WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT, WELL READ ON ! In 1967 a Dr. R.Klein of West London related a little known story about Hans Christian Anderson : Most people believe that the channel tunnel was first thought of around the year 1881, But one of Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tales, " In a thousand years ", told of a time when the americans would be eager to travel to europe in only 8 days and part of their journey would be through a tunnel under the English Channel to France. This story was first published in 1853. HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED WHERE SOME OF OUR OLD SAYINGS CAME FROM ? , WELL READ ON ! The next time you find you have no hot water or things are not quite how you would like them, Come with me for a journey and take a look at what life was like back in 16th century Britain. Most people got married in June, because they took their yearly bath in May and still smelled pretty good by June. However they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. ' Hence the custom of brides carrying a bouquet when getting married '. Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privalege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children-last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty, you could actually lose someone in it-hence the saying ' Don't throw the baby out with the bath water ' Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for the animals to get warm, so all the dogs, cats and any other small animals ( mice and bugs ) lived in the roof. when it rained, it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof-hence the saying ' It's raining cats and dogs'. There was nothing to stop things falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could rearly mess up your nice clean bed. Hence a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded protection. Thats how ' Four poster canopy beds came into existence ' House floors were dirt, only the wealthy had something other than dirt,hence the saying ' Dirt poor ' The wealthy had slate floors, these would get wet and slippery in the winter, so they spread thresh (straw) on the floor to help keep their footing. As time wore on, they just added more thresh until when they opened the door it would all start slipping outside, so they fitted a piece of wood across the bottom of the door frame-hence a ' Threshold '. Cooking was done in the kitchen in a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot, Mostly vegetables as they did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over again the next day. Some times the stew had food in it that had been there for quite awhile-hence the rhyme ' Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old ' On rare occasions they would get some pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could ' Bring home the Bacon '. They would cut off a little piece to share with guests and would sit around and ' Chew the fat '. Bread was devided according to status, workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and the guests got the top, or ' The upper Crust '. Those with money had plates made of pewter. food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach into the food, causing lead poisoning and death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so tomatoes were considered to be poisonous. Drinking cups and tankards were also made of lead and were used to drink ale or whisky from. the poison effect would sometimes knock them out for a couple of days. Some were mistaken for being dead and were laid out on the kitchen table and prepared for burial. For a couple of days, the family would gather around to eat and drink and to wait and see if the body would wake up hence the custom of ' Holding a Wake '. Britain was an old and fairly small place in those days and the locals soon ran out of places to bury people, so they would dig up old coffins, remove the bones to a ' bone house ' and reuse the coffin and grave. When opening some of these old coffins 1 in every 25 were found to have scratch marks