Thursday, 26 May 2011
Monday, 16 May 2011
GalGael have recently lost two good friends Colin Callaghan and Keith Dolan- both young and in their forties. We would like to express our sympathies to their friends and relations and remember them here too in words.
Colin Callaghan was employed by one of the local addiction agencies and often referred folk to our Navigate Life course and also put one or two volunteers in our direction too. He loved coming into GalGael and we loved working with him. He always stood up for the underdog and was always ready to speak out against the injustices meted out to people dealing with big agencies and organisations. We always hoped we would work more closely with Colin as he had much experience we could have learned from, and he was a peoples person with a great wit.We will miss him greatly.
Keith was a "guid soldier". Haunted by some of the things he witnessed while with the Armed Services abroad, he found it a struggle to find his way back into normal life. He had a great energy about him though, and loved working and having a purpose and despite his own problems was always willing to help others. He will be missed by all his friends at GalGael and at the Elderpark Community Food Garden. One friend has written a poem in tribute to him.
There was a Scottish soldier
Keith Dolan was his name
Now that he’s gone our Govan clan
Cannot be the same
Keith took the Crown’s bright shilling
They sent him off to war
To Bosnia to help the weak
Be massacred no more
To keep his comrades’ safety
Keith had to take a life
Keith’s mind and heart were blown apart
He couldn’t bear that strife
When I was sick and lonely
Ne’er one place nor the other
Keith was first man said, “Join our clan!”
“You’re welcome here, my brother.”
Keith would help, not think of self
Ask nothing in return
But all the while, behind his smile
White-hot his wounds would burn
Alas, I could not help him
As he had once helped me
Where was the Crown when Keith was down?
Not around to see
It brings us some scant solace
Keith can be hurt no more
But he who served did not deserve
To die behind the door
I’ll miss you Keith, my brother
Our friendship was too brief
But since you’ve gone to journey on
I hope you can find peace
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Some time ago I had an unusually vivid dream, a rare one that left me with a positive expectancy for days after. In the dream I wandered into an old dilapidated workshop. The roof had given way while glass and debris lay all around. Drug user’s needles poked up from piles of cans and broken bottles and a constant dripping noise echoed out any other sound. I felt very fearful and had to summon the courage to move forward through the building. Suddenly, as I turned a corner there stood the most beautiful exotic tree, quite unexpected. A clear pond full of plant and aquatic life was there next to the tree which had itself grown out of the stone floor. It was an image of sheer unsurpassed beauty in the midst of decay. A few days later I heard a radio Scotland interview with Colin Macleod talking about the Galgael Trust. I had not heard of Galgael until that moment but thought that the organisation and their tree logo related to the dream and the overall theme of new life growing from an old industrial landscape.
Birlinn fills the silence
The rabble of my dream-world stilled
‘A message’ brought halt to nightly adventures
There I was alone in strange enclosure
Beneath rusting iron beams on feeble tenures
Whistling wind filled buildings,
empty Twisted corrugates had given way to sky
The visible remains of a speech less tanoy,
Dry docks drier than bone dry
A place that once supported kind and kin
And enthusiasm for life’s gifts
Had now receded and grown thin
A tale of the wind that shifts
The solitary echo of falling water drops
drip, Drip, DRIP
Drills a hole in ones heart
A lifeless shipyard, broken glass underfoot
Where the threads of life depart
Used syringe that once contained liquid ‘bolt hole’
A serum to take one to the edge of known time
They were caste among the discards
Smashed bottles of strong lager and cheap wine
Each step into further fear,
the fading myth Wondered what it could revealed to ‘me’
And there with unapologetic place of worth
Renewal in the serenity of a tree
Root demands surface unconditional ‘life’
Branches sway to sooth conditions Inherent in common strife
A primary coloniser to an inhospitable place
Breathing, purifying the air
Where we still hear the whirl of the lathe
A wooden column of growing strength
That sprung from solid stone Points towards a state of being
Forgotten but not unknown
The threat of silence resisted, hammer falls once more
Who knows what the rigors of industry had in store
Building boats now to voyage internally to undiscovered shore
Propeller thrust superseded by rhythm of wooden oar
The bearing fruit and seed of tree
Caste in places that they once knew
And Birlinn fills the silence
Where the great ships horns blew
Desmond Mc Donald Simpson.
Friday, 21 May 2010
Crafted with love
Fragile on the vastness of the ocean
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
No one knows your nom de guerre.
Steel_____ You are a legend
Surrounded by a monumental myth.
Chisel____ You are a legend
some poor mother's son.
On_______You are a legend
You should be left to lie in peace.
Cold______You are a legend
resurrected to fool other mothers children.
Black_____ You are a legend
Someone should say
Granite___ You are a legend
The legend on your stone reads.
By Michael McLaughlan
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Who agreed the purchase of the land.
Who packed boulders into foundation trenches,
their sleeves rolled back, their robes kilted,
heaving stone and wood
With the sweat of man upon it,
Hauling into sight the dream of future years.
They were not angels,
Who flattened the land and built the sheds,
Who worked high on gantries, plying the rivets,
In noise, in confusion, and danger, and delay.
Their floating towers screeching down
upon a slipway to the sea.
Sliding into silence-
pride- like broken bottles on wasteground.
Reach out for the plane,
Slide your finger-tips here,
Here you belong.
And pride coming back like the turn of the tide,
The wind on the water, each keel slicing by,
And hauling into sight the dream of future years,
Our vision, our work, our mark, our life,
Not angels, but people - the makers of worlds.
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Still held in a token
Still caught in the sigh
From the dream in your eye
And long lost friends
Of stolen childhoods
A distant yearning
For a heart that is mourning
Please come home
To where you belong . . .
Hugh DP McArthur FSA Scot
Clan Arthur Seannachie