
pain. I looked it up on the internet because I remember an American fellow saying that
tears are sacred and are not the mark of weakness, they are more a mark of power, of ones
own mental power, and that a tear can say a lot more than a million words can say, a tear
cannot lie, tears tell us of tragedy of deep sorrow and of course of genuine emotional
love.
It is of course too late to insert it now, but it was the power of the emotional tears
from the eyes of my daughter Dawn that allowed me to give up smoking without any
withdrawal symptoms at all. It was the death of my young daughter in law Deidre that
caused me the most mental pain and physical tears that I had ever had to endure. I shed a
tear when each of my daughters were born and at other emotional times related to their
activities. I have shed deep emotional tears for others and never seen a single deep
emotional tear related to genuine affection regarding me from anyone other than my
Grandmother my daughter Dawn, and my Dogs Jyoti and Whisky, perhaps in the fullness of
time, who knows? I am willing to bet that anyone who reads this little section will stop
and think, and I bet that will lead to a tear being shed for someone or many, because
tears of love never die.
A recent BBC news article (Early March 2003) about violence against women left me cold. I will not go into the article but it is obvious that there is a problem there, and sadly the problem is greater in Scotland than it is anywhere in the UK. That shocked me, I for whatever reason had the feeling that England then Wales would have been worse, but I know that Ireland fares better.
Where do I fit into this scenario? Well you already know my upbringing from my childhood until now, so I will not say anything more on that score. But, there is something that I now feel that I must say that I have omitted to mention in the past. My grandmother’s daughter Margaret appeared at our home at intervals, the lady was an absolute nutcase and when she was there she made my life a misery. I will not say anymore, but suffice to say that the Police had to attend the house because of her antics at one time. As a child I had nightmares of her continually screaming at my Gran. But, from my youngest days I have always revered females, I suspect it comes from my relationship with my Gran I had no one else. Ladies were to me majestic creatures, with very few exceptions. With all my relationships and my own children of course I have never lifted my hand in anger, not once. Amanda had her little bum slapped when she was about four for continually wetting herself when she was outside playing, but that slap was gentle and not done in anger.
And back to reality once again, it was looking at the swings in the children’s play area in Kirkhill on Edwards site, that I remembered another little item, right out of the blue. The swings area had a few changes over my few years there. I suppose that the greatest change is that since my friends and I left there the area has been decimated. There appear to be no children in the area now so what is the need for swings? Just a large area of well-tended grass, what is that all about?
This little incident took place when I was about 12 or possibly a little older, well my body was that age but my brain (along with my other friends) was around seven at the time. There was a maypole and close by a kind of roundabout, the one round metal railings, one would initially run like the clappers holding a bar and then jump on, it would continue for a couple of minutes or so before coming to an abrupt stop, then we had to push the thing again.
I think there was about four or five of us, and in this case also a girl, a wee lassie, to coin the vernacular phrase. I cannot remember her name, she lived in the tenements in Kirkhill of course as did the most of us, (except me, I was a posh boy), (about as posh as ‘Daft Wullie’). I cannot remember how it started, but some clown thought it would be a good idea to tickle the girl’s legs with nettles, we all by now had long trousers but the girl had a skirt of course. She was sitting on the rail in the centre of the roundabout and so the antics began, at first one of the lads started fooling around with the nettles and before long the others joined in. Enter the hero, I just could not take this torture, and started to shout at them to stop, they just laughed, eventually the girl got off the roundabout thing and went over to the railings alongside the road and sat there, they even carried on tormenting her as she sat on the grass bank she never flinched, I would have legged it by now if it was I being ‘nettled’ I tried to stop them but to no avail, they just shoved me away, I then plucking up the courage went and sat beside her. Actually I now think that she must have been about 12ish, because she had boobs.
Then getting bored, after a time they got fed up with this nonsense and started on something else. I on the other hand went over to the area next to the road where the railway wall ended and got a pile of dock leaves and the other whitish scented plant, which was used to rub on nettle stings. I came back and was about to rub the stuff on her leg and then suddenly remembered that I was scared to death of girls. I simply handed the plants to her and she made a show of rubbing her legs with the stuff. After a while she got up and went home. I know that it is stoopid, but I felt so sorry for her.
