Tuesday 27 December 2011

Bob

Anither yin fae tha poet fairrmer - Brian Rankin


(Note - Because of Bloggers own flash based video/audio system the above video will not appear on iphones or ipads)

This poem (Bob) appears in Brian's first book, 'Walking Through The Heather'. 
Brian has since published two other volumes of poetry - 'Big Mary' and 'Waiting for a Miracle'. 
The proceeds from these books go to help orphans in Uganda.
If you'd like to buy Brian's books you can contact him at the numbers below.

Tel; 02877763082
Mob; 07961486401
or email him at
bjrankin_20@hotmail.com

Sunday 11 December 2011

Waiting for a Miracle

If you want to put a smile on someone's face this christmas. I suggest giving them a copy of Brian Rankin's latest volume of verse: 'Waiting for a Miracle'. Like Brian's previous books 'Walking through the Heather' and 'Big Mary, this book is full of good rural humour and clever twists. From the complexities of love and marriage to the innocence of our childhood Brian's latest offering, complete with complimentary whimsical illustrations, will keep you entertained from cover to cover.
Here is a offering to wet your appetite.

Building Bales

A Clergyman was out for a walk one day
Down a quiet country lane
He went round a corner - what did he see
A young farmer who was going insane!

For his load of hay had fallen off the cart
The chap's patience was all but gone
He was huffing' and puffin' his face bright red
As he tried to build them back on.

The clergyman said "You look hot my son.....
Why don't you take a wee rest
Calm yourself and we'll have a chat
It really would be for the best"

" Oh no thanks!" said the young farmer-
" My father wudnae like that
I have to get these bales lifted
I hannae any time to chat."

"Don't be silly" said the clergy
Everyone needs a break
Don't you know all work no play
A dull boy doth make"

But the young man never slackened
He kept up a furious pace
Finally the man of the cloth got angry
Said "Look life is not a race"

Your father must be a real slave driver
And son - those days are no more
Look at you all drenched in sweat
Your hands all red and sore!"

"Young man tell me where I can find him
I could talk to him - I could pray"
"Well prayer might be needed your reverence
For he's under this load of hay!!!"

As with his previous books all the proceeds from 'Waiting for a Miracle' go to the Africare Charity.
Books can be ordered from Brian at the following numbers.
Tel; 02877763082
Mob; 07961486401
or email him at
bjrankin_20@hotmail.com

Wednesday 7 December 2011

If ye raired him

Simtimes ye cum across a craiter ye jist cannae thole. Aye...

'Ye cudnae like him if ye raired him.'

Sunday 4 December 2011

Tha mair ye dae

The mair ye dae the less ye’r thocht o.

A common complaint of women down through the ages, who feel that their efforts are not appreciated.  


This saying has affinities with, ‘The willing horse gets the heavy load’ (English), or the Scots version which is, The wullin naig is aye wrocht ti daith.


PS
A brave or foolish man could respone with the oul truism
'Aye but thur's nae lack in love' (good luck).

Sunday 20 November 2011

Up tha Lum

Taken at the Ulster American Folk Park














As a wean I often heard burning something on the fire referred to as sending it "up tha lum". The lum being the chimney.
References to the lum can be found in Scots / Ulster-Scots literature from 1700 onwards eg.
1879 W. G. Lyttle Readings 77:
    Puir buddy, she lukit startit like, an’ sut doon awa at the tither side o’ the lum.

1786 Burns Halloween viii.:
    Till fuff! he started up the lum. 

I also uncovered a few sayins regarding the lum on the Internet.
Someone with a cast might have been referred to as - 'One eye on the pot and the other up the lum.'
  'Lang may yer lum reek.' — was a common expression to wish someone prosperity and plenty. 


Note my mother whose takin up computerin sent me an email to tell me that the entire sayin is:
Lang may yer lum reek an yer spicket (spigot) dribble.


Lastly 'Cryin' up the lum.' - it has been suggested that this phrase was used to stress the importance of self reliance. However I'm not entirely convinced that this is correct. Any suggestions on the meaning of this sayin' would be most welcome.

