Thursday 5 December 2019

When all else fails....

... Aileen has a lego portrait of John... in the land of the Proseco drinking giants...


Thursday 21 November 2019

Scots Pine

by Helen Elsley

The space below a remnant
of Scots Pine forest
is beaten earth, shed needles
twists of fallen branches
lodgepole trunks standing,
warrened about the roots.

On the edge of the moss their
blue tufted clouds
furze far above my head.

Years ago, I was taught to read
discarded cones.
Exploded in a cyclone swirl,
they told a tale of squirrels,
red as the high branches
feasting in unseemly greed.
The neater crossbills
picked their careful harvest
from the armoured scales
of each dud grenade.

Sight and sound dulled down
to the branchless, rough-barked
trunk, I would have lost
their treetop call and coloured flash,
if they didn’t drop
their leavings at my feet.

Monday 28 October 2019

Twilight, Gran Canaria

Our gatherings this summer have brought with them stories of water and nature from all over the world - writers' holidays. As we move into winter again the cosy woodstove cabin will be cheered by the memories of warmer places and times. 


Twilight, Gran Canaria by Pat Sutherland

The sky painter signalled sundown
with a primer of peach,
a random wash of silver-grey;
drew a menagerie of fabled beasts,
shape shifters transforming
from phoenix to turtle in an instant
against a backdrop drifting
between blush and crimson.
One burning bar descended
into black ocean
and was quenched.

Thursday 24 October 2019

"Trees" on Loch Lomond

Cruise Loch Lomond again played host again, on 20th September, to a glorious day of writing and pondering trees after Gerard Manly Hopkins inspiration... his "beadbonny ash"

Aileen's art is a breath of fresh air!





Tuesday 8 October 2019

Porthole

by Pat Sutherland

Through the porthole
the trees pass in procession,
graceful branches Tai Chi swaying.
Dog roses drift in, blowing
pink kisses,
bramble blossom promises
bounty to come.


Nature has reached her peak,
her zenith of greenness,
parading in full uniform,
epaulettes and all,
waving her flags.

Today she cares nothing
that her colours will rust
and winter will snatch her curling leaves
and scythe her grass:
for spring will follow
to herald another summer
celebration.

Nature through the porthole
affirms the fatal dissonance,
our niggardly four seasons:
we bud and grow, blossom
and wither, rootless
 in arid earth
that knows no spring.

This day, of sun and dappled shadow,
of light on water
we will hold dear.




Friday 13 September 2019

Scribes on Peccadillo

Navvies' Barge is the new name for Peccadillo but somehow that old name keeps surfacing in stories... and paintings. Aileen's first attempt at painting  a barge was ace, particularly the portrait of Richie the dachshund!



Scribes
by Helen Elsley

3 scribes sat upon a bow
Sat upon a bow, sat upon a bow
3 scribes sat upon a boat
And its name was Peccadillo.

The first scribe
Wove silken sails of gold
Selkie tales untold, salty tales of old
The first scribe wove selkie tales of woe
Embarked on Peccadillo.

The second scribe
Had wisdom to the core
Wisdom to the core, priceless tales of yore
The second scribe was furthest from the shore
Afloat in Peccadillo.

The third scribe
Wrapped pain up in a joke,
Poked lightly at the woke, kid on he’s just a bloke
The third scribe made wonders when he wrote
Aboard the Peccadillo.

The fourth scribe
Couldna write at a’, went in the cabin door
Had cake and then some more
The fourth scribe dropped pencils on the floor
and dreamed on Peccadillo.

Portrait of the artist - can you find her?

Monday 2 September 2019

I OPEN THE DOOR AND LET MYSELF IN

by May McIntyre

Who am I?
Who is that person standing
In the doorway?
I am at a loss.
Have I seen her before?
I have no idea- none at all.
 I do not recognise her.

