The Homecoming

The bond that was broken
Still held in a token
Still caught in the sigh
From the dream in your eye
Misty mountains
Gloomy glens
Ancient landscapes
And long lost friends
Magical islands
Of stolen childhoods
Foreign cultures
Forgotten tongues
A distant yearning
For a heart that is mourning
Please come home
To where you belong . . .

Hugh DP McArthur FSA Scot
Clan Arthur Seannachie

Mariners Message

Some nice words from our old mate Giles who is at sea on the Clyde Challenger.

On Abhainn Cluaidh's mantle,
From the pool of Saint Ninian's Bay
I send word.
Many Moons in silver waters have plunged
since I last saw you all,
Companions of the Heart.
I think on you often -
joyful salt-eyed meditatations and then as now it fair brings a tear
to the eye!
I hope very much to see you all soon,ashore.

Love Giles

Collage

Thanks to Rev. Moyna McGlynn from Govan Old Parish Church for this wonderful contribution and for reminding us of what a special place Govan remains to be, despite all it's problems. T.

In the early mist of morning, monks wading ashore. Sunlight on the landing stage. They have come from down-river.
There is a settlement here already, small huts, woven fences for animals; some fishing, a few acres of crop.
The water is cold on bare feet, but the land is stony, hard packed, solid.
This is the place. This is the place where God is. This is the place where the broken feet of Christ will stand.

All those running feet. Bringing prayers and petitions. Carrying coffins for the dead. Brides walking with dignity into new responsibilities. Every anxiety whispered into the wood and stone. Unknowing children, borne in arms for the dove to alight upon them in beads of water. Wine and wafer, dry tasting on the tongue, the ambrosia of immortality. Music and words: curling around the beams and the bright windows. The footprints of family and belonging. The touch of cold stone, and all the knots of birth, life, death patterned for eternity.

Hands raised in assent on Doomster Hill, and raised to lift the metal plates and strike the rivet in Doomster’s sheds. High up, higher than ever the hill was, on gantries of wooden or metal poles, they do their work . Fists raised in anger, labour strikes, domestic blows, raising glasses for the pleasure of doing, being, raising glasses for ruin and pain. Voices raised in well-loved hymns, voices raised in frustration. Men calling from the high ships, men murmuring as the hooter calls, and all pour through the wide gates onto the street.

Women shopping, chattering, cleaning, boiling whites in steam as hot steel furnaces. Dragging water-weighted blankets, pushing them against the drag into mangle-rollers. Carrying: miscarrying: carrying shopping, carrying children, carrying furniture from house to house, paying rent, making excuses for not paying rent, carrying heavy irons, scalding to the touch.. Ekeing out money when the hammers fall silent and the men waste their days and strength in bars and clubs.

Civic pride, shops with hats for weddings, and town halls (no less than two), schools where children can learn to cross the globe finding work in new worlds, on Canada’s lake-oceans and Cheltenham, in Sydney, Johannesburg, and Auckland. Lectures, here at the Pearce: on sewing, on making a little income go a long way, on new scientific discoveries, on philology - on hard benches. Sermons kindly or hectoring, hopeful or damning, on hard pews.

Broken pieces: families laid waste, children bruised, knowing little, knowing no love or patchy love at best, without the verb to work, without the doing skills. Buildings fallen into shabbiness and disuse, industries moved on: the unwanted left behind.

This is the place where God is: this is the place where the broken feet of Christ will tread; in all the fallen, broken, renewing, restoring, warp and weft and hope of living.










Moyna McGlynn.

An Eaglais Mhor

An excellent contribution from our friend Stuart McHardy
(Folk from Dundee can write poetry too ye know)

*AN EAGLAIS MHOR

There are nae stane waas
tae the kirk in whilk A worship
nae wrocht gless
tae tint the licht
fraer the ivver-cheengin lift;
ma psalms ring oot i the ripplin burn
ma daily hymn's the soughin win
on whilk A see the lauchin lintie soar,
an fer ma catechis an rite
A read the widland craturs run
the reid hert's stately grace
the flicht o startlit cushats
an the dewdrap spangle
o the speedart's lace;
an whiles ah bou ma knee
tae better speir
jist whaur A staun,
an, liftin ma een
cin clearly see
A am but pairt
o whit A lou
an whit lous me;
fer aa A see
is bit ae pairt o whit maun be
ilk ane o uso aa things pairt
an pairt o aa things;
sae here A stauni
the middle o the universe
abune the hairt
o oor mither earth,
the licht, the lift
an life itsel
aroun an aboot
abune an ablow,
An Eaglais Mhor
An Eaglais Mhor

fer me./stuart mchardy sept 95/

My Dream

It was a couple of nights ago that I had my dream. It's not the kind Iv'e had before, it was weird and sad.

