An Old Glasgow Poem

Blantyre's Ain Website

Blantyre, Lanarkshire, Scotland

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An Old Glasgow Poem

An Old Glasgow Poem

Where is the cludgie, that cosy wee cell,
The string frae the cistern, I remember it well,
Where I sat wi’ a candle and studied the mags,
A win fur the ‘Gers, a defeat fur the Jags.

Where is the tramcar that once did a ton
Doon the Great Western Rd on the auld Yoker run …
Where is the tramcar that once did a ton
Doon the Great Western Rd on the auld Yoker run …

The conductress aye knew how to deal wi’ the nyaff,
“If yer gaun, weal get oan, if yer no’, jist get aff”.

I think o’ the days o’ my tenement hame,
We’ve got fancy hooses noo, but they’re no’ the same
I’ll swap your gisunders, flyovers and jams,
For a tanner return on the old Partick trams..

Gone is the Glasgow that I used to know,
Big Wullie, wee Shooie, the steamie, the Co.,
The stupid wee bauchle, the glaikit big dreep,
The baw’s up the slates, an’ yer gas at a peep.

Where is the Glasgow where I used to stay,
With white Wally closes done up with white clay,
Where ye knew every neighbour fae 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 jorrie, a peerie, a gird wi’ a cleek ..
Can they still cadge a hurl, or drap aff a dyke,
Play hunch-cuddy-hunch. Kick-the-can an’ the like …

Where is the wee shop where a’ used tae buy
A quarter o’ tatties, a tuppenny pie,
A bag o’ broke biscuits, a wee sodie scone,
And the wummin aye asked “How’s yer maw gettin’ on?”

Where’s the tally’s that I knew so well,
The wee corner shoppie where they used to sell
Hot pies, a McCallum, an’ chips in a poke,
Ye Kent they were tally’s the minute they spoke.

On a cauld winter’s night when we sat roon the fire,
Each telt a story, not one was a liar
Then in the morning, no lang efter dawn.
Ye got handed a parcel and sent tae the pawn..

Those days were so rosy, but money was tight,
The wages hauf feenished by Seterday night.
But still we came through it and weathered the ruts,
The reason is simple – our parents had guts…

Anon

Sent in by Betty McGaulley

~~~

If you have any Poems… Send them to Bill

Blantyre, Lanarkshire, Scotland

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