Sunday 13 November 2011

Hame Again - Oor ain apples

Several weeks ago I was fortunate to be part of the Loughries Ulster Scots Trip or 'A Forenoon Doon the Upper Ards', (clydesburn.blogspot.) hosted by the Twa Marks. Although, because of the persistent rain that day, Mark Thompson (our guide) later dubbed it "A Forenoon gettin droont in the Upper Ards". 
Ecklinville Apple Tree back in Ulster 


One of the more obscure pieces of information we received that day was the story of the Ecklinville or (as Mark called it the) Ulster-Scots Apple.
The following extract is from the 'Bloggin fae the Burn' article entitled Scottish Bishops and Ulster-Scots apples


On 4 March 1613 Robert Echlin from Pittadro in Fife was appointed by King James I as the new Bishop of Down and Connor. Echlin (initially at least) tolerated the arrival of the Presbyterians and compromised with them in order to ordain them into service in Ulster. Echlin set up home at Ardquin (between Portaferry and Kircubbin - it is said he chose the location because it reminded him of the landscape of Fife) and built an Abbacy there beside the old church.
It is in this location that some of Echlin's descendants who remained on the Ards Peninsula invented the Echlinville / Ecklinville cooking apple. The description of the variety is:

"...the tree is vigorous and has decorative blossom. It is a cooker or sauce apple. It was popular with the Victorians and widely grown in gardens also recommended for an 'artistic' orchard...."



Daniel's Ulster-Scots Apple Tree
The Ecklinville cooking apple, once popular around County Down, all but disappeared by the 1930s. as it had become unfashionable when new varieties, that didn't bruise so easily, were introduced into the province. 
This research got me thinking about this small but unique part of our heritage. Determined to bring it hame I searched the Internet and eventually found Ecklinville seedlings at a fruit tree nursery on the Isle of White (Deacon's Nursery). The owner was extremely helpful and dispatched five 1st year seedlings which I distributed to a handful of Ulster-Scots patriots in Down and Londonderry (The Twa Marks included). So yince mere wae hae Ulster-Scots apples in oor hames'. (well not quite yet)

Sunday 6 November 2011

Weel creeshed

I recently heard someone remarking on how 'them that hae' (people with money) 'a seem tae en up wae mere' (always seem to benefit from financial transactions or windfalls).

I was reminded of an aul sayin that an old lady from Carrowdore was fond of using:









A fat soo's arse is aye weel creeshed (creesh- soft, thick grease)


(You may wish to modify the language somewhat but its a great idiom)
For a more comprehensive definition of the word creesh you may like to visit http://www.dsl.ac.uk/getent4.php?plen=8719&startset=7609727&dtext=snd&query=CREESH



Sunday 30 October 2011

Bate it wae a big stick

This aul sayin cum tae ma the ither nicht after a feed o guid protas.

'Sure ye cudnae bate it wae a big stick.'

Which of course means, something or somewhere which is particularly good or superior in some way. 

Wednesday 26 October 2011

The Last Man on the Mountain by Brian Rankin

Below is a recording of my favourite poem by Brian Rankin, 'The Last Man on the Mountain'.

This poem appears in Brian's second book, 'Big Mary'. His first is entitled 'Walking Through The Heather'. The proceeds from both of these books go to help orphans in Uganda.
If you'd like to buy Brian's books you can contact him at the numbers below.

Tel; 02877763082
Mob; 07961486401
or email him at
bjrankin_20@hotmail.com


Recorded at Faughanvale Church March 2011 bt Raymond Usher

Tuesday 25 October 2011

A duck lukkin fir thunner

Recently I was lucky enough to receive a copy of The Auld Meetin-Hoose Green by Arcibald McIlroy. A most enjoyable read, filled with insightful social commentary and dry Ulster-Scots wit. Towards the end of the book one of the characters descrbes his colleague as behaving 'like a duck in a thunderstorm.' A sayin' I heard often in my childhood. Along with the local variation: 'Luk at him stannin thur, like a duck lukkin fir thunner.'
A brief gleek on the Internet revealed that the poor oul duck has been getting a hard time since 1785 when the idiom appears in a lyrical ode by Peter Pindar (pseudonym of John Wolcot): "Gaping upon Tom's thumb, with me in wonder, The rabble rais'd its eyes -- like ducks in thunder." It's unclear whether Wolcot actually had close knowledge of ducks or merely needed something to rhyme with "wonder." In any case, Sir Walter Scott later used the phrase in his 1822 novel "Peveril of the Peak": "Closed her eyes like a dying fowl -- turned them up like a duck in a thunder-storm." From these and other uses since we can deduce how ducks are reputed to act in thunderstorms: they roll their eyes back in fear and then keel over dead. It's a wonder there are any ducks to be found today, given how common thunderstorms are. However I believe that Arcibald McIlroy employed the simile in the slighty less dramatic sense, we used at hame, to mean looking startled or 'dumbfoonthered' (not knowing where to turn or what to do).