on the underside of the lid, they soon realised that they had been burying people alive !. So in future they decided to tie a string around the corpses wrist, up through the coffin and soil to the surface and tie a small bell to the end. Someone would then have to sit out in the graveyard hence the ' Graveyard Shift 'and listen for the bell, thus someone could be ' Saved by the Bell ' or was considered a ' Dead Ringer '. Everything written here is the truth, whoever said history was boring ? TAKE CARE WHEN SENDING PEOPLE YOUR E-MAILS & GET THE ADDRESS RIGHT ! After being snow bound in Seattle, a man left for Miami where he was to meet his wife the next day following her business trip to Minneapolis. They were looking forward to some warm weather. But there was a mix-up at the boarding gate and he was told he'd have to catch a later flight. He appealed to a supervisor but was told the airline was not responsible for the problem. Upon his arrival next day, he discovered that Miami was as uncomfortably hot as Seattle had been cold. The hotel desk clerk gave him a message that his wife would arrive as planned. He quickly sent his wife an e-mail but due to his haste he made an error in the address. His e-mail arrived at the home of a preacher's wife whose husband had died the day before. when the grieving widow open her e-mail, she screamed and fell to the floor dead. Her family saw this message on the screen : Dear wife, Departed yesterday, Only just checked in. Some confusion at the gate. Appeal was denied. Received confirmation of your arrival tommorrow. Your Loving Husband. P.S. you're going to be surprised how hot it is down here. " THE REFLECTIONS OF A NEW LEAD When I contemplated playing bowls, I knew not what to do, About how to enter the game, I didn't have a clue. I arrived in time for my first game, I think they called it ' fours ' Took all the balls out of my bag, I didn't know the laws. The other guys explain to me, " you've made a silly blue ", I said " Whats the point of having four if you're only using two." My apponent whispered in my ear, " In time you'll work that out," But here's a thing you'll learn right now, It's up to you to shout." I rushed into the bar and yelled, " Eight pints of beer - I think, You'd better make it XXXX or is it some other beer they drink ?" I brought the tray back to the rink and handed drinks around, The coin was tossed, the mat was placed, my coin I never found. " You only had to buy two drinks you stupid bloody cluck", " You should have told me sooner pal, I could have saved a buck. " We all shook hands, the day was fine, the green was running fast, " I've never played this game before, do you mind if I go last." The skipper looked at me up and down, he began to fear the worst, "If you're a novice bowler mate, it's best if you go first." I took a run up to the mat as nervous as could be, It hit his foot, ran up his leg, rebounded off his knee. " You're just a little quick my son, " I saw the skipper mime, " You've got another bowl mate, try underarm this time." My team mates tried to counsel me, "calm down you'll get the ticket," " I've just turned sixty two", I said, " and just retired from cricket." If I played a bowl that fell short the skip went off his rocker, But when he did a similar thing he was putting in a blocker? If I played a bowl well past the head, he said "you'll get the knack," If the skip did as I did," it's in case they trail the jack." I tried to play another shot I thought would make him proud, I missed the target and the ditch and landed in the crowd. " Now listen here old son ", he said, his face was stern and gritty, "You're job in this here game is drawing to the kitty." I apologised for my mistake and took in what he'd said, " I'm sorry Mr Skipper, sir, I must have lost my head". My first attempt at playing bowls was really quite a farce, The skipper kept on telling me, "you've got to take more grass." I stood and watched the other bloke as he took his turn to bowl, It was then I learnt that taking grass was not the stuff you roll. I took my stance upon the