an alphabet of bryn telin

 

sixteen poems of historical biography

by

john mingay

 

 

 

 

 

 

in order of appearance... 

 

wilfrid ayre (1890-1971)  

william bald (1788-1857)

thomas chalmers (1780-1847)

john clephane (?-1589)

david danskin (1863-1948)

william dick (1793-1866)

henry brougham farnie (1836-1889)

george hay forbes (1821-1875)

emma maitland stirling (1838-1907)

alexander orrock (unknown 1600s)

robert pitcairn (1752-c1770)

james robertson (1717-1788)

mary somerville (1780-1872)

james thomson (c1681-1766)

andrew young (1854-1925)

william young (c1745-1831)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

wilfrid ayre (1890-1971)

 

what made it all the better

was your four sided multiple punch

 

an efficiency

not seen before

 

a level of productivity

that had so many slip away

 

attended by detail in design

and pitch perfect planning

 

and then you and brother amos

rewarded for your replacements

 

dubbed for replenishing the fleet

of atlantic merchants going down

 

sunk by the letter u

by fascists beneath the waves

 

until sunk yourself

by cancellations and the ohrmazd

 

sunk and sold out

haemorrhaging men

 

gourley in the house of cronies

repeatedly reporting the decline

 

your yard in trouble

your working life at an end

 

but still even now your name

is etched on the links

 

a godsend to some

through forty-five years

 

master to workers

who knew nothing else

 

six to a hundred and sixteen

on the heap in two years

 

other work

hard to find

 

tory promises

as always left unfulfilled

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

william bald (1788-1857)

 

from here

to there

to be found

amidst contours

that speak

in several tongues

of where you

a son done good

touched a way or two

away afar

from here

where you were

once to begin

to make your mark

to draw a line

like later in lime

a line in time

all the way

to finally

too far from home

from here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

thomas chalmers (1780-1847)

 

in your bouten and binnen

away from the smoke

you plotted to make

so many free

 

the disruption

you wrought

brought you your church

 

unsullied by intrusion

 

each shepherd agreed

by the flock he would lead

 

and while here

by the bay

the simplicity of your days

matched this place

 

not so much dull

as delicious you would say

 

walking the ways

around and afar

 

clearing your head

after each morning writing

towards those volumes

and to those who sought

a reply of sorts

to their offered thoughts

 

from east and west

 

from past and future

 

tradition and progress

 

holding some off

while urging others on

 

guiding with words

written spoken

as no other author

had delivered before

 

words chosen

to bring about change

in a stagnant house of god

 

a living change felt to this day

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

john clephane (?-1589)

 

lost

in the sinking of

the ferry-boat

seems to say so little of

 

how great the loss

 

how deep the regret

 

how long the grieving

 

for a man amongst men

forging the future

in constitution and policy

 

provost

then baillie

 

with trading

far over oceans

long behind him

 

voyaging then no further

than a third share in the sey flowr

 

now seeing to his own at home

 

church and town

 

for

when all

is said and done

these are the things that matter

 

character speaks louder than chattels

 

who cares what staves and nets are left

 

being is more important than owning

 

and ultimately

being around is better than being away

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

david danskin (1863-1948)

 

from here

your wandering took you south

to dial square

where

you pushed for a side

 

colleagues from there

playing the game

 

you

a captain in industry

 

in the business of war

to keep the wolf

from the door

 

your talents elsewhere

 

out on the turf

running

egged on by the crowd

 

by the desire to win

 

until those pins

were smashed

and your days of glory

with their soundtrack

of fanatical ovation

were frustratingly done

 

so far from home

with only a bicycle

to take you into your future

 

and the inner failings of age

eventually

to make of you

a part of the past

 

a blue plaque

here

for all to see

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

william dick (1793-1866)

 

a privileged two seats

in the house of god

 

and higher above

on craigkennochie

a whole terrace of your own

with the finest of views

of where you began

 

a place

reeking then

no doubt

around your white horse close

 

but later

after

with a name for yourself

yours was the best of both worlds

 

city for work

elsewhere to breathe

 

the smoke

the sea breeze

 

yet

undeniably

devoted to both

 

the veterinary art in one

the people of the other

 

everything secured

with neither the time nor skill

for a single minced word

 

a fearless honesty

that left you

with barely a foe

 

just hearty friends

at every turn

 

you

a paradigm in time

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

henry brougham farnie (1836-1889)

 

when it’s words

and yet more words

with an air in mind

perhaps

 

then here’s your man

 

h

b

 

librettist of operettas

 

hits

amongst the glitz

far away

 

far from the words on golf

and flowers from before

 

now

with a wife

in every port

 

preparing

for his unexpected

early parisian death

 

o

h

b

 

r

i

p

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

george hay forbes (1821-1875)

 

even as a boy

you had begun

your weakened walk

towards salvation

 

towards turning around

each doubting thomas

 

each signatory to the call

to have no church at all

 

and all the while printing

from your pitsligo press

in the inky tongues

of syriac and armenian

 

your mind like your face

as that of thoroughly worn ascetic

 

quite undeniably with the spirituality

of a man on a mission to the very end

 

though that very end cruelly came

before the finale of your dream

of a saint serf surrounded

by miracles and dragons

 

then left set in stone

as your unfinished legacy

 

as one flawed gift

amongst all your faith given here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

emma maitland stirling (1838-1907)