Thursday 13 October 2011

Poems by a Railway Lad

Those with a keen eye for detail will have observed that the title of this posting bares a passing resemblance to the title of my blog (this is not coincidental). It is in fact the title of a volume of poetry published by my grandfathers uncle 100 years ago. A book which, sadly now can only be found in rare and antique book shops, when it can be found at all.

It's author, Robert Brown, was born in 1868 in County Down. He was married to Mary Jane McKee on the 20th Nov 1886 at Gilnahirk Presbyteriann Church. They had four children Lizzie, John, Joseph and Violet.

He was Stationmaster at Dundonald Railway Station from 1900 to 1901 and prior to this he was Stationmaster at Neill's Hill on the Sandown Road in Belfast (pictured here).

‘Poems by a Railway Lad’ was published in 1911. And the poems contained within reflect Robert's passion for the Belfast and County Down Railway; his interest in the countryside and its people; the passing of notables such as E Harland and the love he bore for his wife and children.

One poem in particular seems at home on an Ulster-Scots blog. It's in Standard Habbie and follows the conversation between two old farmers.




A Conversation Between Twa Auld Farmers at Ballynahinch Junction
by Robert Brown (Belfast circa 1910)


"Weel my auld frien how are ye fairin?
How's the health and times noo pairin?
I trust that want's no grimly starin'
But in his den
But that blithe look that ye are wearin'
Might make me ken?"

"Ay, Dannie, mon, ye see the beam
That dances thro' my twa auld e'en;
The news I've heard, and things I've seen,
Would make ye whussle;
Oor negleckit cause is noo between
Brave Wood and Russell.

Each has an Ulster heather besom,
And a' that dirt ca'd landlordism
'Ill be conveyed doon that dark chasm
From whence it sprung;
Oor champions, weel, I'll say 'God bless 'm'
Wi ferevent tongue.

The landlords, they're such ible buddies,
And struts about in finest duddies,
While we, like some dumb-driven cuddies,
Ill-fed and shod,
Wi' worn wife and wee bit laddies
Hirple oor the clod.

But worse than a', my auld mere Fenny
That earned me mony a bonnie penny,
Sure just last spring she slipped doon cannie
At the land's en';
But we'll a' stop there, mind ye Dannie
Baith beasts and men.

I never pass the green-clad heap
But thro' the hedge I take a peep;
The unbidden tear will gie a leap
And downward birl.
I stammer oot, I trust ye sleep
Contented girl.

"None better served for sweetest rest,
O' a horse kind she was the best
And up life's hill, oft sairly press'd
In straiten gap,
Yet ne'er a brae wi' highest crest
She could na' tap.

Misfortune oft has me tight-laced.
Worse than this year I never faced;
For a' the hills spring had embraced
Tae coax the seeds,
Ere the auld plough a rig had creased
Tae kill the weeds.

But, still, I clear my bleared eye,
Though cauld, wet spring does sairly try
The backward corn, ill-thriven rye
In hill and bog;
But a' this soon we can defy
An' merrier jog.

"Ay, ay," speaks Dan, "your story's true,
In a' you've said I'm just wi' you.
Such things mysel' I oft came thro'
But still I'm canty
To think that a' that hellish crew
Must shift their shanty.

'Wha' tills the land but each son's fether;
Landlords were shipp'd in some ill-weather
And nestl'd here, and still they neither
Toil or yet spin,
But greedy takes a' we can gather
And thinks nae sin.

"If yin ye meet this very hour,
He'd take a long, disdainful glower
Just wi' a face as deadly sour
As the infernal;
You'd want some sure surpassin' power
To keep your internal.

O oor heritage we've been shorn,
As if we were a' bastard-born
And had for a father that auld horn
With cloot acloven.
His features in those that do us scorn
Are better proven.