It was a few weeks or so later that I saw the girl again, I was actually in Myrtles wee shop when she came in. “Hello James”, she ventured, I muttered something very elegant and sublime like “Hi” then she said “it never hurt me you know” I just looked in amazement, “How” Well she said, the nettles had been cut the day before and the sting fades after an hour or so, I never felt a thing.” I then On the other hand felt like a fool. She then said just before I went weak in the knees. “It was a very nice thing that you did for me anyway, I will never forget that, or something similar. I think that I fell in love again. I dearly wish that I could remember her name. I am guessing it could have been Helen; actually the more I think back the more sure I feel that it was Helen she was of normal build, not skinny, ‘Italian boy’ style brown hair. I am willing to bet she would remember that incident.
Addendum
I have just found the pictures of St Brides Infant School on Edwards site, along with hundreds of pictures, very good. What a shame that was, I cannot see the reasoning behind its soon to be ‘demise.’ I look at the various other schools in the Cambuslang area and to me St Brides is by far the youngest of them all. Many of the others look like some of the ancient crumbling Pompeian Monasteries by comparison? I suspect that someone is going to make something out of that statement, cash-wise I mean. Well forgive me if I again remark on the subject and my love for politicians and their likes. They; I compare with babies nappies, both need changing frequently and for exactly the same reason.
I can personally remember so well some of my own times in St Brides, right from day one; I was the only kid who was not crying his head off. My years there were some of the best of my young life, as I think that everyone knows what my younger days were like. There, I made so many friends, was often introduced to some of the kids parents and was in frequent contact with persons of the contradictory gender. Something that was very new to me at the time and which I am and will always be eternally grateful.
Thank you yet again Edward for the pictures and the information of course, I so wish that I could have gone back when you had the ‘do’ I would have loved to have one last look around before it is all gone. Incidentally, where will the ‘New’ School be situated, and for that matter, also the secondary?
Exploding a myth
(Nov 2013)
When I first left Cambuslang in Scotland and moved south, (having very little choice in
the matter) one of the first things that I noticed about my fellow southern military
friends was their continued mickey-taking over each other, but in particular and rather
more venomously over the Scots. Their main jibe was as to how tight fisted the Scots were,
followed by the Scottish accent. Well I can almost agree with that item, “ah mur
gonny gang doon toon noo” was just short of captain Kirks Klingon speak. Then it was
the Scots particular choice of foods, totty poundins, tumshie salted porridge and so on.
What to me seemed to be the Englishman’s greatest taunt however, and which seemed to
be their favourite was the tight fisted thing. However the thing that I noticed more than
anything else was just how financially mean in every way they were themselves. When I took
umbrage at these remarks they would quickly laugh and come up with some other nonsense. In
other things however it was a different story, our ability to get our boots to a
superlatively better shine than their own, they unhesitatingly applauded, the perfection
of the state of our uniforms, our sharpshooting abilities our training in general. In fact
our permanent staff and instructors consisted of a proportionally greater number of Scots
than from any of the other UK countries, why was that I wondered?
Daily Mail Online, October 2013: - Generous Scots appear to have debunked
the old stereotype that they are stingy misers as they give more to charity than the
average Englishman and a third more than Londoners.
The Ipsos Mori poll released today found Scottish households with incomes of less than
£150,000 gave away an average of £356 last year.
Yet Londoners donated almost £100 less - £268 - despite earning 25 per cent more than
the Scots.
Overall Scotland is the most generous nation in the UK on average,
followed by Wales on £328 and England on £285. Northern Ireland was not included in the
survey.
On the eve of Comic Relief, a new study also shows that those in poorer areas also donate
more to good causes than their richer counterparts in the south and east of England.
There are 53 million in England 83.9% of UK (Not all of English origin of course)
There are 5.2 million in Scotland 8.3% of UK Again not all Scots
There are 3.5 Million in Wales. 4.8% not so many non-Welsh?
