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APPENDIX
APPENDICES
APPENDIX 1
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Obituary: Mr James Mowatt, Boat Builder, Gourdon 72 Boat Builder of the “Maggie Law
APPENDIX 2
Award: Hugh Lownie Ritchie : Gold Medal Award 73
APPENDIX 3
Awards: Excellence in Creative Writing in Scots, Gourdon School, 2014 75 Primary 4: Ben – “Even the Nestie Anes 75 Primary 5: Cara – “Tak Care Fit Ye Fish For” 75 Primary 7: Ciara – “Gurden Tod” 76 Primary 6: Fianaid – “Miserable Moose” 77
Letters and Poems to P4,5,6,7: “Dinna Be Coorse ti Craiters” - Celia Craig 78 “The Pleeng’s Lament – Cheenged Days” – Celia Craig 79
APPENDIX 4
“Tide of Change” by Sue Briggs – a poem relevant to many North East harbours 80
APPENDIX 5
Recent Additions: “Alive, Alive” (Dave Ramsay). 81 “The Bervie Flag” (P4 BervieSchool, with Dave Ramsay) 81 “The Great Tay Whale” (D. Ramsay) 81
Acknowledgements and Bibliography 87
Foreword
The Maggie Law Maritime Museum Poetry Anthology was launched at Gourdon School on Friday 31st January, 2014, going on sale for the Museum funds – a tribute to Gourdon, my native village.
Nearly all the poems in this Anthology were written by residents and former residents of Gourdon, past and present, poems dating from the last decades of the 19th century to 2013 : a few were written by non-Gurdeners. All the poems relate to Gourdon, the daily lives and work of the people of Gourdon, to themes and issues relevant to Gourdon, including the Maggie Law, surf boat. The poems offer significant insight into fishing, fishermen and their families, their thoughts and feelings as they faced disaster, death and adversity as well as recording their joys, happy times and social interaction, expressing the rich heritage and traditions of the village at different periods of its history.
This extended website version contains a number of additional related poems on the theme of the sea and fishing for purposes of comparison with the purely Gourdon poems, along with illustrative photos and notices and more detailed information on the contributors and background where available.
The Anthology is arranged both chronologically and thematically, beginning with an extract from one of the earliest of the collected poems, John Kerr’s “Reminiscences of a Wanderer”, describing Gourdon in 1890 as a busy, bustling, well-appointed place, progressing through poems concerning disasters and tragedies – Lost at Sea, followed by War poems generated by the First and Second World Wars, to three categories of poems In Praise of – Gourdon and the Maggie Law, a Gourdon Childhood and Men and Women of Gourdon - Daily Life in Gourdon - each arranged chronologically within each category, including more recent poems, inspired directly by the Mearns Heritage Project as related specifically to the Maggie Law Maritime Museum regeneration, some written by Gourdon School children. Some of the poems were located among the papers already submitted to the Maggie Law Museum in its earlier days.
Researching poems for the Anthology was both enriching and rewarding. In particular locating the “Morning Light” poem about the loss of the boat belonging to the family of my great grandfather, Alex Mowatt who lost four sons in the disaster, was enlightening and moving. The people of Gourdon were, as usual, very helpful. For example, Alison Ingram gave me a copy of her father, Jim Stewart’s poems; Raymond Craig wrote down on the spot one day his poem about his Granny baiting and worked on the spelling needed to convey the Gourdon pronunciation of the words properly: Libraries and Archives were also helpful. Others e-mailed poems to me on request or went to the bother of looking through family effects, long stored in the attic. Then there were the poems written by the pupils of Gourdon School, under the inspired guidance of Dave Ramsay, the project Manager as well as his own poems and songs. There were many other equally helpful actions, phone calls, e-mails. I was led to the first poem in this Anthology – Kerr’s “Reminiscences” by my friend, Alice Elder who had become fascinated by Kerr’s extraordinary ramblings and writings, and later I was loaned a copy of his works by other friends, Meg and Andy MacKenzie. The loss of a Gourdon boat in the Great Storm of 1848 is noted in Roy Souter’s invaluable book “A Wild and Rocky Coast”. Towards the end of the process David Smith, Bobby Gowans and John Ritchie provided originals and copies of poems, two of which we had found only in fragments, in response to a press call by Dave Ramsay.