But it's no; the men, 'tis that spirit
by some ill-luck they do inherit;
My concience, Will, we will tear it
Topsy turvy,
And show that we are men o' merit
And aye right worthy,

"I've heard o' Wood, I've heard o' Russell,
At the east Down election tussle;
The landlords need nae make sic bustle
They're fairly doomed;
We'll neither spare oor tongue or muscle
Till glory croon'd."

Wi' that the train did skelp the rail
Which somewhat shortened Dannies's tale;
I trust their hearts'll never fail
Tae earn their breid;
Hae rousing crops o'grain and kail
For a' in need.

Thursday 6 October 2011

BETTY MACBLAINE


A guid freen rid oot this wee poem tae ma last weekend. Its fae:

BALLADS OF DOWN by GEORGE FRANCIS SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG - 1901

BETTY MACBLAINE

















Betty MacBlaine is a sonsie wee lass,
An' her een ir as blue as the Bay uv Ardglass,
An' her cheeks ir as rosy as epples in rain —
A sonsie bit lassie is Betty MacBlaine.  

She's dimplit an' smooth, an' she's lithe as a roe.
Her buzzom 's as white as the bloom o' the sloe,
Her erms ir like merble wi' nivver a stain —
A temptin' wee hizzie is Betty MacBlaine.

Her waist is sae sma' an' sae roon' that yer han'
Is iwermair langin' its girdle tae span;
Sae nate is her fut an' her ankle sae clane
Ye're nivver but glintin' at Betty MacBlaine.

Her hair is as dark as the shaddas o' trees;
Whun she loosens its ribbons it fa's tae her knees;
She niwer cud axe fur a favour in vain —
A wheedlin' wee clippie is Betty MacBlaine.

A kin'ly wee buddy is Betty MacBlaine;
If ye met her at e'en in a loanin' alane,
An' gied her a kiss, she wud niwer complain —
Och, a kin'Iy wee buddy is Betty MacBlaine.

If ye gied her yin kiss on her rosy smooth cheek,
She'd wait fur anither yin, modest an' meek,
An' niwer say na if ye 'd kiss her again —
A leesome wee hizzie is Betty MacBlaine.

She's pleesant tae talk wi', she's lively o' wit;
It's sweeter than roses aside her tae sit —
Guid troth, she's a treasure! But sma'd be the gain
O' the mon that wud merry ye, Betty MacBlaine!

Ay, Gude help the falla that tak's her tae wife!
She'd jist be a worrit the 'hale uv his life;
She maun hae her pleesure, whas'ivver the pain
An' a fickle wee hizzie is Betty MacBlaine.

She'd still hae her luvers that cudnae withstan'
The glance uv her een an' the touch uv her han',
An' the ring on her finger wud nivver restrain
The flitterin' fancies o' Betty MacBlaine;

Till someyin wud Aether her mair than the rest, —
Mair craft in his tongue an' mair guile in his breast, —
An' awa' she wud canter tae Laplan' or Spain,
An' her guid-mon might whustle fur Betty Mac-
Blaine !

Note the rest of this collection can be read at http://www.archive.org/stream/balladsofdown00savaiala/balladsofdown00savaiala_djvu.txt

Tuesday 27 September 2011

Monreagh Ulster Scots Centre

I wus axt bae tha 'Monreagh Ulster Scots Centre' tae post this wee annooncement fir thum.


The Ulster Scots/Scots Irish Heritage and Education Centre are very pleased to be announcing our weekly "Laggan Historical Society" starting Thur 6th OctoberThis is an informal group for folks with a passion or an interest in Local History to come and share their Knowledge or come and enjoy our Guest speakers and day trips, some of which will be of Ulster Scots interest.


Sunday 25 September 2011

Three Cheers For The Derrys

Last night I began to read 'Three Cheers For The Derrys' written by my good friend Gardiner Mitchell. It's a history of the 10th Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers in the 1914-18 war. Based on the recollection of the final veterans.

Its graphic style and first hand accounts are compelling reading. This book is a must for anyone who has an interest in finding out, what life was really like in the trenches.





Author, Gardiner S Mitchell, explains the reason for the book.



This clip is a link to a MaidenCityFestival You Tube clip.