In my previous meanderings I pointed out that when delivering meat etc from the Co-Op to
the Burnside road folk I could remember just one occasion where I received a tip (3
Pence), then after a time circumstances directed me to delivering in the dingy flats in
the tenement areas of Cambuslang. I honestly cannot remember delivering to a dingy little
slum flat and not getting something as a tip, mostly some small cash but on occasions an
apple even a sausage sandwich on one occasion, Why the great difference between these
Scottish folks? Well it is quite a simple thing to deduct, my time in India has taught me
some things also along those lines, incidentally I have been in many other countries and
have seen similar goings on.
To me it seems that the likely reasons for the differences in the generosity or lack of
the same stems from quite a young age, firstly; if a person comes from a well to do
family, the chances are that he or she quite simply just cannot tolerate the fact that if
they were to loose their wealthy status, then they would simply become one of the little
ragamuffins that they saw around them, subsequently they would do everything that they
could to maintain the upper class status that they were used to living, subsequently they
would hang on firmly to what they already had.
As they grew older the mental set that they had emblazoned in the neuronal system of their
brain would take over, they would then become the Scrooges’ in the system. The
thought of losing their high status would gradually take over completely and they would
become as stingy as possible, in addition to maintain this financial upper status they
would become progressively worse, they would do everything within their grasp to become as
rich as possible. This then followed by multiple offshore bank accounts.
Personally, what I simply cannot understand is why people with literally billions stashed
away continue to grab even more, and this frequently at the expense of the poor. So, here
in India, which proportionately is just about the poorest country in the world, but with
35 Billionaires and some of the richest people in the world remains one of the poorest
countries in the world and with the highest population, example, I infant dies every 15
seconds. Over four hundred thousand newborns die within the first 24 hours of their lives
every year, Source: - Times of India newspaper.
People who are poor from the start, and remain poor do not have these problems; they are
more contented with their lives, the old saying. “If you have never had it then you
will never miss it.” Well that’s me in a nutshell.
Proportionally what the Daily Mail Newspaper above is unknowingly saying is “ The
average Scot is poorer, subsequently he gives more out to the poor, and the English
(Mostly Londoners) have got more of it and they are not going to give any of it away, they
are just too worried about ever becoming poor, so to protect their lavish lifestyle they
are going to keep what they have got, they will try to get much more and sod everyone
else.
Industrious Scots Generalisations
I know that the two avid and faithful readers of my meanderings will take offence at the
following article but I swear that it is fact, it can be proven and what’s better,
contrary to much of the fantasy e.g. the misrepresentation to the exact facts, it can be
easily proven.
Many people innocently; and through their misguided childhood by some school staff and
other less well informed protagonists, who themselves were indoctrinated by
self-aggrandising foreign propagandists, check it out. Very few people know this very
important fact, it was the English, and not the French who initially invented the absolute
cure for balding, dandruff, headaches, facial acne, and just plain ugly they called it
‘The Halifax Gibbet.’ True; everyone in Europe for reasons much too complicated
to go into think that it was the French who came up with this cure for dandruff,
‘wrong’ it was the Jocks, it was they who perfected the English system, it was
called ‘The Maiden.’ Remember; the Scots have this affinity with the Frogs, not
because they loved them, but because they hated the English, and indeed many still do.
Well that was almost absolutely true; I have to further correct a wee bit. It was somewhat
later that the head improver became better known as a way to stop females nagging, and it
was the Jocks that came up with the improved design. Contrary to the rumour that the
Scottish lopped off the heads of those who deserved it just so that they could save money
by making coffins just so much shorter and to again save the gravediggers an hour or so
and subsequently save cash into the bargain. That was not the case, otherwise they would
have made the graves vertical, and it’s so very obvious.
Dr Joseph Ignace Guillotin, in spite of being French was a gentleman, a bit like me I
suppose, he was a mild mannered chap who disliked the extraordinary way that ordinary
people were hanged, thrashing and kicking and so on, whilst the rich were afforded the
pleasure in France of having their heads chopped off, quick and painless. They must have
enjoyed the system, as there is no record of anyone complaining after decapitation, it
must therefore have been the most acceptable method.