Celia Craig, August 2013
Gourdon Harbour – around 1950/60
Gourdon Harbour today
The Maggie Law Maritime Museum Poetry Anthology
A Ramble Through Kincardineshire to Gourdon - possibly the earliest poem about Gourdon.
An Extract from “Reminiscences of A Wanderer” (published 1892, composed 1890) by John Kerr, Book Agent, Laurencekirk, a lengthy work in rhyming couplets, covering farms, hamlets, villages and towns in the Howe of the Mearns, ranging from East of Montrose seawards and inland to Aberdeen and Banchory. Kerr first surveys the area from vantage points and then zones in on individual villages and locations such as Gourdon. Note the reference to the Boatbuilder, probably James (Jeems) Mowatt who built the Maggie Law.
Gourdon surveyed
Kerr approaches from the vantage point of the Upper Knox Farm and Benholm Mains, and from the top of the hill sweeps round to take in the “splendid view” of Craig David and Kinghorney (Kerr’s spelling) and after touching on Bervie, the Royal Borough and its charter, mentions that “Where Bervie river joins the sea,/A harbour canna deepened be”, passing on to introduce Gourdon and its harbour:
“At Gourdon, south, a full mile round, For ships and boats, one has been found.”
He then reverts to Bervie before returning to Gourdon:
“The Gourdon village we survey, And Nether Knox alang the brae.”
Kerr now moves south passing, naming and describing many farms and villages en route, reaching St Cyrus and heading north once again to Johnshaven village, eventually arriving in Gourdon which is given its detailed description in turn. The “line” mentioned is the railway line, a valuable facility for Gourdon fishermen, for conveying their catch south. Crabs and lobsters, in particular were later transported by rail to Billingsgate Fish Market in London by my father and other fishermen when I was a child in the 1950s/60s. I well remember the railway schedule to Baxter’s of Billingsgate I was sent to collect from Mac, the Station Master.
At Gourdon fishing village now, We find the line, does it pass through; Before we enter we survey Fish-curing stations by the way; Some six or thereby we may find, About the seaport if inclined. A Life-boat station does appear, Well-manned wi’ shipwreck savin’ gear; A public hotel and an inn, Supplying whisky, beer and gin. Twa Public Halls for lectures, preachin’, For Foresters’ and Templars’ teaching; A Boatbuilder, a Blacksmith too, And lots o’ Coopers work pursue; A Flescher, Souter, China store, And Grocers fully half-a- score.. A Coastguard station will be found, A Public school, too, stands its ground;
Artillery Volunteers likewise, And Odd fellows there improvise; Hunders o’ active fishermen, Their labour in the sea sustain; A Railway Station Agent, too, And Porters all find work to do. And in the Harbour oft we find, Some scores o’ ships an’ boats combined, Sometimes the herrin’ fishin’ near, They in a crowded state appear; Maist o’ the buildins there appear, A modern size and shape to bear, Some o’ the auldest, great and sma’, For equalizin’ seem to ca’. But a’thegeither, street by street, They seem commodious and neat, Though while gaen up and down the braes, The road’s gey sair on rainy days.
Kerr continues along the shore road to Inverbervie, itemising special aspects on the way. This route, familiar to Gourdoners as the Low Road is still popular with residents and with walking groups who continue through Gourdon, south towards Johnshaven.
Now onward by the links we try, The route to Bervie to descry Upon the right we find the sea,. The railway on our left will be. Near it a rocky ledge appears, Like what St Cyrus coastside bears; Onward, we find a grassy brae, Whaur sheep an’ cattle feed an’ stray; We reach the Bevie Batteries now, Big guns, or pounders thirty two, The Magazine, Artillery Stores, Wi’ cannon balls laid up in scores.1 An’ westward, on the braehead through, We find the Ha’green Castle now, The Battery near it, there might sweep, The bay from danger long to keep.