If it is really me
I have not found her yet.
Not found myself
After caring for my son
Being there for him
Twenty four hours a day.
All day every day.
Caring for him with all the love I have
In my body to give.
Feeding his every need.
Giving my life to him
Putting mine on hold!

It's still on hold
Although he has gone.
Gone for ever. I could not stop him.
Out of my sight.
Out of my life on this Earth

Without him my life is
Empty,
fruitless,
meaningless,
worthless.
Although I try every day to
come to terms
With his death
Presently I have no idea
Who is standing at that door
I cannot identify her.

Maybe soon I will recognise
A new me. A different me.
Sadly I will never ever be
The old me
As I am now not that person
I was before.
Part of me is missing.
A gaping hole has
Been left in my heart.
Too vast to try to conceal
However hard I try.
But who am I right now?
I do not know!


The Joneses


by Sandra Walls

The two lads were getting ready for their usual Friday night out.
            David, where’s my tie.
He walked into the room.
            You’re wearing my new tie.
Aw you don’t mind do you, I’m meeting that lass tonight and want to impress.
John continued to press his trousers.
            These bloody bellbottoms are murder to iron, David how do you get ready so fast.
            He sang, well I just pull on my jeans and I feel alright.
            Jeans and a tie?
            Why not I seen it on Top of the Pops, all the bands are wearing jeans.
            Better not let mum see you, she’ll be the talk of the village.
They both laughed.
After a splash of Brut they were ready.
They pumped fast down the stairs.
            John? … David? Your dinner is out on the table.
They made a face at each other and whispered together ‘run for it’.
They both skipped past their mother, John lifted the crisp Yorkshire pudding off the plate and said, we’ll get it later mum, we’re late.
She tutted and lifted the two plates, covered them and took them over to the microwave, one inside and one on top.
She sat down and lit up a Peter Styvesant. 
She always said, ‘I’m in my place, I’m in the kitchen.
But Clif, was generous to her compared to some men.
Having her cigarette, she spoke through the kitchen into the living room area to Clif.  I wonder how long our Betty and Robert will be. 
Well they’re coming from Hamilton for Christ’s sake, it takes a while to get here in those little windy roads. How long are they staying?
Just a week I think.
Are you still puffing away since the boys left.
For God’s sake Clifton, I’ve only had one… then this one.
You and Betty will turn the bloody walls brown, I’m not painting again this year.
It’s fine, I’ll pay old Gwyn to do it, he’s always looking for odd jobs to subsidise that old farm of his.
I’ll need odd jobs to keep you in your habit before long.
She shook her head.
            Samo Samo.
The phone rang.
            Get that Clif will you, I’m doing the washing up.
She was humming ‘Little Lambs eat Ivy’.
            Who is it Clif? is it our Betty?
He put down the phone…
            No, it was the police.  There’s been an accident on the road.
            Oh my God, god, please God let Betty and Robert be alright.
            It wasn’t Betty and Robert.
She just stared over at him, yellow rubber gloves dripping with suds.
                                                **********
David had the car keys, right get in bruv, we’re late.
            John? Stick the radio on.
            What?
            The radio?
            What channel.
            BBC Wales, they play the charts at this time.
John re-tuned it.
            Ha Ha Ha Ha Staying Alive – Staying Alive
                                    Staying Ali iiiiiiiiive hive.
Both of them were bouncing along on their seats. 
Clif got a great little bargain with this.
Yeah John, he’s always liked these old cars. 
Yeah he says it’s the only thing that came out of Germany that was any good.
Well he was a P. O. W. Some of his stories would churn your stomach, eh John, have     you heard the stories. 
Yes, some, but I’m more squeamish than you, I prefer my dad’s stories, they’re funny David, you’ve got to admit.