In 1789 Mr Guillotin put to the French Assembly the Idea of the big head knife, three
years later it was produced. In the ten years following it’s initiation into the
French system of preventing coughs and sneezing spreading diseases 15,000 people were
cured of their maladies. One Mr Adolf Hitler took it up subsequently and from 1938 to
1945, 40,000 people had no further use for their hats.
The more I see of the moneyed classes,
The more I understand the Guillotine.
GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
But, on the other hand, the Scots had nothing to do with the introduction of the
colourful wee skirt that is commonly called ‘The Kilt.’ Why the men choose to
wear this remains a mystery to me. On the other hand I know that it was the Irish who
invented the kilt, why they did this I do not know, perhaps it was something sexual, e.g.
quicker to fold up than remove the trousers, perhaps the overeating of spuds which on
their own make a grand laxative had something to do with it, so; ‘droppemquick? The
word ‘kilt’ is in fact Danish (kilte op) basically ‘tuck up’ (spelt
with T not F)
As my two distant co-conspirators already know, (They read so I write, I suspect that they
are holed up in an institution somewhere in Auchtermuchty.) Scotland is a comparatively
recent name given to the land of my dreams; I have dealt with the Scotti/Caledonia in the
past and so on so I shall not repeat that bit. Bagpipes are ancient foreign instruments of
torture that are mentioned in the Old Testament, but there again even the various
religions do not take the old testament as anything more than the demented meanderings of
one of my own forefathers, (and Mothers) but to the true Scot they are sacred instruments
and can be used to help Scots get a good nights sleep, (Along with a large glass of Nippy
Sweety of course) The Romans brought them in having got the Idea from the Greeks.
Haggis is an ancient Greek Sausage (One Mr Aristophanes mentions one exploding in The
Clouds in 423 BC) (That’s why sausages are called bangers)? Sheesh it gets worse.
‘Ode to a Haggis’ Last verse From Rabbi Burns poem, Not
to be read by Chuchters. Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out
their bill O bill O fare Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But,
if ye wish her gratefu' prayer Gie her a haggis!
Porridge: this again is as Scottish as Chicken Tikka Masala was Indian.
Porridge has been found in Neolithic bodies buried some five thousand years ago in
Scandinavia and central Europe. The good thing about that is, if it could still be
identified after all this time, there must be something special about it? Of course it is
possible that some Jocks were simply on holiday at the time there and they died as a
result of eating the Porridge with sugar rather than the salt that I am assured is
preferred in Caledonia. Actually whilst I am on the subject. Chicken Tikka Masala Was
invented in Glasgow in Scotland in 1960, and now it is exported to India and Pakistan. It
has now the grand reputation of being Britain’s most popular dish. That is according
to the then Foreign Sec; Mr Robin Cook.
Whisky is not of Scottish lineage, believe it or not. It was invented in
China; I have it on trust that it first went to Ireland, Who incidentally; cannot even
spell the name correctly i.e. WhiskEy, there is no E in whisky, only ethanol, (the proper
name for alcohol)! However first distilled by Monks? Or was it Monkeys? The name anyway
comes from the Irish Gaelic, ‘uisge beatha’ which in turn comes from the Latin
‘aqua vitae’, or water of life. Now that is something that I can honestly
believe in.
Tartan? The whole elaborate system of clan tartans is nonsense. Actually;
all highland dress was banned around the 17 hundreds. The English Garrison Regiments
started using the tartan as an affectation and to mark some special royal occasion or
similar. Subsequently it became a Victorian craze. So there!
Now then, enough of the negatives let us look at the positives. The Scots invented so many
of the things that we take for granted every day, and let us not forget that so many of
the things that are in use today but never mentioned were invented by Scots who left
Scotland for different lands. It is a fact that there are more Scots in the USA than there
are in Scotland the same goes for Canada.