As he nears the Railway Station and Bervie, we leave Kerr.
1 I believe this to be the ruined foundations halfway to Bervie which my grandfather and father called the Canons. Indeed I still refer to it as such! I knew it was related to a war but was never sure if it was World War I or an earlier European War, perhaps the Napoleonic Wars, the likeliest choice.
Lost at Sea – poems commemorating fishing boats and fishermen lost at sea
The poem concerns the Great Storm of August 1848 and was printed in the Montrose Review 25th August 1848. It is subscribed Stonehaven, August 22, 1848, initials R. D. An un-named Gourdon boat was lost in that storm
‘Twas a fearful night when the storm-fiend strode Forth o’er the deep from his dark abode! Stealthy he came in his power and pride But his deeds of death he sought to hide; For he veiled the moon and the starlit sky, In the black’ning clouds that flitted by, With the speed of the eagle’s downward flight When he darts on the prey from his eyry’s height.
‘Twas a fearful night! for the rain came down Like the cat’ract’s dash, in the tempest’s frown; While bursting from out their corally caves Came the mighty rush of the mountain waves, Curling their crests o’er the barks so frail, That were toss’d like leaves in the autumn gale; While anon they broke, enshrouding in foam Full many a man in an ocean tomb.
‘Twas a fearful night on the surf beat shore, Where the piercing cries above the roar Of the waves were heard, as the anxious sought Their absent friends in each stranded boat; And as the wind on the waves drove past The upturn’d keel and the broken mast, Their wind shrieks wilder and louder grew, For they told the fate of some ill-starr’d crew.
‘Twas a fearful night for the fisher’s wife, Who had lost in the fierce, unequal strife The dearest ties that she held on earth, Who so lately left her home-lit hearth –A husband dear, and her offspring too, Who exchang’d a fond, but last adieu With her that eve; but alas! – since torn From her heart, and left her alone – forlorn.
‘Twas a fearful night of despair and dread In the fisher’s home; for the fiend had made His motherless children orphans all, While he held on the deep his carnival; And oh! ‘twas a sad, sad sight to see The unconscious babe on the stranger’s knee In his merry play; while in frenzy dire The others call’d on their absent sire.
Poor mourners! they wept and cried in vain; For ne’er in the vacant chair again Will they see their sire, nor upon the hearth Will he mingle more in their joyous mirth. He hath gone. But a father still they have –A father here and beyond the grave; For Thou, O God! in the evil day Are the widow’s shield and the orphan’s stay.
The Gourdon Harbour Disaster of October 1875
W. Jarvis : Bervie, 16th October, 1875
“Lines in Memory of the Crew, William Wyllie, Skipper, Alexander Ritchie, Walter Ostler, Hendry Ostler, and George Milne, who lost their lives through the foundering of the boat, “Fisher Lassie”, off Gourdon Harbour, on 14th October, 1875”.
The crew of the other boat involved in this tragic incident, “The Annie Wyllie” ME 44, survived. They were: Robert Gowans, Skipper; Alex. Gowans; Joseph Craig and Alex. Moncur.
The morning was fair, scarce a cloud in the sky To warn our friends that a tempest was nigh. The small craft was launched, prospects bright as before, The sails set with hope, and they leave the fond shore.
All’s well for a time, the landmark is won, The storm roars aloud ere the work is begun; The sea, once so calm, rolls now mountains high, They run for their safety, look on home with a sigh.
We watch them approach, and we tremble to view The signs of distress of our once buoyant crew; Husbands and fathers and brothers are there –Oh! how awful the thought, “Shall we see them nae mair?”
We trace them within but one furlong from land; The last scene to describe, we no words can command. The frail bark gives way to the merciless wave; Our friends, five in all, meet a watery grave.
A father, the eldest of our hapless crew, Whom a kind and affectionate parent we knew, Went down; while a son, his joy and his pride, At the age of fifteen, went along by his side.
Another a father, aye loving and kind, Perished too, leaving a widow and three children behind; Five more little ones lie below the green sward, Whose names are recorded in the lone churchyard.