I know but dad wasn’t in a bloody camp watching soldiers being shot.  Anyway, lighten up that’s us here.
Right then, I’ll get you at the door at eleven, and remember you’re driving tonight, it’s your turn David.
I know, I know, I’m only having a few bitter’s coz I’m meeting that girl.
                                                **********
John, as promised was waiting at the door, bang on eleven.  He stood having a fag. Clock-watching, he was working an extra shift in the morning. David is always the bloody same.  I’ll probably need to drive home again, that lad can’t hold his drink. 
            Ope, hear e comes.
The girl had his arm over her shoulder, teetering on platforms.  John ran over and said to her to help get him on the back seat.
            What’s your name love, Gwen, your John yeah? Pleased to meet you. 
            Can I drive you home it’s a cold night.
            No thanks, I’ll get home with my friends, we’ve just called a cab.
John got into the front seat, started up the old diesel engine, and headed down the Great Orm.  It’s at least half an hour or more, depending on the traffic on the Devil’s Horn.  He flicks his head around to see David, ‘Hah! Out for the count, he laughed.’
The radio was still on and was playing ‘Summer Nights’, Grease-mania wasn’t his thing but David styled himself on Travolta, so he left it on in case he could hear.
The news came over the radio, bad weather conditions and high winds are causing chaos on the mountain passes.  The lights have been blown down so drivers need to rely on their headlights until emergency services can get there to fix the problem. Drivers are warned to slow down and take care
            ‘Yawnnnnn!, ahh straighten up’, he put the full beam lights on.
                                                            **********
The driver walked into the depot in Chester for his nightshift 10 to 2.  He wore a dark donkey jacket, a fluorescent vest and a woolen tammy. 
Awright mate, is that you going off then?
Yes boss, ill see you in the morning. 
Listen, there’s been weather reports, so keep safe on those mountain passes, no overtaking, some of the lights are blown out.
Will do boss.  I’ve got my flask of coffee, that’ll keep me straight.
Good man.  He tapped the side of the 25 tonne beast.
The driver set on his way north towards Flint, out by the Horn and up the Orm.
He got on his CB, telling truckers about the weather warnings.  He had a laugh with colleagues to pass the time, it’s a short shift there and back in about 6-8 hours.
            I wonder if the garage boys checked my lorry for oil, water, windshield wash and the tyres.  I’m sure they did, they usually do.
He hums along to the songs on the radio and comes in and out of messages on the CB, he’s in the zone now and wanted finished.
            Ten four, I‘m on my way to get up the mountain pass in good time, probably another few hours before I get there but its pitch black, anyone out there went round the Devil’s bend.
Nothing.
He pursed his lips and poured the hot coffee into the flask cup.  Balancing the cup on his knee and screwing the flask lid back on.  A fox’s eyes peered into the cab from his headlights and he broke hard.  The fox ran off the road safe, but the driver was left trying to control the lorry that had started to jack.  His leg was scalded by the coffee and he jumped up and down kicking the leg about to cool the material.
            Phew, that was a close shave. 
The lorry straightened out again and he carried on.  Another couple of hours later, he was yawning hard and tears flooded over his eyes.  He thought about pulling over but he had already started the ascent up the mountain pass roads.
His head was starting to nod off, sleepy with the heat in the cab.
            Two full beam headlights appeared in front of him, and for the second time, hit the breaks in an emergency.
                                                            **********
Robert and Betty had arrived in Seafield Nurseries, to visit her sister Agnes who’d stayed there after the war.  It meant the family could get a wee holiday whenever they wanted.