Adhesive stamps; prior to this, one had to purchase glue before sending ones letters. And
you will not believe this one, but check it out. In 1694 The Bank of England, Sir William
Patterson being one of the founders England was in stuck for cash, the French were
knocking on the door, Mr Patterson supplied the 1.2 million Pounds to get the English out
of the S*** Paterson relocated to Edinburgh, where he was able to convince the Scottish
government to undertake the Darién scheme, a failed attempt to found an independent
Scottish Empire in what is today Panama.
Paterson himself personally accompanied the disastrous Scottish expedition to Panama in
1698, where his wife and child died and he became seriously ill. On his return to Scotland
in December 1699, he became instrumental in the movement for the Union of Scotland and
England, culminating in his support of the Act of Union 1707. He spent the last years of
his life in Westminster, and died in January 1719. A mystery still surrounds the burial
site of Paterson. Oh yes he was a very famous little Jock. Bicycle pedals, these were a
Scottish invention. I have often wondered about this one, it’s a bit like a knife
without a handle, a car without an engine, a needle without a hole for the thread? An
Englishman with nothing to complain about and so on. What good was a bike without pedals?
Which just reminded me of something else. Bicycle pedals, these were a Scottish invention.
I have often wondered about this one, it’s a bit like a knife without a handle, a car
without an engine, a needle without a hole for the thread. An Englishman with nothing to
complain about and so on. What good was a bike without pedals? Which just reminded me of
something else.
The first two road signs to be erected were the Steep down gradient sign, and the sharp
bend ahead sign on the steep slopes. The reasoning behind these two were, in the early
days, when the first bicycles were introduced, there were no pedals and no steering
either? I remember it now from my early police driver instructor days, (I was not a plod
at the time, I had left the Police a long time before this) there were no brakes either,
the young men in the more prosperous areas of Scotland and England (Forget the Welsh)
would dash along boldly on their newly acquired machines, having little knowledge of
kinetic energy co efficiency, and non vertical deviational tangential pressures, they
would attack anything.
Bovril, a Scottish invention, I wish it wisney, jings, I hate the stuff.
It was invented by the Scottish entrepreneur John Lawson Johnston, who built a factory in
Quebec, Canada, to cope with his enormous windfall from the French Ministry of War. He
used meat off-cuts to make Fluid Beef which he renamed Bovril from the words Bos, the
Latin for a cow, and vril, meaning the makers of Bovril, which began life in 1873 as the
by-product of a Scottish businessman's contract to supply a million cans of beef to the
French army. It’s no wonder that the frogs are so crap in action.
There are so many more inventions that could be added, the following are but a few of
these. It would take me so long to do the research on all of these and before I had
finished I dare say that many more would have been invented in the meantime. The basic
message however is. In spite of the fact that the Scottish population is only about seven
percent of the population of the United Kingdom, they can justifiably be very proud of
their accomplishments in the field of Science and related subjects.
I have searched the Internet for many hours and have found so much in the way of
inventions and so on that can be attributed to the Scottish scientists and of course many
other ordinary citizens, the following is just a few of those found, I suspect that there
are so many more, hundreds in fact. The ones below came from just one source.
I have searched the Internet for many hours and have found so much in the way of
inventions and so on that can be attributed to the Scottish scientists and of course many
other ordinary citizens, far too many to be included here.
In fact I myself invented a wonderful device that makes ladies say Mmmmmmmmmm :----!!!!!!!! For hours and
hours on end, I called it ‘Duct Masking Tape’.
GRAND PIANO 1777
INDOOR TOILET 3200-2200 BC
CRIMINAL FINGERPRINTING 1870s
REFRIGERATOR 1748
MICROWAVE, WIRELESS, MOBILE PHONE ?
FAX MACHINE?
SPEEDOMETER?
CASH MACHINE, PIN NUMBER 1961
BASKETBALL 1891
MRI SCANNER 1980
There are many hundreds more of course. I won’t put them all down as it will upset
the English I’m sure.