mat, " I've got good grass, I think?" But the bowl it turned the other way and drew shot on next doors rink. I remembered reading in a book how to sort my bias out, The little ring to the inside - now I knew what that's about! The game progressed we had a ball, I didn't keep the score, I guess you loose some interest when you continually drop a four. But we made a mighty comeback, our team was on the mend, The score was locked at 20 all as we began the final end. The skipper pulled us all aside and with a cheeky grin, Said " Don't quite know how you blokes feel, but I'm out here to win." He glared me sternly in the eye, his steely stare could cut ya, My bowl went down," you beauty mate, a resting bloody toucher." I tried in vain to hide my glee, I think my bowls a winner, And the skip was turning cartwheels screaming, "This guy is no beginner." Although they tried to shift my bowl with with shots of no real class, Our skip was keeping well away, by taking heaps of grass. My bowl stayed there, we won the match and ambled off the green, And I knew that I was the greatest piece of arse this game had ever seen. We talked about it afterwards, how we won by just one shot, But the best time came when all those blokes shouted back that bloody pot. I took time out to find a coach who taught me by the letter, I'm pleased to say I've learnt a lot, and now play much better. The years have passed, I'm hooked on bowls ,though not achieving fame, but I still tell all and sundry how I won that bloody game ! BOWLERS We see them all around. Immaculately dressed in white, adorned with a variety of coloured badges, full of purpose and zeal.No, they're not in the klu klux klan or acolytes of the lord High Panjandrum of the mystic Lodge of the east.They are lawn bowlers ! In everyday clothes they are perfectly normal people, friends and neighbours. But put them into bowls clothes and they become the greatest collection of assorted fruit cakes you'd ever be likely to meet. Picture if you would a typical bowls club. Beautifully manicured lawns in a garden setting, - A scene of tranquillity. Is it a coincidence, do you think, that cemeteries are laid out like this nowdays. Lots of cars parked by the clubhouse but hardly a soul to be seen. That is until somewhere from within the depths of the temple a bell rings ! Someone speaks into a microphone and out from the clubhouse pours what looks like a rabble of disorientated ice cream vendors. They mill around like lost sheep before settling into groups around the manicured lawns. The scene becomes as animated as a seance. Prayer mats are reverently laid and white balls are rolled to what appear to be individual attendants the other people in the group then take turns at hurling odd shaped balls at them in a most circuitous route, Like you need to go north so you head west. And when everyone has had a go at this, mostly without success judging from the anguished cries which often occur, they realise that their prayers are not being answered so they take out their frustrations by kicking these balls into a heap and they start all over again, and again and again until another bell summonses them back into the temple when a great sigh of relief is heard. Then they all pack up and troop back into the clubhouse where they proceed to bore each other witless with embroidered accounts of the events long gone and what might have been, Ttey complain about the weather, the green, their bowls, their luck and especially a group called the selectors. Well to be fair, they can't be held accountable, after all just what have they got to choose from? And anyway, who in their right mind would even take on such a recipe for disaster. It seems that these people drink to obliterate their frustrations and finally wend their unsteady way home to dream of that illusive perfect bowl the ultimate accolade of success. THE BOWLING GREEN AS MY CHURCH The minister of the local church had challenged one of his congregation for bowling on a sunday instead of being at the church service last week. The errant bowler chose to defend his absence