The crackled their way over the ‘Bach Iawn’ meaning tiny bridge.  The big house was all lit up. 
            That’s unusual said Betty, Clif normally goes to bed early as he’s up on the fields in the morning.
            Let’s just get inside, take your night bag in and ill get the big case in the morning.
But when they went in Agnes was screaming at Clif about the car, and he was telling her to calm down as the police were on their way.
            Agnes…
            Oh Betty, there’s been an accident, I just know it’s bad, I can feel it in my heart.
            Don’t be silly, we had a decent journey, was a bit windy though, but no accident.
Nohhhhh, not you’s… the boys, John and David took that old German tin can out tonight, and we got a call from police saying there had been an accident.  I can’t think straight.
            Hi Clif,
            Hi Robert, the brother in law’s shook hands.
They went into the parlour and Clif filled Robert in on what he knew.
            Let’s just wait and see.
            Oh God, I hope it’s not John.
            C’mon now, don’t say that.
Robert, brought out a hip flask and offered the burning amber to Clif, he took it, and swigged again.
            Clif, Clif, it’s the door, the door…
            Ok ok, I’ll get it,
Robert went with him.
The two policemen took off their hats and asked to come in.
I’m sorry to have to tell you, that your son’s have been in an accident on the mountain pass with a lorry.
Noh, noh, not my boys, not John…
I’m afraid one of your sons, died on impact, and the other is in critical condition.
Which one, which one is dead?
Mrs Jones we don’t know, there’s a lot of blood, so we need someone to tell us, and then we can pronounce him dead.
We’ve already cut the boy in the back seat out and he’s on his way to hospital.
Betty said, ‘Ok Agnes, we’ll go to the hospital, and Robert and Clif can follow the police.
            No… I can’t go to the hospital, then I’ll know, I’ll know.  I don’t want to know.  Betty stay with me.
            Agnes, I need to use the phone and tell the family back home in Scotland.
            Betty get oor Serra to come, tell her to come, please.
Betty went on the phone, one call to each sister, brother, and cousin.  Serra came on the phone, ‘I’ll come right away, there’s a night bus, I’ll call and see when it leaves.
            Betty, do you know who died?
No, but Clif said he hoped it wasn’t John.
            Oh my God, he’s in shock, he must be, he loves both them boys like his own.
            Aye but he wasn’t saying it for himself.  Agnes went to bed, she can’t face the hospital.
            I’ll get her to go tomorrow, let her cry it out tonight, I’ll see you in the morning.
            Ok, ni-night.
                                                            **********
Robert drove at the back of the procession of sirens and lights. You alright Clif… Clif?
            I haven’t felt as sick since I was going to that camp.
Robert didn’t speak.
They got to the scene, the fire brigade were working on freeing the car.  The chief walked over. 
            There was no fire, but I have to prepare you, it looks bad.  The wheel went right through his rib-cage on impact.
            A man was sitting on the back steps of an ambulance with a grey blanket.
Robert asked   ‘Is that him, is that the fucking …, was he drunk, was that bastard drunk.
Please calm down, the man is in shock, it was an accident, he was not drunk, just an overworked lorry driver doing his route.  The lights were out with the weather… and well it happened before he knew it.
            Clif, do you want to go and see who was driving.
            No, you do it Robert, you knew the boys longer than me.  I can’t tell Agnes.  Whose going to tell Agnes.
His voice broke down.
            It’s my fault Robert, I bought that old car, she’ll blame me. I blame me.
Robert walked up the hill on the mountain pass, the road was packed with police, ambulance, and fire services.  The policeman took Robert to the front of the car. And he knew then who it was.