 

over st andrew’s dean’s court walls

you could hear your fisherfolk neighbours

drinking fighting swearing their way

through their poverty of pocket and mind

 

through their filth and uisge-beatha

 

the suffering and cries of their children

too much of a distress for you to do nothing

even as you lay crippled for years

 

until the history of a pin

came tumbling from your pen

with bat in a forest left for dead

only to be revived by a dog’s breath tongue

and a life then led with morals to be taught

 

the same morals you took to the grime

of a squalid capital in need of compassion

 

in need of havens for its ragtag broods

both there and here in craigholm’s crescent

down by the links where boys and girls

could come out to play and breathe the air

 

if only this idyll had been to your credit

but you rearranged your future

and found yourself way out on a limb

unwanted by the very beast you had spawned

 

thorny with spite you left the middens

and made your way west amidst claims and clamour

 

canada

 

far enough

or so you thought

 

far enough away from mean-minded fools

to start again with children sent across the sea

though only for heckles to be raised again

by conversions and a feticide exposed

 

only for your hillfoot refuge to be claimed

by flames kindled by wicked hands in the night

all to get rid of your inconvenient person

so peculiar as to tell the truth

 

a truth silenced by false promise

 

a truth you took with you forgotten elsewhere

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

alexander orrock (unknown 1600s)

 

pestered mothers

you were their curse

 

you and your mint

like jennie so wooed

 

crooked your silver

your ally bally

ally bally bee

 

silliebawbie

beyond the bustle

 

beyond the town

but

of it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

robert pitcairn (1752-c1770)

 

emerald

swallow

aurora

 

names

from your short years at sea

 

posts along

your deep descent

into the inky ocean that took you

 

yet

not before something of fame

 

from fifteen leagues

your youthful eyes first

to see your island ahead

 

your island

your name

 

though sadly

soon snatched away

by the infamy landed on it

by a bounty

 

your youth

your life

 

emerald

swallow

aurora

 

and your sister

through long-closed eyes

still watches the tides

ebb and flow

 

come and go

 

waiting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

james robertson (1717-1788)

 

the entire row is now just

the compass-clear distinction

between black and white

where in the square

you would have neighboured

a daughter of numbers and stars

had you stayed beyond the grave

 

yet a thorough life it was

in being ubiquitous

here there and everywhere

anywhere with the smell

of promotion to be found

in those endless colonial wars

despite the scars of pointlessness

 

and then to become governor

holding back the flames

winding up business

to leave the bulls and bears

to fight amongst themselves

where the bow wood was found

land later lost to steel and glass

 

and though it’s hard to believe

in anything but the impression

of heroic warrior turned diplomat

perhaps another uncertain truth

would describe a man who showed

the haughtiness and contempt

natural to the pride of a rich scot

 

a man who was infirm

paralytic and undignifiedly amorous

like one who knew no bounds

no boundaries no borders

one who still walked

the walk of the homeless soldier

every line seemingly unseen

 

perhaps even you were that man

though maybe necessarily so

if to be able to do all you did

and refuse to be but who you were

perhaps it’s more for us to take you

as you necessarily were too

to see the hero and the rake

 

for not all is as black and white

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

mary somerville (1780-1872)

 

first to find the pull

of violet from the sun

 

first to find the numbers

that led to the god of the seas

 

the same salt spray

you tasted in the air

as when you collected

your precious shells and stones

 

in awe

 

as if a little too savage

too curious to become womanly

 

a reflection of your age

 

yet

a polymath in the making

 

pokers in every fire

 

first to be called scientist

 

a reflection of your range

 

but still with conscience enough

to refuse

the sweetness slavery brought

 

compassion enough

to see the need

to share

 

to teach

 

to make

the mechanics of the heavens

spin and spiral in our minds

 

forever

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

james thomson (c1681-1766)

 

as the last of eight

to walk your defiant walk

 

away

 

you lit the blue touchpaper

 

on two centuries

of all too frequent fireworks

 

of schisms and mergings

 

a madness of sorts

 

not that they

could have stopped you

 

anyway

 

with no-one to be found

to lock the doors

 

to silence your dissent

 

for as they say

you can’t keep a good man down

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

andrew young (1854-1925)

 

through the lens

or through the brush

the world came to you

so you needn’t budge

an inch from bentfield

where you were carried along

on your own bridge of life

high above the misery below

high above the eternal waters’ flow

on tides as in mirza’s vision

peopled by those around you

each and all ready to savour

all the fun of the fair

where sailors danced

to the players’ waltz

and the newly-weds stood

steady and smiling

awaiting the flash

of judea’s tar

that never quite comes

that never lights up

their static memories

for silvered paper pictures

and happy-ever-afters

the scene instead

watched over and judged

by a solemn seated few

whose blood-red robes

foretell your cancerous end

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

william young (c1745-1831)

 

tucked in down

at the base of the binn

 

you made your water of life

your uisge beatha

 

to feed those spirits

round and about

 

to build futures

for children to know

 

to bring music

for all to enjoy

 

to grow faith

that we may not sin

 

someone as much as any

of this place

 

slàinte wullie young

 

 

 

 

 

dunfermline/burntisland 10.3.-13.7.22

with thanks to burntisland heritage trust, https://www.burntisland.net/,

 in particular to iain sommerville, and, of course, as ever, to mr google.