from the pew by stating that the bowling club represented the bible and it's teaching in the following ways. When I walk through the gates at the club and see the beauty of the greens and surrounds, I think of the promised land which Moses pledged to his people when he led them out of slavery in Egypt. When I look at the perfectly smooth surface of the green I am reminded that Jesus said " I am able to make the rough places smooth". The perfectly measured square of the greens tells me that I must square all my actions with my fellow man and with God my maker. As I look around the flowerbeds, shrubs and roses I am reminded of the beauty of the Garden of Eden and the harsh lessons that god taught to Adam and Eve. Seing the happy bowlers on the green, calling joyously to each other and applauding their opponents shots, I recall that we are called upon to live in peace and harmony with all, and to love even our enemies including those who may take out our lying shots. As I approach the clubhouse I think of that great mansion in the sky that awaits me when toil of this earthly life is past.In the locker room I see all the individual lockers and remember how we are taught that, "In my fathers house there are many mansions". As I take my bowls out of the case, they speak to me of the roundness of the world and how God created it all in six days but rested on the seventh,( probaly to play bowls). As I walk through the lounge I spot Graham, Bob, Jim and Andy enjoying their beer, I think of that other land flowing with milk and honey. On the green the skip calls on me to play narrow on the backhand, which tells me that it is on the straight and narrow path that will come to glory. After the end is played and we watch the third counting out the number of shots, I think of all the great commandments represented by, One : There is but one God and skip, Two : The two testaments of the Bible, old and new, Three : The three great tenets, Faith, Hope, Love, Four : The four gospels, Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, Five : the five foolish virgins who entered the triples. Six : the great commandment " Thou shalt not Kill" Seven : Thou shalt not commit adultery ( then remember where I left my bowling hat). Eight : The great miracle it would be if we ever scored an eight. Then it comes to the after match speeches, I am reminded of the great throng of angels dressed in spotless white garments who gather before the throne while the president thanks the ladies for the very welcome refreshments..So Minister perhaps you see that my activity at the bowling club can be my church and in the great game of bowls we are ever nearer to god than you might think. Written by : Jim Allen NOBODY'S DARLING Up and down, walking walking Often measuring, sometimes chalking; Shifting mats - keeping score, thirty ends, maybe more; Aching back - tired of limb, cheers for others, none for him, Night draws on, darker darker, No one cares for he's the marker ! SITTING ON THE SEAT I wonder if you notice when you walk upon the green How oft a candid critic is already on the scene No matter who your friends may be or who you chance to meet You will find the perfect bowler there "sitting on the Seat." He greets you patronisingly then ridicules your stance And says you need not play your game, you've lost it in advance. His vivid reminisences so varied and replete are constantly repeated whilts "Sitting on the Seat." Should it be your misfortune to trundle down a wide His voice resounds across the green sarcastic aside. He draws intricate diagrams so accurate and neat Which makes you wonder why he's "Sitting on the Seat." He oft laments the passing of stalwarts of his time. You wish him relegated to a distant torrid time. His instructions flow in torrents much too caustic to repeat. He makes himself a nuisance when he's "Sitting on the Seat." You villify your conscience with a deep and fervent curse. Your only consolation is that matters might be worse. For when your days are over and your training is complete You'll be qualified to join the best bowler "Sitting on the Seat." THE BOWLING SONG We love the game of bowling, As all good bowlers do; And our delight is bowling when the green is fast and true. chorus. A cheery old game is bowling, And cheery old bowlers be; A merry old game is bowling, And bowlers merry are we. We love a bowl with bias, As all good bowlers do; We like to hear, "we lie!" as Our bowl draws sure and true. chorus. A cheery old game is bowling, And cheery old bowlers be; A merry old game is bowling, And bowlers merry are we. We love to get near the "kitty" As all good bowlers do; Elusive as she's pretty, When the green plays fast and true. chorus. A cheery old game is bowling, And cheery old bowlers be; A merry old game is bowling, And bowlers merry are we. We love a resolute skipper, As all good bowlers do; Who firmly boqwls a "ripper", When hid side is looking blue. chorus. A cheery old game is bowling, And cheery old bowlers be; A merry old game is bowling, And bowlers merry are we. We love a genial player, As all good bowlers do; A foeman keen, yet fair, And a thorough sportsman too. chorus. A cheery old game is bowling, And cheery old bowlers be; A merry old game is bowling, And bowlers merry are we. J.R.Traughton ( Australia ) BOWLS IS Bowls is a science, a study of a life time. You may exhaust yourself, but never the subject. Bowls is a contest, calling for courage, skill and control. It is a test of temperament, a trial of honour and revelation of character. Bowls affords the chance to play the man and act the gentleman. It reveals the real sportsman, who accepts victory or defeat with a grin, As victor shakes hands with opponent, hoping for another day to play Again with the same abounding friendship. WHAT IS A VETERAN A 'veteran' is one who was here before the pill, before television,frozen food, credit cards and ball point pens. For the 'veteran', 'time sharing' means togetherness, not computers or holiday resorts, and a 'chip' was a piece of wood or a part of a potato. 'hardware' meant hardware, and 'software' was not even a word. Teenagers never wore slacks, we were before panty hose, drip dry clothes, dishwashers, clothes dryers and electric blankets. We got married first then lived together and thought that clevage was something butchers did. We were before batman, disposable nappys, QE2, jeeps,pizzas, instant coffee and 'kentucky fried' wasn't even a thought in the head of colonel Sanders. In our day, cigarette smoking was fashionable,grass was for mowing not smoking, and pot was something you cooked in. A gay person was the life and soul of the party, while aids meant beauty lotions or to help someone in trouble. We are the' veterans' of today. A hardy bunch when you think how the world has changed and the adjustments we've had to make so that we can now be called A " VETERAN ". PENNANT CALL They beat their breasts and cried out loud, As they faced the northern wall, Where the selectors had placed the 'Pennant teams' On the notice board was their call. There were some that swore and some that cried, And some who stood and muttered Some were proud and some were coy, And others merely stuttered. There were voices raised in anger, Shrill screams split the air, There were those who didn't say a thing, Because they rearlly didn't care. " I wont play with him", one said, "He's a bloody hopeless skip." And one who very quietly said, "It's time I took my trip." There were many self celebrations, There were lot's of "bloody hell's" There wasn't very many who said the selectors had done well. The players knew who should be there, They new who to pick, Just ask them when you hear them say, "That selector is a $$##@@!". Each year the tears get deeper, As on the floor they fall, From those who stand in anguish "BEFORE THE NORTHERN WALL" SOUNDS OF THE GREEN On bowling days on various greens, peculiar sounds and sometimes screams, to passers by it must sound strange, to hear the remarks we bowlers exchange. Where do you want it?, tickle it here, to the unseen listener this must sound queer, you'v to much weight but very nice green, I like it,I like it, then