this is two poems my Granddad John McGeachie
Annathill Terrace 20 Jan 1990 (now
Deceased) wrote, he lived grew up at 55 Annathill Lanarkshire, his
mother and father came from Denny and he married Christina Berry
(O'Barrie) from stepps
A Lament to a Place Now Gone
Are these green fields we see today
the village of our yesterday
where once there stood the red brick rows
now the only life the circling crows
The swing park! There the swings now gone
no more the sound of childish throng
weeds now grow high and unpruned ever green
where the youth played tennis
and old men the
bowling green
the old school it's now gone
where once as kids we played
the old church hall a scrap yard now
where once people prayed
there is no Carmicheals bus now
for even Jock has gone
and no longer from the bully
can you here the sound of song
who ever comes here now!!
no Bus comes through the place
the final touch the Pit has closed
the final coup de Grace
but people lived and loved there
there was happiness and tears
for the miners life was often hard
in the passing of the years
The pleasure was often football
Dogs and Doos
or just standing at the corner
to here the local news
many were rough diamonds
with no published word or dress
but their hand went in their pocket
for their neighbors in distress
and if death the widow maker came
knocking at the door
there was no lack of helping hands
to help that were left
so when I look round this place
it' hard to hide a sigh
no more to see a well kent face
or someone walking by
the old Pit pad where once we walked
you can still see today
it seems so sad a lonely path and
no one to walk it's way
so strangers if you come some day
to this place where our village lay
you will find nobody you can ask
you will find no sign to ease your task
to tell you this was Bedlay.
Glasgow
Hope this little poem brings you happy thoughts of
Glasgow
Oh, where is the
Glasgow where I used to stay?
White, wally closes done up wi' pipe clay,
where you knew everybody, first floor to third,
and to keep your door shut was considered absurd.
Where are the weans that once played in the street?
wi' a jarrie, a peerie. A gird wi' a cleet,
can they still cadge a hudgie or dreep aff a dike,
play hunch cuddy hunch, kick the can, and the like?
and where is the wee shop where I used to buy,
a quarter o'tatties, a tuppeny pie,
a bag o' broke biscuits, a wee sodie scone,
an' the wummin aye asked, ˜how's yir Maw getting' oan?
Where is the Tallie's that I knew so well?
that wee corner shoap, where they used to sell.
hot peas, a macallum, ice cream in a poke,
five woodbines. an feenised broke.
And where is the cludgie? That cosy wee cell,
the string fae the cistern, I remember it well.
where I sat wi' a caunle, and studied the rags,
a win for the auld firm, a loss for the Jags.
Where is the tramcar that once did a ton,
doon great
Western Road, on the ol' yoker run,
the conductress aye knew how to deal wi' the nyaff,
if yir gaun, well, comoan, if yir no, well
gittaff'.
I think O' days O' mt tenement hame,
we've got fancy hooses, but they're jist no' the same,
I'll swap your gizunders, flyovers, and jams,
for a tuppenny ride on the old Partick trams.
Gone is the Glesca that I used to know,
Big Willie, Wee Shooie, the steamie, the co.
the shilpit, wee bachle, the glaikit big dreep,
yir ba's on the slates, and yir gas at a peep.
These days wurna rosy, and money was tight,
the wages au' finished by setterday night,
but still we came through it and weathered the nuts,
the reason is simple, our parents had GUTS!
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