Monday 19 September 2011

Octh ava - Nane ava

Yin thing aftin leads tae anither. The ither nicth ma mither wus axt whut she'd like wae her tay. She replied o octh ava (anything at all). 
As sin as she'd said it I hae'd mind o' an oul rhyme ma da ust tae say aboot tha Greba (Greyabbey) lasses.










Wha saw tha Greba lasses,
Wha saw them gan awa,
Wha saw the Greba lasses,
Ganin doon tha Hard Breid Raa.
Some o thaim haed buits and stockins,
Some o thaim haed nane ava.
Some o thaim haed big bare arses,
Ganin doon tha Hard Breid Raa.


Jean Weir (88 years of age) reciting a poem she learned at a young age "The Greba Lasses".
*This excellent recital by a by Jean Weir comes from GinaCully1990 on Youtube

Sunday 11 September 2011

Simmers Enn

This wee verse came to me as I worked in the garden this afternoon.

I stoop and strain tae gather in
As leaves faa roon ma heid
In broon an gowd this day fertoul
Yinst mere oor simmers deed.
D. Gibson

Friday 9 September 2011

A Weetin Rain

Thus mornin a haed occassion tae bae ootside fur twathry minutes. An maun but thon wus a weetin rain. Oor if ye like it wus misilin, oor an oul saft day. Tak yer pick.

Monday 5 September 2011

Winter: A Dirge

Winter: A Dirge
by Robert Burns


The wintry west extends his blast, 
And hail and rain does blaw; 
Or the stormy north sends driving forth 
The blinding sleet and snaw: 
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, 
And roars frae bank to brae; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 
And pass the heartless day. 

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," 
The joyless winter day 
Let others fear, to me more dear 
Than all the pride of May: 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 
My griefs it seems to join; 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 
Their fate resembles mine! 

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme 
These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here firm I rest; they must be best, 
Because they are Thy will! 
Then all I want-O do Thou grant 
This one request of mine!- 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, 
Assist me to resign.

Saturday 3 September 2011

Stoot an Able

Here's a wee nonsense rhyme that my Granny ust tae say. If oanyboady knows onaythin aboot it. I wud quarley appreciate a wee email:    anaulhan@gmail.com














Twa wee dugs
They wunt tae tha mill
They sut doon
And likit thur fill
An they came hame
Stoot an able
Stoot an able
Stoot an able

Monday 29 August 2011

aa richt

I'm no tae sure wuther or no this yin haes oany Ulster-Scots roots. But its yin wae say at hame.

It's aa aa ricth whun its gan aa ricth.















Its works weel wae tha reply

 Aye.. lang runs tha hare

Sunday 21 August 2011

The Poet Farmer Brian Rankin performing: 'Big Mary' (audio only)

The recording below is of Brian Rankin performing at 'Faughanvale Music Evening' (March 2011)
(Audio only)



Saturday 20 August 2011

Tae aa oul maids

'She haes a guid moany nicks in her horn'















This is said of a girl who is becoming an old maid. As a cow is said to have a nick in her horn for every year.

Tae aa spendthrifts

A nerra gatherin' get a broad scatterin'














This proverb alludes to the case of a thrifty man who gathers up a fortune during a lifetime, and is succeeded by a spendthrift son who squanders his inheritance.

Wednesday 17 August 2011

A Cut Loaf

I wus able tae fin thrie different versions o this aul sayin

"A slice aff a cut loaf's niver miss'd." - Ulster-Scots













"A whang aff a new cut kebbuck [cheese] is ne'er miss'd."-Scot. "

'Tis safe taking a shive of a cut loaf."-Eng.

I have only ever heard this idiom used in the justification of taking, usually without permission, an insignificant item ( one of many). However my research has also revealed a sexual context for the saying. Apparently it is also used colloquially to describe having sexual intercourse with someone who is not a virgin, especially when they are in a relationship. The analogy refers to a loaf of bread; it is not readily apparent, once the end has been removed, exactly how many slices have been taken.

This idiom also appears in - Titus Andronicus -Shakespeare

Demetrius- What man! more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of; and easy it is Of a cut loaf to steal a shive we know.

Monday 15 August 2011

Self-Reliance

Let ivery her'n' hing by its ain tail.















Meaning - Let every man depend upon himself.