a feminine scream, you'r not up dear, try again. This bowling lingo to me is quite plain but the listeners can be excused if they giggle when the skip say's, I'd like one right up the middle, Don't touch the kitty, Oh Oh you'v got the jack. It shows what happens on the mat. When a voice is heard, you'r making it tough, Put on a bit and make sure you'r up, Bad luck you missed, but you'r weight was right. Ho Ho you'r right it's not to tight Now follow him up but don't kill the end I like you'r style, all the way now bend. The skip moves out to show the track, Now give me one around the back, Be sure you'r there don't touch the head. These are phrases so often said For it's all true as you will find But what must people think of us. When our lingo arouses no fuss. They probably think this tale is tall, But be assured it's all on the ball. Author and date unknown THIS NEXT STORY WAS WRITTEN BY A MEMBER OF MY CLUB, HE IS OVER 80 YRS YOUNG, AND STILL ENJOYS HIS BOWLS AS WELL AS WRITING LOVELY STORIES. HE HAS WRITTEN THIS IN THE "DORIC" A DIALECT WHICH IS SPOKEN HERE IN THE EAST OF SCOTLAND, MAINLY IN THE MORE RURAL COUNTRY AREAS. SO HERE IS JOHN'S STORY OF OOR BOWLERS OOR BOWLERS O WAD SOME POWER THE GIFT TAE GAE US, TAE SEE OORSEL'S AS OTHERS SE US. WHEN BURNS WROTE THOSE WORSDS I THINKG HE WIS WATCHIN THE BOWLERS WHO COMPOSE OUR RINK, SECOND AND THIRD, AN SKIP AN LEID, KIDDEN THEMSELVES THAT THEY'R BUILDING A HEID. RUNNING AB TWISTING AN TURNING ABOOT, TAE BRING THE BOOL IN ,OR MAK IT STAY OOT. I'M SORRY TAE SAY THEY HAVNA A CLUE, BIT LET ME DISCRIBE THEM A TAE YOU. THE LEAD HAS THE HONOUR OF THROWING THE JACK, THO MAIST O THE TIME THEY GET IT RIGHT BACK. THEY ROLL IT THAT CANNY IT'S NAE OWER THE PIN, OR THEY HEAVES IT THAT HARD IT'S THE DITCH IT THUMPS IN. BUT WHEREVER IT STOPS, IT'S ALWAYS THE SAME, THEY NEVER GET'S NEAR IT THE REST OF THE GAME. WE'RE ONLY ALLOWED TAE PLAY TWA BOOLS, ACCORDING TO THE S.B.S. RULES. BIT I THINK IT WID BE A FAR BETTER PLAN, TO SPEED UP THE GAME AN JIST GAE THEM THE WAN. THE SECOND COMES NEXT, THE ONE THEY CA SAFT, BIT DON'T BE BEGUILED THEY'R THE MASTER O THE CRAFT. COVERING UP FOR THE BOOLS O THE LEID, AN DRAWING, AN PLACING, ANBUILDING A HEID. THOLIN THE SKIP, AN IGNORING THE THIRD, PLAYING AWA WITHOUT SAYING A WIRD. I COOD PRAISE THEM A NICHT, FOR THE TRUTH I MAN TELL, I COME FROM A LANG LINE O SECONDS MA'SEL. THE THIRD IS THE NEXT EAN TO COME TAE THE STAUN, AYE READY TAE SAY " OH IT SLIPPET OOT O MA HAUN". THEY'R EITHER YARDS NARROW ,OR ALSE YARDS HIGH, THEY'R HEARD TAE SAE" THERES SOMETHING IN MA EYE". THEY'R ONE O YON THINGS THE LORD SENT TO TRY US. THEY PLAY THE WRANG HAUN, OR ELSE THE WRANG BIAS. BIT AIFTER THE GAME PLAN YE GETS ALL THE CRACK, YE WID THINK THEY HAD CARRIET THE RINK ON THEIR BACK. AN NOO FOR THE SKIP, AS THE THEME O MA PLAY, THEY STAUNS LIKE THE MONARCH AN ATHEY SURVEYS. THEY HAUDS OOT THE LEFT HAUN, AND THEN IT'S THE RICHT, AN MAIST O THE TIME THEY'R AN AWFA LIKE SIGHT. THEY MOAN AT THE SECOND,AN GROAN AT THE LEID, SAYS THAT THE THIRD NIVVER GAES THEM A BOOL IN THE HEID. BUT WHEN THEY COME TAE PLAY FOR THE JACK, THEY PUT'S IN A BLOCKER, OR WAN AT THE BACK. AN IT NIVVER MAITERS WHIT COMPANY THERE IN, THEY'L SAY"WE" GOT BEET, OR "I" MANAGED TO WIN. NOO LISTEN MA FREENS IT MAY SEEM QUEER TAE YOU, HOW THE SECOND GOT SADDLED WI SCI A LIKE CREW. WEEL JIST DINNA THINK THEY TAEN LEAVE O THEIR SENSE, THE LEID HAS A CAR ON THE COMPANY EXPENSES, IT COME IN GAE HANDY FAN TRAVELING ABROAD, AN THE THIRD HAS A PUB AT THE FIT O THE ROAD. THEY AYE HAVE A BOTTLE TAE HELP THINGS ALANG, AN FOR TELLING A JOKE, OR SINGING A SANG. THE SKIP IS THE BEST IN THE HOLE O THE SHIRE, SO WIT MORE CAN A RINK O BOOLERS ASK FOR. JOHN CALDER 1998 THE THINGS THAT BOWLERS SAY While walking past the bowling green one sunny summers day I stopped to watch, survey the scene, of bowlers at their play. The conversation in between is where my interest lay, They sounded anything but clean, THE THINGS THAT BOWLERS SAY. "GIVE ME THE LENGTH, AND DON'T BE SHORT"one lady bowler said, "I WANT IT UP THE MIDDLE HARD, TO TRY AND