23 November 2013
The Story of the Scottish Lady and The Lavatory (Or Water Closet (WC))
Many years ago when I was very young in Scotland, I remember when it was almost impossible to find a public toilet facility. I cannot imagine what it must have been like abroad then, especially in India, where I now live for most of the time, the chances of finding a WC is virtually nil, in fact the complete absence of such facilities has led to everyone, whether it be on a small side road or a three lane main highway in complete darkness or daylight, would utilise the side of the road to have number ones, and sometimes even number twos were, and still are commonplace.
The following is a true, short, and as it turned out, a very funny story; it is about an elderly ‘rather well to do’ Scottish widow who was planning the trip of a lifetime to India after her husband passed on. She had booked in to stay in a small guesthouse in Colva in Goa which was owned by the local schoolmaster. She was concerned as to whether the guesthouse contained a WC. In the UK, a bathroom or toilet is occasionally called a WC, which of course stands for ‘Water Closet’.
It would appear that this, rather genteel, and very upper class lady wrote to the schoolmaster inquiring about the WC amongst other things. The schoolmaster, who was not very fluent in English, asked the local priest if he knew the meaning of WC. Together they pondered possible meanings of the letters and concluded that the lady wanted to know if there was a ‘Wayside Chapel’ near the house…a bathroom or a toilet never entered their minds. Incidentally there are many of these small so-called "Wayside Chapels" in Goa where I live; it is a very Christian state. (Ex Portuguese)
The Hilarious Reply that was despatched of to the lady went something like the following…
Dear Madam, I take great pleasure in informing you that the WC is located 9 miles from the house. It is located in the middle of a grove of pine trees, surrounded by lovely grounds. It is capable of holding 229 people and is open on Sundays and Thursdays. As there are many people expected in the summer months, I suggest you arrive early. There is, however, plenty of standing room. This is an unfortunate situation especially if you are in the habit of going regularly.
It may be of some interest to you that my daughter was married in the WC, as it was there that she met her husband. It was a wonderful event. There were 10 people in every seat. It was wonderful to see the expressions on their faces. We can take photos at different angles.
My own wife sadly, has been ill and unable to go recently. It has been almost a year since she went last, which pains her greatly. You will be pleased to know that many people bring their lunch and make a day of it. Others prefer to wait till the last minute and arrive just in time.
I would recommend your ladyship plan to go on a Thursday, as there is an organ accompaniment. The acoustics are excellent and even the most delicate sounds can be heard everywhere. The newest addition is a bell, which rings every time a person enters. We are holding a bazaar to provide plush seats for all since many feel it is long needed. I look forward to escorting you to the WC myself and seating you in a place where you can see all and everyone can see you of course.
With deepest regards, Mr Agnelo Dias (Schoolmaster.)
It would appear that the lady cancelled her holiday to India immediately.
And now for
something completely different.
Yes, I am aware that this blog is about Scotland, in particular Cambuslang, but the
following few lines affect everyone, and that means those from Cambuslang, and even those;
‘god forbid’ from Rutherglen and Auchtermuchty would you believe?
I am willing to bet that most of my many thousands of faithful and admiring readers have
come across something like the following and have probably never given it much thought at
the time, but I know that some time afterwards they would have thought about it, although
somewhat casually. If they on the other hand read this, I know that they will suddenly
realise exactly what I have said and this will stir some memories, and often, and they
would have been unable to come up with an answer to the conundrum. I know that I have, and
on more than on one occasion also, but always after the incidents had happened and are now
finished, the memories however will remain fresh in their minds.
I think that I was about six years of age at the time, now I don’t know what came
over me, but for some reason it entered my tiny little head that I wanted a train set for
Christmas, some chance of that. The thing was, the previous year at Christmas time I got a
book delightfully called ‘The Wonder Book of Wonders’, (photo somewhere amongst
the meanderings) it was the first present that I had ever been given in my young life, and
it came from my Gran’s oldest daughter, locally known as ‘The Duchess’ I
never saw the lady, she never left her house in Borgie Crescent, even though her mother
(My Gran) lived no more than two hundred yards from her. She really was an odd one and no
mistake.