           

The Wedding Gatecrashers

by May McIntyre

Aeroplanes land from faraway places.
Cars negotiate the hairpin bends.
Bikers throttle repeatedly as they wind their way up the steep hill.
All heading in the same direction.
The Wedding Guests
arrive here in their droves.
Here to the  Pog!

The Pog- an Italian village.
Italian??  Italian??
It will be anything but
Italian
for the next few days
anyway.

Americans, Canadians,
Polish, English,
Irish to name but a few
And of course
Not forgetting
The kilted Scots
who arrive by the score!
They have all infiltrated
this  little Italian village
known affectionately to the Macmillan family as
The Pog!

An invitation only event?
Legitimate guests clutch one.
Harriet and Freddy invite you.....
So lovingly made for all
apart from ....
The Gatecrashers that is!
But they make themselves
well and truly known
to every single guest.
They are invisible
but they leave their mark
on every nationality -
nobody is exempt .

A wee red mark or
if you are unlucky -
a clutch of red wields.
That itch and itch!
Nothing seems to
Ward them off.
Nothing !
Not even
Franny's wonder
Potion!
Its stench actually wards off sensitive humans!

Sadly
we've all been visited
somewhere on our bodies
by  the
Mossies
of the
Pog!!!
Few have escaped
the wrath of
The Wedding Gatecrashers .

That itch though
will be a reminder
to us all of
the fantastic days
and nights spent
in a small Italian village
which opened its doors
and  heart
to us all.





Me, Myself and I

by Sandra Walls

There’s far too many things inside me.  When they all work its fine and there’s harmony, but harmony can quickly stop and cause havoc, when it’s really bad it can turn to chaos.
There’s me, myself and I, then there’s my conscience and her wee sister subconscious.
They bother me, especially conscience but once the subconscious gets a hold of that thought, that’s it, the game’s a bogey. It never lets you forget. They also fight with each other a lot.
Forget sometimes takes over and you can’t remember a thing.
Then I’ve got, my, mind, my body and soul. They always work together.
But my spirit is a loner.  It only comes out when you most need it.
But having a healthy mind, body and soul helps it to stay strong.  My spirit will never break.
People have tried, and they have made it feel worthless at times, and lost but it always finds strength from somewhere.

Somewhere is also inside me, it’s all around. And it tells me where to go.
Inside my body and me, I’ve got a heart, it sometimes breaks.  But time is a great healer.
Time just ticks along, just like your heart, and you just hope neither of them stop working.
The heart often wants you to listen to it, but it wrestles with head.
Heart or head, I get confused sometimes.
Confused is a rascal, when he gets the opportunity, he’ll muddle your mind.
Opportunity comes along from time to time, and sometimes knocks at your door.
But you have to open it to succeed.  To succeed you need to strive and call upon determination to take over, but when they do its magic.
I’ve never really had any bother with my lungs, they just keep themselves to themselves, working away quietly.
They did mind when I smoked though, it made their job harder.
My kidneys sometimes get an infection, kid’s eh.
My knees also creeks along with my bones, these two are directly connected, you can’t walk with one without the other.
And feet, they can ache if you go too far, but they can be easily soothed with a bit of TLC and a loving pair of hands.
Those hands can work you to the bone, but prefer to caress or play piano with its fingers and get their tips varnished, or like me now, typing my first bestseller.

"Waypoints" on Loch Lomond - 14th June

Huge thanks to Cruise Loch Lomond for their continued support of Water Story. Manley Hopkins would have smiled to find a scattering of poets uner his "beadbonny Ash" by the Arklet Falls at Inversnaid. 


Everyone loves a boat trip and all were charmed with the nautical chart of the loch that we used to consider passage planning and waypoints as a metaphor for our life journeys and the preparation our very unique vessels might require.



Thanks for the photos Debbie McRae!



Cap'n Bev and Sheila of CLL

No Apparent End

by Sandra Walls

Standing naked in front of the full length bedroom mirror, I traced the still reddened numb scar with my middle finger from one end to the other.  I inspected my reflection paying particular attention to the swollen but empty belly. Engorged breasts contracted in pain, eyes squeezed tight, body crunched up, but there would be no latching-on nor relief. A thought skiffed through the mind, bereft and missing something in life that never existed.  My lip quivered and chin contracted automatically in anguish and stifled welling tears. Trying to best dry off having just struggled from the recommended ‘nice hot bath’ that would ‘do you good’.  Skin still clammy, I pulled the white cold cotton nightie over my head.  Sat down at the walnut dresser on my favourite white furry stool. A mismatch of furniture, but couldn’t part with it, the stool was a ‘wee minding’ from aunt Mary who had died too young aged 38-years-old. Also got the art deco style silver dressing set, it had a soft bristle paddle brush, a French-style hand mirror and silver comb. These sat beautifully on a cut crystal tray. I scanned the table top, but never saw a thing, but was again drawn to the image in the mirror, I turned into it staring at the reflection.  Skin cold, was like a candle, pallid and motionless. But the heart deeply ached. Unrecognised, that reflection’s not me, it’s a doppelganger taking over me.  Its eyes dull and dark circles under, opened its mouth wide, too wide, until the jaw looked misplaced.  It let out a guttural low wail from the diaphragm, and gained momentum until there was no voice left, it held the silent note, no breath, until an intake released another cry, that sounded more like a tortured wild animal. Engulfed in the unseen suffering, rage and the unknown. 