Origin: - In croft's and cottages, dried herrings are suspended by a rod passed through their tails.

In the original Scottish: Let ilka (every) herring hing By it's ain tail.

Monday 8 August 2011

Comeuppance

This is yin o mae favorites an an oul yin ferbye. It first appears in Allan Ramsay's book o scottish proverbs in 1737. Howaniver tha wurd cadger (or variants thereof) are recorded (in Scotland) as early as 1491.

Tha king aa cums tha cadgers road.















The word Cadger is used in Scottish as in standard English to mean a travelling hawker (chiefly of fish), or beggar. However in Scots / Ulster-Scots it can also be used to denote "A person of a disagreeable" temper” (J. Sellar Poems (1844)
The Proverb also appears as: The King’s Errand may come in the Cadger’s Gate (Sc. 1737 Ramsay Proverbs 62). The king will come in the cadger’s road. Followed by the explanation: a great man may need the services of a humble one.
This proverb is also referred to in 1894 by D. MacLeod - Past Worthies of Lennox 175: "I telt ye then that the day micht come when the king would come in the cadger’s road, an’ ye micht be gled o’ a nicht’s lodgin’s frae me."
Update: Phililp has kindly reminded me that from cadger we also get the Ulster-Scots word Cadge. "Tae Cadge" is to beg, borrow or peddle.

A similar proverb we used at hame

Lang runs tha Hare

Monday 1 August 2011

Cryin fur nithin

If you believe that the droplets issuing from the eyes are without justifiable provocation i.e. thur cryin fur nithin. Then it is entirely appropriate to use the phrase......

Yer blether's brave an near yer een



















Update: My thanks to Philip for the spelling correction. You are of course correct.
Interestingly I also came across some debate as to wether the word blether, in this instance, comes from the term for talking nonsense and is a reflection on the sincerity of the emotion or more directly from the word (bladder) blether, reflecting the dubious nature of the droplets. Both sources seem to have merit.
However, like yourself, I am fairly certain it's the later

Saturday 30 July 2011

Atween tha haein an tha wantin

Anithir yin o tha oul sayins fae hame..... Mae granda used tae say

Atween tha haein an tha wantin wull get there.

An as usual he wus ricth.

Thursday 28 July 2011

The Last Man on the Mountain by Brian Rankin

As promised a few weeks ago here is another one of Brian Rankin's poems. 'The Last Man on the Mountain', is one of my favourites. The story is simple yet moving and by the end you can almost smell the turf.
















The Last Man on the Mountain
by Brian Rankin

This soil, this turf, this land of his-
Eighty years below his feet,
Man and boy with his bare hands-
Each year he cut his peats.

He did not see it as a chore
Even tho' it was so tiring,
He saw it as a fair exchange
For all his winter's firing.

He stacked them up like his father did
To dry out in the sun,
Then drew them home into the shed
Many's a weary run.

He remembered the mountain as a boy-
When many neighbours would toil
To gather in their winter fuel,
Before the days of oil.

He remembered the crack, the noise, the fun-
Tractors at full throttle
Welcome lunch beaks, soda farls,
Warm tea in a bottle.

But that was many years ago-
Too many to be countin'
Numbers dwindled till he was left-
The last man on the mountain.

But he was at peace - he was content,
His sharp spade slicing clean.
Jet black peats coaxed up and out-
To land on grass of green.

Long centuries in the making
By mother nature good,
But yielded up so willingly
To those who understood.

He knew nothing of a T.V.
Or trips to foreign lands-
But he had a leather bible
Worn smooth by his rough hands.

And that was how he passed the time
Those dark and wintry nights,
Cosy in his favourite chair
Reading by firelight.

A basket of turf was burned each night,
Carried inside from the shed-
When they were all used - it was time
To head on up to bed.

But this one night - he stayed in his chair
Whatever was his notion......
He watched the flames...like in a trance
The peats burned in slow motion.

He threw the last one on the fire
Up drifted smoke so sweet,
Soothing..familiar..part of him
The smell, the glow the heat.

But every fire ends up ashes-
Flames for a while then gone,
Something told him, as he closed his eyes
That he might not see the dawn.

Aye - eighty summers he had seen-
But his time was finished here.
A ship well-sailed, a race well-run-
He somehow had no fear.