It was many months away from Christmas that I started to get agitated over the train set
thing, I even kept telling myself that it would not happen, but for reasons unknown I had
it in my mind and it would not go away, it became an obsession, even at that young age I
kept telling myself that I was being stupid, but the thing would not leave my mind.
The fact was, I had never even seen a real train set in my young life, some pictures yes,
but never the real thing, nor to the best of my knowledge had any of my young friends, it
was simply stupid, I had more chance of riding off on Santa’s sled to his big toy
storehouse in the sky than me getting a train set. But, the harder I tried to get the
fantasy out of my head the more firmly it became embedded, I simply could not get it out
of my mind, I did realise that it was simply an impossible dream, but why?
Christmas day arrived and I swear I had given up any Idea of getting any present at all,
never mind a train set, now on thinking back I believe that I was becoming mentally
unhinged it was there twenty four seven. Then I heard someone knock on our door, which was
very odd; it really was a rare thing for anyone to come to our house, especially so very
early in the morning. I got up from my bed and peered out, more through curiosity than
anything else and I saw a smartly dressed tall fellow at the front door, He was wearing a
smart suit and had a hat on, he also had a large grey box over his shoulder, instinctively
I kind of knew that he was carrying a train set, and as it turned out it was. The guy was
my Grans daughter’s husband’s chauffeur; he did not look in the least anything
like Santa. The train set; it had suddenly lost its appeal, perhaps after me obsessing for
so long.
As my gran would not allow me to take the train set out of the house no one believed me,
they thought I was havering and simply took the mickey, even my teacher got word of it and
eventually asked me to take it to school to show all the other children, she never
believed me. I eventually did take the little engine and one carriage it and cleared my by
now tarnished reputation, even the teacher was amazed as were the other kids. Even though
I was only six at the time, I remember that incident vividly, every single bit of it, and
oddly enough I now forget other equally momentous things that happened frequently during
my early school years.
There were quite a few similar oddities that happened after the train set, I won’t go
into them now, but suffice to say that it was things that I was obsessing about at various
times, In the Army, the Police, the Construction industry and of course privately. It was
just three years ago that another weird thing happened, again I never gave it much thought
at the time but now I know that there was something happening that I was unsure of, I
began obsessing again but I could not get it out of my mind. I got an Email from my then
wife, she told me that Deidre (her daughter, she was a truly wonderful child) had Cancer
in her brain, a particularly nasty form and she was told that she would only have about
six months to live. No one in the world had ever survived that form of cancer.
I was in India and Deidre was in the UK, I immediately made the arrangements to go home as
quickly as I could. From that point onward the strangest things started to happen,
although at the time I never really noticed exactly what was happening, that was the usual
situation. My mind was totally on Deidre and very little else.
Arrival at Heathrow and the first thing was that I had to get a new sim card for my mobile
phone; otherwise I was going to have a problem. I went to the bus terminal and the lady
informed me that the bus due for Oxford was full, but she said that If I waited at the
stop there was a chance that someone may not have arrived, the bus would leave at exactly
2330Hrs, Ok without much hope in my head I waited, the bus arrived, the driver got out and
took a suitcase from the stowage compartment and a guy got off the bus muttering to
himself, obviously for whatever reason he had decided to get a later bus or whatever, I
climbed aboard got the only vacant seat, just behind the driver and on the left hand side
next to the isle. Sat down and tried to get the SIM card activated but to no avail, then
the oddest thing my phone rang, I had put the the Indian SIM card back into it, it was my
daughter Dawn, needless to say I was amazed. “How” I asked her. “
Don’t know, I just thought you might be back in England by now so I just took the
chance.” I gave her the details and she said I will pick you up at the bus terminal,
see you soon.” I had just put the phone back into my pocket and it rang again. I
thought that it was Dawn again but no, it was my wife, and the same conversation ensued. I
was really puzzled, well I still am to tell you the truth. When we left the airport area
and joined the motorway west the driver turned to me and said, “You are Barry,
yes”? I just stared at him; I had worked with him some 25 years before then, in the
Local Garage in Wantage in Oxfordshire. He had a large horse and he let me ride it on one
occasion, what a coincidence, we chatted all the way to Oxford. In the end he took me to a
more acceptable stop on the ring road and my daughter was waiting there for me, strange.