Head held low, all the while I whispered.  My arms clasped around my breasts, I closed my eyes and cradled myself.  Clutching the imaginary bundle and rocked and rocked my rigid body to and fro in a frenzy.  Chanting silently, to still the mind and quiet the storm. The storm that was brewing… with no apparent end.

ABOVE THE CLOUDS THE SUN IS SHINING

by May McIntyre

Above the clouds
the sun is shining.
It WILL shine again
On me.
The dark days of
This year are passing
And life again
Will for me be bright.

Above the clouds
The sun is shining.
Shining bright
For all to grasp.
I must grasp that
Sun again
As life right now
Is passing me by.

Above the clouds
The sun is shining.
My life MUST
Shine again
I have lots to
Give this world
So shine on me
As bright as you can. 

Time to Heal

by Sandra Walls

Time makes lovers feel they’ve got something real.
But what is real but the soft touch of flesh and the kiss. 
The kiss of love or he kiss of the dragon.
There’s a dragon inside everyone, all encompassing, fiery, yielding to it’s power. Powerful, yet dormant, until… something stirs the embers.
The embers of the souls breathe life into otherwise a lifeless body, a shell, husk of a life past.
And what of the past? Memories of love? Hate?
No!... But jealousy, envy, greed, lust – of and all the seven deadly sins.
And all the sins of the sons of god – all of us, blest with Grace.
Behold Grace.  For it is truly a wondrous gift – from the heavens angels, heaven’s gift, but a gift of light that tears down the shadows of fear in the dark; to feeling cozy in the dark.
The dark must not be feared but embraced, as it gives rest, a shield, a place to hide and heal, of solitude.
All need solitude, for solitude lets your mind set itself free from the shackles of worry and constant berating thoughts.
Thought, analysis, to think, we all need time by ourselves to think.
And, to think something, whether it’s true or of imagination.
Life? Here… or Beyond…
Take time… to heal.
And time makes it real.

Monday 26 August 2019

Sunday Night

Our theme for Friday 23/8 Water Story was
"Sunday Night: an  exploration of what we might lose while grieving for something we still actually have"

and some quite extraordinary life contemplation came out of it. There was a distinct move towards mindfulness via a contemplation of the rhythm of life. It's interesting that a shared article  from the Irish Independent recommends mindfulness as an antidote to the "Sunday Scaries".


Here's what Cap'n Bev found among the musings:

Between

What is the heartbeat without the silence
between the thudding pump of our life organ?
What is day if there is no night into which it can dawn?
What is spring if there be no winter out of which to bud,
and what is winter’s respite without summer’s
punishing expectation of achievement?


Rest now, in the place that you thought was dark;
in the silence where you feared the heart
would never beat again. Heal
in the spaces between your breaths.
Embrace the exquisite stillness of that quiet
till you care no more what’s to be done with the breath to come
nor what was said by the breath before.

BS Aug19



Saturday 30 March 2019

What a finish!

Well 29/3 was a flourish of a finish to the current sessions thanks to Skye Loneragan who drew us so far into her dramatic facilitation that we were gargling salt - fantastic.

The good news is that funding for another two years of Water Story has been secured thanks to the  Wellbeing for Longer in Glasgow Fund.