The last peat faded - and so did he
The clock slipped past eleven.....
With a smile he mumbled his last words-
I hope.....there's peats.....in heaven.



If you would like a copy of Brian's books - 'Walking Through the Heather' and 'Big Mary' (proceeds from which go to charity). Please phone him on Tel: 028 777 63082

Thursday 14 July 2011

Fu tae tha Gills

Fu tae tha Gills
















Thur ir a brave wheen o suggestions as tae tha origins o this yin. Fish fu wae stuffing etc. Hooiver I like tae equate the 'gills' o a fish wae oor necks. Oanyboady wa hae's taakin a guid slug o tay wi'oot checking tae see if its scaldin ir no, wull unnerstan exactly the sayin:

Thon wud burn tha gills o ye

Thursday 7 July 2011

Tha poet farmer - Brian Rankin

A wheen o' months ago. It wuz privileged tae attend a musical evenin at Faughanvale Church, whur tha poet farmer Brian Rankin read oot a wheen o hae's poems. I enjoyed hae's rhymes sae much (whilst thur no aa in Ulster-Scots thur's a brave guid braid twang tae thim) that I bocht hae's twa books, 'Walking Through The Heather' and 'Big Mary'. The proceeds fae whuch gae tae help orphans oot in Uganda.
I spoke tae Brian a wheen o weeks ago tae ask him if I cud pit a wheen o' hae's poems on mae blog. Sae that tha twarthy creeters wha tak a wee gleek noo an again, cud hae a skelly an mebbe even order yin or twa copies o' his books fur thursel.

Sae if ye like tha poem I hae pit unner, gie him a ring oan,

Tel; 02877763082
Mob; 07961486401
or email him at
bjrankin_20@hotmail.com

The Ballad of "Wee Willie & Big Mary" by Brian Rankin













Wee Willie still lived with his mother
Tho' he was fifty-four
He just worked away on the farm
Never went out the door.

A miserable looking crettar
As thin as you could get
Seven stone would've been his limit
If he was soakin' wet.

Then his mother passed away
To her funeral neighbours came
No longer there to shelter him
Willie was now...... fair game.

At the graveside there were several girls
Who made sure they kissed him
But "Big Mary" waited till the end
She wasnae goin' to miss him.

A hefty heifer - man she was
As broad as she was long
She gave him a hug and lifted him!
With big thick arms so strong.

Like a roaring fire were her cheeks
Like tree trunks were her legs
Every morning an Ulster fry
Sausage...bacon...eggs.

When she finally set him down she said
"I might call some day for tea"
Willie was dizzy, feard and flummoxed
"Aye.... That's alright by me".

So she started to call with cakes and buns
For she was a fair ol' baker
He thought that she was after him
But she ... was after acres!

You see, she had a wee farm of her own
Nothin' but whin bushes
Her ween of sheep - they had to graze
In amongst the rushes.

She had got her eye on his nice land
Its rolling fields so green
The good farmhouse - the tidy yard
As nice as she had seen.

She turned the charm up full on him
He thought she was a clinker
It wasnae long till she'd reeled him in
Hook and line and sinker.

Before he knew it - the date was set
And she had him up the aisle
But they had no choice - with her size...
Had to walk out single file!

Into the wedding car was a squeeze
She must have been twenty stone
Willie was jammed up against the glass
For she filled it on her own

That night, he got into bed before her
Sort of feard - he lay still
Then Big Mary.. she got in
And he sort of rolled downhill.

"I think it's straight to sleep" she said
"For that big day did weary us"
He lay in tight at her back
The heat from her was serious.

He thought about the comin' winter
And how she'd keep him warm,
He thought about the buns she'd make
And how she'd help him farm.

She'd be a quare help with the sheep
For lambing was a battle,
And with her size - she'd fair block a hole
If he was movin' cattle!

Aye - he slowly came to the conclusion
She'd be good about the place
Soon he was drifting off to sleep
With a smile upon his face.

So how does this story end up
The marriage - was it a go?
Was it happily ever after?
I'm sorry to tell you... no.

For later on that night - disaster!
The marriage was ill fated
Big Mary rolled over in her sleep
Wee Willie.........suffocated!

The recording below is of Brian Rankin performing at 'Faughanvale Music Evening' (March 2011)