BURST THE HEAD", "I DON'T WANT YOU TO BURN IT, BUT YOU MUST AT LEAST ATTACK", "DON'T WORRY IF YOU MISS THE PORT, I'VE GOT ONE AT THE BACK". "HIS BOOLS ARE TO WEEL CLUSTERED, THEY NEED A HEAVY CLOUT" No wonder she looked flustered as she went to lift them out, "I'M FAR TO TIGHT" the lady cried her face was frought with grief, Her husband quietly turned aside, his face showed disbelief. Embarrassment encompassed me, my colour must betray What must be clear for all to see, I couldn't walk away They seemed so joyous and carefree,how could they talk that way could my misunderstanding be, THE THINGS THAT BOWLERS SAY. "BILLS BETTER ON THE CARPET AND HE LIKES HIS LITTLE RUB" "WHEN MY MAN'S AWAY TO MARKET, MY THAT BILL'S A SUPER SUB" "HE LIKES FOR ME TO STRETCH IT,THAT EXTRA LITTLE BIT" "HE'S NOT HAPPY JUST TO TOUCH IT,I'VE GOT TO SIT ON TOP OF IT". "HE'LL BEAT YOU ON THE MEASURE,YOU CAN PROP YOUR'S UP A BIT" "HE'LL MEASURE YOU UP WITH PLEASURE AND I BET THERE'S "THAT IN IT" "I MUST ADMIT THEIR HARD TO GRIP, THOSE LITTLE SHORTY JACKS" "BILL DOSEN'T LIKE THEM STANDING UP, PREFERS THEM ON THERE BACKS My mind began to take command, what langusge can convey that bowlers know throughout the land,expressions which portray Those shots that had been better planned and often go astray I now begin to understand,"THE THINGS THAT BOWLERS SAY". "SHE PLAYS WITH BIGGER ONES THAN ME AND SUFFERS FOR HER SINS BECAUSE YOU SEE HER HAUN'S TO WEE FOR HANDLING BIGGER YINS" "BUT BE UP TO IT AND DON'T BE SHY IT NEEDS A GENTLE KISS" "IT DOSEN'T MATTER HOW WE LIE,IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO MISS" "HIS CONCENTRATION ON THE MAT IS FAMOUS FAR AND WIDE THERE'S NOBODY CAN EQUAL THAT McNICOL FROM KILBRIDE HIS DELIVERY IS JUST DEVINE, HIS ACTION HARD TO BEAT HE NEVER HURRIES, TAKES HIS TIME,THEN LETS IT GO A TREAT". My name is in to join the green, I only hope and prey Amidst those bowlers I'll be seen until I'm old and grey, For now my aspiration, dream, is not for just to play But be allowed by law to scream THE THINGS THAT BOWLERS SAY. From Tom Gordon. Circa 2000 "THE BLOO LICHTIE" This is the story aboot twa loon, that were born an' brocht up in the country. Alan, he wid hae bin aboot alaven, an' Brian, he wid hae bin maybe acht an' a bittie. their schoolie wis aboot a mile, an a' hauf fae the hoose, bit pairt o' th' road til't, wis ower a bittie o' moorlan' , nae fae, aboot hauf a mile or so. they baith kent th' moor fine, as they often gaed an' played there wi' their pals, or wi' their dogs. Noo this day in perticlar, they were comin' hame fae their schoolie th' widder wis a bittie dull kine, an' foggy, bit as they cam' on tae this bittie a' moor, th' fog got thicker, an' thicker, it got sae bad they had to cut holes in it' wid their knives, afore they could see faar they were gan. they carriet on fae a wee wiley, Then Alan say's tae brian, "I think were lost" Brian thocht for a minty, then he says, " bit we canna be lost, bekis we ken far we are, tho' we canna ses far we're gan." They kent they widna be lost lang, bekis faither, an' th' dogs wid be oot lookin' for them. Then an' awfa queer thing happened, jist aboot fower, or five yairds in front o' them, a bloo kine o' a lichtie appeared, bit th' queer bit wis, it didna' seem tae be held up be onybody or onything. They moved forrit tae see fit it wis, bit they nivver got nearer tae it, so they jist kept on followin' it. Ach they'd walkit aboot five, or ten minits, maybe a quarter o' an hoor, then the Bloo Lichtie jist disappeared as quick as it hid come. They'd only ta'en a few mair steps fan th' fog cleared, an' they could see their hoose nae that fae awa. Fin they telt their faither an' mither fit had happent, they widna beleeve th' loons, they thocht they must've aiten somethin' for their denner that didna agree wi' them. Bit th' twa loons kent it wis th' BLOO LICHTIE, farever it cam fae, that led them through th moor that day o' th' FOG. Author and date unknown Crazy Poetry Doon in th' gairdin somethin stirred, It wisnae a spurtel it wis a bird. th' queerest ane you've ever seen, Wi' twa