Next session starts on 3rd May 2019, but till then, keep the writing coming in as Angie has with these two pieces (we look forward to seeing her perform live on 13th April).

Meanwhile we await the launch of our

Words Work Well for All Anthology
10th April 2019

Angie's poems below arose from "a rather alternative warm up writing exercise" that she has developed... hmmmm gonnee share it Angie? ; )


Love Lotion

Love, was a lotion I learned how to make myself
in my dreams you were mine
but I didn’t always like butterflies
you spent years running away
from my fingerprints
advancing from one country to the next
finding your passions, you’d say the right things
I was your world
but feelings change
now every single time you come home
I struggle, to know where we are

Angie Strachan
©


Food for Thought

I denied it, of course
asked few questions
made excuses
on a bad day
you were my, waste of time
decided to reside
in my intestines
connecting my gut
to brain cells and neurons
you took care
of my need
a release from anxiety
a coping strategy
and I’m sure …
over the long term
guilt will become
an uncomfortable emotion

by Angie Strachan
©

Monday 18 March 2019

The Write Way to the Wild Woman with Lesley O'Brien

What a witchy sesson we had with Lesley... 
Baba Yaga looking over our shoulders; such stories... Helen wrote the pieces below, Aileen made cakes and John actually poured coffee! 



Laloba

Lupine
Allegory
Lights up
Our
Barge-blessed
Afternoon







Cabin

As the bright plunger goes down
and the coffee is poured,
white steam clouds
are shafted by the sun’s spotlight
in the dark cabin.
Voices billow cheerfully
around the cake table.
Momentarily I know I am rich.





Saturday 19 January 2019

What a start!

Captain's view from the stern
We had a full boat for the start of Water Story 2019, and a sunny day to sail the canal though we did plough into some ice at Maryhill; surprisingly thick! At one point I cut the revs and looked down into the boat and found the gathered crew scribbling away diligently - enough to make this captain's heart sing.
Sunlight and reflection - perfect backdrop to our day talking of memory


Our theme "Albums" led us through an exploration of how we remember, and what an extraordinary collection of writing came out of the day. Even more exciting was the catch up on our writers' recent successes: Angie got second place in the Scottish Poetry Slam finals this month; Peter's docudrama (Brexit: the uncivil war - with Cumberbatch) has proved a powerful talking point; Aileen, Pat and Helen have all had pieces published this year and Sandra is discovering her devastating prowess as a standup/speaker - roll on Burns night! 
Grey Heron looking for fish in our wake


There was a hearty embrace of Gore Vidal's quote "Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little." and I confess that the facilitation of this group becomes ever more a marvel than a job to do. Thank goodness I have a boat to skipper, a valid contribution, and an opportunity to shake my head into a cool Glasgow sky as it swims with gratitude for the sharing and the power of these words.

Come on gang, submissions for the blog please! This was my piece to start us off:


Four-cornered

Sometimes to honour our youthful spirit we ease that old album from the shelf and smile softly back at our innovative young selves, taking on the world as no one had before. We politely turn the four-cornered pages of four-cornered album full of four-cornered  photographs. Part way through we lovingly close it, thinking how well we know these pictures and how impossible it is for them to describe the roundness of our days, the full spinning sphere that our life has been.

Our lives whisk by in a pictorial wind of events and faces, anniversaries and achievements, emotions and pets. We gather loved ones and vocations like armfuls of fruit till we stagger out of our prime, then, one by one, put them down… some gently, some less so. Occasionally the fruits of our labour might pick us up, carry us along, but gradually we all calm down and take a gentle stroll towards a setting sun, no longer compelled to paint a picture, tell it, or capture it for future memory. Here it is, now, its light dimming in our seeing eyes, its warmth receding on our smiling cheeks, our gentle anticipation of quiet night.
Bev Schofield Jan19




Tuesday 15 January 2019

Wakey wakey! 2019!