It was about this little bird I had found, but when I looked at it again I was shocked to find it was a baby eagle.

So I took it home and fed it till it got a little bit older.

Then, one afternoon I heard this thud at my window, which gave me the shock of my life to see the mother of the baby eagle.

Then she disappeared into thin air.

She never did come back for Hunter, which I called him, so I kept Hunter but knew I had to let him go one day.
So, I decided to take him to a place called Barmaddy, which is a farmhouse we go to now and again. Galgael is doing it up, so I took him there to set him free.

It broke my heart, but was happy to see him fly around but anytime I went back there I always saw hunter. So that was my dream- one i will never forget.


Rosie

Big Braw Boats

We are Birlinn
The seagull saunter
With a swan glide
We expose the heart
As we pick up stragglers
Cast adrift
Sailing onward
Richer
Richer "for a' that".
Rab!
Ye were richt
Its comin'yet!

Alan T.

(Pic. Orcuan on the Firth of Clyde 2008)

Wan o' the Crew.

Galgael, GalGael,
Make your boat,
And watch it sail,
Going far and sometimes near,
Brave like Scotland.
Have no fear,
The butt n' ben,
Is very near,
Jaggy thistles,
And lucky heather,
This boat will
Last in any weather,
GalGael forever.

James McLauchlan

Extract from "Fight or Flight" , A collection of GalGael writings compiled by Chris Adams

Our people dispersed
Culture eclipsed
The colourful plaid
Outlawed discarded

Colonial migration programs enforced
The commercial curse
The land is sold and nature is raped
Exploited by the beasts

Our remnants
make profits
the Iscariot way

The land needs people
To love and care for it
Repair and heal it

The Bright Ones of these Isles
Must fight the good fight
End the marketing of our kingdom

Viking, Roman, Saxon
Germanic plunder
Before the day is done
We must battle through
Burn their strongholds

Bring them to the alter
There is only one God

Swords pride greedy riots
Hacking the tree of life
We are coming to judge
The present situation
The Bright Ones of these Isles

Colin MacLeod.

Out of the darkness

Out of the darkness, into the warm sunlight,
I'm finally believing the thoughts in my head are right,
but time moves on and the heart's still strong,
I know I can't change it,
Or put right what once went wrong,
But I believe in miracles i believe in something pure
I believe with faith in mind, nothng can harm you anymore.

There comes a time when you realise
That you are searching for answers
Then clarity burns in your heart
You open your eyes, see for the very first time.
Everyones life is riddled with mines.
But I believe in miracles.
I believe in something pure.
I believe with faith in mind, nothing can harm you anymore.

The light shines on the darkness
But darkness turns his face
The light like a child he reaches out
But the darkness refrains its embrace.

Big George.

Eternal Clann

(forgive us Rabbie, we love you dude)

If distinction the Creator maks’
Twixt’ those amang the masses
The fowk wha go wi’ guid intent
Rank highest o’ the classes

Through honest work an’ skill o’ hand
In Natures celebration -
Respect o’ Life, and kinship
Bequeathed doon generations

Whit can ye gie? whit can ye tak?
Whit hae ye for the table?
Broth an’ breid we hae tae share
Tae mak’ ye strong an’ able

O’ heart fire that unites us a’
Gie spirit, warmth and nurture
An’ courage tae embrace sic grace
Love is the only culture

The myth o’ progress shackles man
To war against the earth
Noo’s the hour tae break the chains
An’ recognise oor worth

Then unicorn shall wander free
Spirit now unfettered
The plans o' men enslave their souls
But the Clann can ne'r be bettered




Tam and all the Plane Castle posse