Still another, a father, numbers one of the five, Who, too leaves a widow and six children alive Besides father and mother who sadly mourn, The loss of a son, never more to return.
Yet another, a youth, the last of the crew, Leaves father and mother, and friends not a few. Oh! to fathom we cannot nor will pen e’er reveal, The measure of grief each fond bosom must feel.
A warning important the scene gives to all To be up and be ready, prepared for the call; For tomorrow, nay today, there may lower in the sky A storm, with the summons for us from on high
Take comfort, bereaved, wipe nature’s soft tear That morn shall yet dawn, and the time may be near When our friends we shall meet on yon distant shore, Where storm and where tempest shall part us no more.
Dave Ramsay, weel-kent folksong writer and singer, Project Manager for the regeneration of the Maggie Law Maritime Museum.
Commemorating the loss of the “Fisher Lassie” ME 28 with all her crew at the harbour mouth in October, 1875. The crew of the other boat involved, “The Annie Wyllie” ME 44, survived. Details of the disaster can be found in Roy Souter’s invaluable book, “A Wild and Rocky Coast”.
From the east coast port of Gourdon, in 1875, That October day five fishermen, were tae gie up their lives. In the morning Gourdon harbour saw 40 boats put out tae sea. The hale fleet it wis sailing, the line fishing grounds tae gae.
Now four or five miles off land, shifting canvas, shifting sail, The wind it changed frae East tae South, worked up tae a gale, Five smaller boats they ran, and got back safe in time The bigger boats were trapped, as they’d just shot their lines.
Tae enter Gourdon harbour in the teeth o’ an easterly, Takes all a skipper’s skill, learned by years at sea. The channel is sae lang and narrow, ‘tween the East and the West Ness, Tae navigate this in a gale could be a skipper’s final test.
The fleet had run for shelter after hauling in their lines.. Maist had made the harbour but six boats ran oot o’ time. Jist twa o’ the larger boats, made it tae the harbour mouth, And fower ran for Jonner, the next village tae the South.
The “Annie Wyllie” she pitched up, like matchwood by the sea, A mountain of a broadside threw her men intae the sea Alex Moncur made the shore, and scrambled up the rocks sae fast. The ither three men of the crew, floated in, on the ship’s mast.
Now another boat, the “Fisher Lassie”, ME 28, Was following the “Annie Wyllie” tae the harbour gate. She was hit by a huge broadside, lifted clear above the waves, She grazed the “Annie Wyllie”, she was impossible tae save.
The “Annie Wyllie” crashed on tae the rocks, up on the West Ness, Robert Gowans, Alex Gowans, Joseph Craig had a’ been blessed. They’d survived the raging seas, and made it tae the harbour mouth, Never thinking they’d be scuppered by the “Fisher Lassie’s bow.
Now the “Fisher Lassie” sank, sadly with all of her hands. The hale village turned out, and helpless they did stand, Tae see their loved ones perish, right before their very ee’n, The biggest village tragedy, the Gourdon port had ever seen.
The crew o’ the “Fisher Lassie”, were swept off frae the helm, Alexander Ritchie, William Wylie, Geordie Milne, Walter Ostler lost his son, Charles, a lad o’ just fifteen. Tae watch his young lad drown was the last thing he’d ever seen
Nae rescue could be mounted, the village stood and watched in vain. Three widows, 14 children were left tae bear the pain. Twa bodies they were washed ashore, the following morn. Twa mair they were recovered frae the calm after the storm.
The “Fisher Lassie” and the “Annie Wyllie” were sunk on that October day, And left behind the grief and pain which never ever fades A fishing village once again gied its men up tae the sea, On that fateful day in October, of the Gourdon tragedy.
Author unknown : original provided by Bobby Gowans, November 2013, possibly with missing verses at the end.
Lost with all hands off Catterline on 15th December, 1890. A poem in Remembrance of Alexander Gowans, who supported an aged mother; William Douglas, who was married in September of this year; Robert Douglas, aged 18, brother of the above; Hugh Gowans, also aged 18 years.
