Larry's Death Cafe

by Pat Sutherland

Larry's Death Cafe was a memorable event that attracted maximum participation. It combined the fun of a Water Story aboard Peccadillo with opportunities for deep thoughts and contemplation. What can be more profound and challenging than thoughts of death? 

Firstly we passed around the Talking Stick, a gift to Larry from some Native American friends. Possession of the stick confers the right to speak, ending with 'I have spoken', the response to which is a strong 'HO!' from the listeners. So we passed the stick, telling our stories and listening to others'. 

Then, as we chugged along, at Larry's prompting we asked ourselves a difficult question: when did we expect to die? As ever, there were some moving observations and the comforting fellow-feeling that tends to arise from sharing. Larry encouraged us to look inside of ourselves for those thoughts we mostly keep out of sight.

All this profound thinking was done to the clink of coffee cups and an excess of delicious cake. Some were brave enough to visit the prow for an envigorating blast of bitter wind; the cowards, myself chief among them, remained cosily inside. 

Larry's second prompt was 'On our journey towards death...' The variety of responses was proof if any were needed, of our diversity, our ability to look at life as through a kaleidoscope,each seeing a different pattern.

Later when I told friends about the Death Cafe, they wondered if this was the best means of staying cheerful. How wrong they were! There was as much laughter during our sail as on any other occasion, and I left feeling lighter. Death is the ultimate, purest certainty, one we often try to avoid. Staring him in the face is embolding, and there's always the chance that he'll be the first to look away.

Ironically, it was life enhancing to share our thoughts on the Grim Reaper: he sits easily with coffee and Victoria sponge. 

Thank you, Captain Bev and Larry. 

Carers' Waterstory, Loch Lomond 21st October 2017

by Pat Sutherland

By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

The poet was talking about Loch na Keal, but last Saturday the water-wraiths had wheeched down to Loch Lomond and they were giving it laldy.  Waterstory trips are almost always sunlit, but this time the weather gods were not best pleased.

It takes more than winds blowing a hooligan to dismay Captain Bev, however, and there she was in the prow, waving us all on board:  Ahoy there, sweeties!  The boat was high in the water, which caused embarkation shenanigans for the Elders, but many hands combined to haul us aboard.  Tourists, keen for a taste of authentic Scotland, had turned up in undaunted droves, filling every seat in the cabin, while a few armed with selfie sticks braved the weather on deck.  This was me when the wind inflated my poncho and I took off into Loch Lomond....

In the mooring, the boat rocked, causing a few exits even before we were underway.  But once out on the loch, we found quieter waters.  Bev, who probably invented multi-tasking, took the wheel and broadcast her commentary.  We learned about the loch's beginnings, its botanical and geological significance, and its bloody history. The surrounding hills had wrapped themselves in cloud; the bonny banks lay dripping and still, and beneath us surged six hundred feet of dark, mysterious water.  Scotland on the gloomiest day is still magnificent.

The Arklet Falls at Inversnaid were in full spate, powerful white torrents roaring into the loch.  It was the perfect day for reciting the poem that sent this  corner of Scotland across the world:

This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.

We could see that galloping cuddie in the crashing water, and wished we could match the poet's inspiration.

Once safely tied up at Tarbet, there was tea and Cathy's Gingerbread, a confection that would have Mary Berry spitting tacks.  Writing time followed, and much of it featured memories brought to life by our morning on the loch.  Childhoods by the sea  and river bank picnics grew on the page.  As the day darkened, 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;

Scotland's weather seems to be a preoccupation among its poets.  It was hoods up and heads down to the car park.

But as Glasgow folk always said after a wet Fair Fortnight: It didnae keep us in!

I KNOW WHAT I KNOW

by May McIntyre

I - I know what I 

K - Know

N - Now because I learned very quickly that I must ask. I asked  - 

so that I kept my sanity. 

O - Otherwise I could never have survived this awful journey.

W - When I needed things clarified - I asked.

W - When I needed to understand.  When I

H - Had to know what to expect.  When I was out of my depth.  When I was 

A - Afraid - I asked. When I needed to fuel myself with knowledge,

T - To familiarise myself with the unknown - I asked. 

I - I always asked! Gathering 

K - Knowledge about a problem or issue is

N - Never easy. Never easy to face up to it. Never easy to face a different future. Different to the one you had planned in your mind. The 

O - One and only 

W - Way to survive this unwanted journey is to ask when you need reassurance and to be fuelled every step of the way with hope. 

Peanut butter away

by John Young

What a beautiful  summers day sun splitting the sky, glowing and inspiring yet the east  wind screams through our bones,enough to make  you cry.

The barge is resting at peace  ,  diesel  fills our nostrils,  pens and pencils are primed and ready to write , ears on full alert listening  , waiting  yet  , yes its time for a fleece.

Clunk, clank boom we are ready for the off.
Captian  Bev gives us the shout 

"Peanut  butter away"   

Looking forward to  our adventure  on a glorious  day.

The question  is what do we know ?,we ponder we drink coffee  we go with the  flow.

Bish bash bong the old lady murmurs  along ,carrying  the writers dreams,   hopes and fears  a bit of laughter  and a wee tear.

The Daffies on Great Western Road

by Pat Sutherland

All the way from Kelvinside to Yoker

they stood in ranks, heads up, ramrod straight. 

Off duty, they'd nod to the early bee 

and gossip about the trespassingTazetta

exiled from some matchless garden, 

sneering at her common woodland cousins. 

I'd tell her where to stick her trumpet, 

said the tallest one.

But the North Wind fancied a change,

after months of levelling island hamlets 

and blowing a hooligan over Wick;

so whistling something Wagnerian,

he swooped south,

picking up ponderous clouds

eager for a free ride.

And as he took one long deep breath

above Bearsden 

they yelled, Bombs away!

And loosed a million hailstones.

The Botanics emptied;

umbrellas and hats took flight;

the alt-left outside Oran Mhor

turned their Guardians into hats

and ran for the bar;

an ecstacy of toddlers splashed

and stamped in deepening puddles.

Legless and without a tail to turn,

the hapless daffs were rooted to the spot,

while gleeful gale and spiteful hail

skelped them down,

rubbed their frilly faces in the dirt,

and left them all - wiped out -

in a field of glaur.

Content with his carnage, but

eager for more, the vandal wind,

hearing word of loose slates

in Coatbridge,

blew off north-east.

He left a quieter sky.

A few querulous rays squeezed

through kettling clouds,

touching the battlefield

with a smidgen of warmth,

just enough to stir bedraggled heads

and turn them skywards.

All the way from Kelvinside to Yoker,

now back in their blazing ranks,

the daffies stand proud, heads up,

unbeaten.  Whaur's your phoenix noo?

says the tallest one.

Indomitable?  Naw: gallus.

Highland Cinema

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

http://urbanglasgow.co.uk/archive/o_t__t_4455__start_100__index.html

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.!!

Oh My Pain

by Sheila Buchanan

In medicine pain implies something that happens when some parts of the body are damaged.  It can be emotional or physical or both.  It is an individual experience and not well understood.

Pain cannot be measured.

It is a four letter word

My pain is full on All day long

And night time too

Same pain

Different for me and for you.

Heat or cold applied to the site

Supposed to relieve

This terrible shite

Tell your doctor the internet says

The doctor implies he hasn’t a clue

Take a pill That will do.

Time will heal

You’ve heard the spiel

We’ll take more pictures

As we obviously can

No holds barred

Its chronic now.

Good luck friend

Be on your way

Bad news is

Pain is here to stay.

But don’t worry I’m FINE.