Now the following day I am over at Deidre’s dads place, I have got over the crying
phase, Deidre seems to be calm and not in any way outwardly upset, The following day I
said to Joe, (Her Father, I would go over to Dawn’s place and borrow her car, (the
one I gave her before I left for India) but before I had got fully dressed, someone at the
door, It was Dawn. “Here are the keys for the car dad, I wont need it for now”
(She was a Taxi Driver now) another puzzled look from me. Again at the time, I never gave
the coincidence any thought.
So now Joe, my wife, Deidre and I pile into the Merc and I head off for the Churchill
hospital in Oxford. It was mid winter and freezing, I did not want the child to have to
walk all the way from the outside area, I just had to find a space, somewhere. We
eventually found the appropriate building and there had to be at least 200 cars parked in
the overflowing car park, I drove around for a time with no luck and then on my last
attempt I saw a car pull out from in front of the entrance path, I grabbed it straight
away, well to cut a long story short I had the same weird experience every day for the
next two weeks, There was always just one space available within yards of the entrance,
and not another single space anywhere to be seen. As it so happens Deidre was finished
with this phase of her treatment, I was going back to India that evening. As we came out
of the building I noticed that there was a sticker on my windscreen. “You have
overstayed your allotted time in this car park, any further transgression in future will
result in a fine” or something similar. I just burst out laughing; it was just too
much to take in at that time.
The full impact of these and other strange events over the two weeks did not fully sink in
for a time. It is a complicated thing, but if you just delve into the scientific world of
physics and cosmology you will be made aware of and accept that everything is wave, we
think at the normal level of solids, liquids and gasses as the basic states of matter,
(just for human convenience) but any physicist will tell you that everything is wave, and
wave is instantaneous, imagine a hollow tube 2 billion light years long, fill it with
marbles, push one into this end and one will instantaneously fall out of the other end.
(If you could push hard enough.)Your thought is similar, it is wave, and it is
instantaneous. So where do we go from here. On my way back to Goa I had to change planes
in Mumbai (Bombay) bored out of my mind now I went through the stalls and looking for
something to read on my flight to Goa, I came across just one small book that looked
promising, it was aptly named. ‘The Secret’, it was only after eventually
reading this I came to the conclusion that it was the reason why all of those strange
happenings occurred. It basically states; - If you wish for something hard enough and can
put your full mind into it without distraction, you will achieve what you were asking for.
So, My train set, my visit to Deidre, and many other strange things that happened at
various times in my life, there had to be something there. The hardest thing here is to
fully concentrate on the thing that you are looking for; you must not obsess on the power
of attraction itself, only on the required end result, it is very difficult to do, the
mind tends to wander.
I think that one of the saddest things that I ever experienced in my life was when Deidre
and various others were sitting in a small room and were being informed of all the
procedures, medicines radiation treatment and so on, Deidre asked the nurse “Will I
live long enough to go to my party with all my friends in mid July” that really
stoned me, it was one of the worse moments that I had ever experienced in my life. Deidre
died exactly two years after my first visit there. That floored me as much as it did when
my Gran died and the army would not allow me to go home for her funeral, but that is
another story.
Basic facts.
We all know about the three basic states of matter; solid, liquid and gas.
The fourth state of matter above gas is plasma. Plasma is ionized gas.
The fifth state of matter above plasma is beam.
Thought wave is the sixth state of matter. Thought wave exists at a
higher energetic level than beam. Thought wave can move even faster than beam. It moves at
the speed of infinity. It is at once here and at once there. Thought wave is local and
nonlocal, it is instantaneous.
Basically, if you wish for something hard enough and you put your whole mind to it you
will achieve it as I did many times, although unknowingly my epistemic ambivalence held me
back at times when I could have done with it. Good luck anyway.
End