big square starin' een. It's feathers were as black a sdriven snaw, It hid three legs bit only used twa. th' third ane wis shapit like a hand, Maybe it hid once played in a Band. It hid nae ring on so it musy've bin single, It did hae a Bell on't ye could hear it jingle. Th' only use for it that I could find, Wis maybe for scratchin' it's behind. It shuntit forrit an' it shuntit back, Then furled roon aboot in it's ain tracks. It walkit in striat lines up an' doon, then hid a go gan roon an' roon. It's beak wis a bittie pirn'taed, Bit that's th' wye it must hae bin made. Fit wye it could eat wi' a conk like yon, I'll nivver ken bekis noo it's gone. I thocht I wid hae a closer look, Tae see if I could find it in a book. Bit I nivver got nearer til it yet, Bekis it startit faen apairt bit be bit. Anf then I woke up. End of story Jim The Millennium Bug Ann' syne we'll hae this Millennium eer Fit at'll mean Lord dinna speer bit let me whisper in yer lug A wird aboot this Millennium bug An' a' th' naisty thing it's bringin Like kettles nae bilin' an phones nae ringin' Ovens nae wirkin' tae bake or roast Ye michtna even get a slice o' toast Ach, caul porrich alang wi' a tin o' beans It'll be better'n net grown oot o' genes An' if the fridge starts speerin' fit ye wint Lord th' loikes o' fit wi' niver kint Wi' genetic tatties at'll pare emsels It'll drive ye tae th' verra brink o' hell Noo, ye winna be better gaun doon th' toon An "Asdas" tills nae eese ava Fin ee' buy een they'll charge for twa Syne, if yer offered a third een free Oh god, dinna jump aff th' Brig o' Dee Jist mak yer wye tae th' Castlegate Far hogmany'll be jist great Pipe bands tae skirl oot a reel An maybe Robbie Shepherd'll gie a spiel Wi' coloured balloons hine in th' sky An yon "party poopers" fleein' by They'll dunce th' lingth o' Union Street Trupin' th' chuddy aneth there feet Some fa'in doon amun lager an' beer Gaurin' ithirs tae stotter an' curse an' sweer An' niver a thocht o' this afa bug Aboot fit I whispered in yer lug Ony wye, some o't could easy nae be true. Ye see, I made' is up fin I wis foo Th' morn gin my heid be redd-oot an' clear I'll hae ither thochts o' th' Millennium eer. Bill Calder This poem was given to me by a relative of mine who remembers the details vividly from her childhood. THE KILLING HOOSE I mind my granny sayin' that times were pretty bad I thoot that she was haverin' Or jist a wee bit mad. she worked her fingers tae th' bone so we could hae some meat Yonder at the Killing hoose Doon off o' Hutcheon street My mither worked doon there ana I think that she wis feel plowin' throo th' bleed an' guts Jist tae earn a meal she said it's nae an easy job We're workid off oor feet, Yonder at the Killing hoose Doon off o' Hutcheon street Nearly a' my younger days Consisted o' this food Sweetbreads, pleas an' slabs o' tripe Oh aye an' mealy pud. My granny got them cheap Wi a' their cuts o' meat. Yonder at the Killing hoose Doon off o' Hutcheon street I had a dander roon mysel Tae see how things were gan I thoot I'd maybe pop inside An' see the happy clan. I'll nae forget jist how I felt Tae hear the coo's a greet. Yonder at the Killing hoose Doon off o' Hutcheon street There wis I the tough young loon Fair shakin' at the knees An' I can tell ye richt awa I didna feel at ease. Mannies sweelin' doon the bleed Fae underneath yer feet. Yonder at the Killing hoose Doon off o' Hutcheon street The stench wis jist a bit too much It brooht me near tae tears I'd niver seen the like o' this In a' my tender years. I felt mt stomach turnin' The smell wis sickly sweet Yonder at the Killing hoose Doon off o' Hutcheon street Author and date unknown HIGH FLIGHT Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings ; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds- and done a hundred things ; You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew - And while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand and touched the face of god. Written by : A Canadian spitfire pilot John Gillespie Magee,Jnr Shot down in the Battle of Britain1941