Tha Big Stane

Fur thon o’ ye’s no sae familiar wae tha Ards, tha big stane lees oan tha shore o’ Strangford Lough twathry mile fae tha Flood Gates. Ay, A hae mine o’ passin it ivery Saturday oan  ma wye intae Newton tae pick up oor weekly ration o’ soda bried an proota-oaten farls fae tha Brides Parlour. A aye thocht it fittin that this reminder o’ nature’s pooer haed a wee bible verse scrieved oan the side o’ it. A tradition whuch A’m gled tae say is still carriet oan tae this day. Hooaniver no ivery yin that went fur a danner tae tha big stane wus thur fur religious instruction, it wud seem that it wus a popular coortin spot forbye, specially fur thon ‘born in aul Newton not far from the Bowton’ es ye can fin oot fur yersels alow.

Images obtained from - Newtownards a pictorial history

The Big Stane

I was born in aul Newtown not far from the Bowtown

The first sound I heard was Walkers aul horn

Me Ma rocked the cradle, me Da played the fiddle

And I sucked a bottle of John Barley Corn.

I can still hear the laughter of the kaliman after

I still feel delight at the sound of her name

At the first kiss she gave me nothing could save me

She kissed me at the bottom of the aul dummies lane.

While walking for pleasure one fine summers evening

I met with my true love down by the big stane

We fell into courtin while gathering cockles

Now cockles and courtin can be a rough game

As the shadow of sunlight began to get dimmer

I felt a bit rough round by the big stane

Now sands good for building but no good for courtin

So stay on the grass when you are at the big stane

The days they got shorter and my love got bigger

Her Da got crosser and I got the blame

A shotgun was loaded and nearly exploded

You’ll pay for your courtin down by the big stane

One merry spring mornin our wedding was dawning

We met at the Church in the aul dummies lane

Her Ma she was cryin her Da he was cursin

And my son was born before we got hame.

He was born in aul Newtown not far from the Bowtown

The first sound I heard was Walkers aul horn

Now she rocks the cradle and I play the fiddle

And he sucks a bottle of John Barley Corn.

And he sucks a bottle of John Barley Corn.

My thanks to Mark Anderson for his contribution to this posting