Highland Cinema ~ March 2017 post

by Sheila Buchanan

As the blog lengthens some of these gems are consigned to "Older posts"; I'm going to start cycling the content back to the beginning for another read. The pieces are well worth it - like this transportive account of cinema experience of old by Sheila...


Back in the day Glasgow was known as cinema city and indeed cinema going was a mass phenomenon.  By 1939 there were 114 cinemas in the city.  The Enchineer being the font of all knowledge and experience remembered that within a mile of where he stayed there were at least 10 cinemas.  He corroborated the tale that you took jam jars to the ticket booth and in exchange got entrance to a world apart and the silver screen.  His father would give him 2 shillings and that was enough to get him and his sister a bag of sweets and entrance to the cinema with still enough left over to buy his siblings back home a share of  penny caramels which would be divided up so no one missed out.

Listening to the Enchineer’s stories led me  to think about some rare archive footage of the Highlands and Islands Mobile cinema I had seen recently.  The footage which had only recently been catalogued showed the cinema van which would do its rounds to all the rural villages and islands.  The size of the community was no barrier to a visit.  The whole village would go out and walk in their “good clothes” to the local hall enfamille. Young and old and older were there washed and dressed and ready for their evening. The footage shows the farmer often finishing his work in the field with the ancient agricultural machinery which required vast amounts of manual work unlie the sophisticated machinery of today.  He would then join the family and villagers at the hall to see the latest offering at the “cinema”

The man in the van would arrive early at the venue and carry in all the crates of films in their large tin cans and the hefty large projector.  He rarely had a helper so he was
The man wi’ the van
Bringing in the tin can
The power to run the projector was often taken from a link up to the alternator and battery of the van.  To get the height required to show the films the projector height was fashioned from a number of boxes arranged with the wooden step ladder on top.  This makeshift edifice would have the projector sitting on the wooden platform of the step ladder and be of sufficient height to show the film on a wall or screen so that all could view.

The size of the communites varied from 100 in Kilchrenan to the mighty tally of 300 or more in the bigger villages.  The program consisted of small shorts, kids programs and the main feature.  Sometimes the older children would be allowed to see the main film which was a treat for them.  The adults would get wooden gym benches to sit on and the children the floor.  On Skye there was a bus that collected the audience to take them to Portree to the bigger cinema.  As there were no pubs in the rural areas it was a wheeze to get the bus to Portree where there were pubs and so the bus back was rowdy and fun…..memories made no mention of the film.  It was also a match making dating agency.
Film makers of all shades made films.  They would capture life with no CGI effects available to them but these will last longer in the archive memories and provide deep insight and vision for ourselves getting a glimpse into the past and celluloid tales.

I myself experienced this mobile cinema in Arran in the late 50’s in Brodick community hall.  The hall would be filled with folding chairs that appeared to feel soft at the start but ended up being fidgety and hard but this still did not spoil the excitement. I saw King Kong which was an early film version compared with the recent release and had none of the sophisticated effects of today but was none the less full of terror and suspense despite the crackly effects.  I can still remember the sounds of the film reel flapping as it came to the end of the first reel and needing changed to allow the film to continue.  The lights would come on and an enforced interval would take place while the next reel was fitted.  The sounds of the running machine and the light casting a beam of dancing dust particles in the darkness are strong memories for the senses.  There was no separate projection room then.

The images of these times have filtered into my brain and cast interest and inspired my own memories.  We live in an era of rapid change so rapid that we do not notice the changes.  It is a privilege to be allowed to look back at these films which have now been digitised and preserved for us.  For further enlightened reflection of these times there is open access to the National library of Scotland which has opened a brand new venue in the Kelvin hall. It has a vast and catalogued collection of images which are freely available to anyone to view in comfortable and stimulating surroundings….

Further resources about the cinemas in Glasgow can be found at


This shows  pictures of where the cinemas were. You will be surprised at the size of the cinema buildings and reflect on what is there now.  As an example a cinema which existed close to my current home is now a car park and an Aldi store.!!