There’s nae a cheek in Gourdon dry, There’s nae a heart but’s sair, There’s no a hame in a’ the place, But has o’ grief its share.
There’s no a bairn in a’ the street, But kens there’s something wrang, There’s no a lad but hings his heid, An’ hushed the maiden’s sang.
The sough o’sobbin’ hearts is heard, In a’ the place around The very bairns in the street, Hae ceased their merry sound.
For lichtsome hearts at Morning rise Ere nicht are chilled by gloom, For four brave lads that left the shore, Hae met wi’ sudden doom.
The “Scottish Maid, a craft as trig, As ever cleft the wave, Through many a storm had reached the shore, That round her wildly rave.
The Loss of the “Scottish Maid”
Author unknown, December 15, 1890 (Verses missing at the end).
“And, behold, there arose a great tempest in the sea” (Matthew viii, 24), and four Gourdon fishermen were drowned.
“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea.” (Revelations, xxi, 1).
Gone to the grave is our loved one, Gone with a youthful bloom; Lowly we bend, schoolmate and friend, Passing away to the tomb.
Chorus We are going through the valley The deep, dark valley; We’ll see their faces never more, Till we pass through the valley, The dark, death valley, And meet them on the other shore.
Oft we have mingled together, Sometimes in prayer and song; Now when we meet, this one we greet Never again in our throng.
Sweetly the form will be sleeping Under the cypress shade; Sad though we be, fondly will we Cherish the name of the dead.
Down in the valley they’re going, Down to the other shore; But with the blest – fair land of rest –Weeping will come never more.
Author: H.K.
Who lately, in a storm, was swept overboard by the mainsail boom of the vessel and drowned. Aged 32 years – Was dutiful and kind to his aged widowed mother, who lost his father in the identical same manner. The following is by request of his widow and three young children.
Woe is our home since thou art gone, And left us here to mourn; And to that shore where silence reigns, From whence there’s no return.
Gone from us in the morn of life, When cheer and hope was bright; Now gloom and sadness is our lot, Day seems as turned to night.
We miss thee in the early morn, At noonday and at night; There’s none can cheer our humble home, Or make our hearts so bright.
While they, our children, mourn in tears, And do what seemeth best, To cheer dear mamma in her grief, And soothe her troubled breast.
Rest, husband rest, thy toils are o’er, ‘Midst dangers of the sea; No more amidst the howling winds Thy lot to live shall be.
And here again thy cheering smile Shall greet our eyes no more; But Hope, who is our comfort still Points to a brighter shore.
So may it be; that happy land Shall be our home at last, Where sighs and tears and blighted hopes Are numbered with the past.
Such is our hope, our humble prayer To him who rules the spheres, Whose hand benign can succour lend And dry our silent tears.
In Loving Memory of James Mowatt who was drowned 3rd December, 1894, aged 20 years
George Reid, Montrose, 6th May, 1895
James Mowatt was brother to the four men lost at sea on the “Morning Light” – see below – and a fifth and younger son of my great grandfather,Alexander Mowatt and great grandmother, Elizabeth Mowatt of Mowatt’s Lane, Gourdon, the house remaining in my possession till 30th June 2022, originally built by my great grandfather, to the best of my knowledge.
The Mowatt gravestone commemorating these men, erected by Alexander Mowatt can be seen in Gourdon (Inverbervie) Cemetery, on the right hand side of the opening between the old and the new cemetery, entering from the new to the old.
“The Sea Shall Yet Give Up Its Dead”
He sleeps not where the daisies grow, Nor where the roses bloom, Nor skylark’s warbling notes are heard Above his lonely tomb. No loving hands the flowerets sweet, Intwined in wreath so fair, Are laid to mark the resting place, And tended with fond care.
But in the great blue cemetery, With many a sailor brave, The lad of our affection Has made his lowly grave. For him our hearts are aching, Our tears no solace brings, For aye his smile and loving voice Round memory daily clings.
We linger by the deep blue sea, And watch the heaving wave Roll in upon the old grey rocks, Come from our loved one’s grave. Alas, we know not where he sleeps, Nor can we mark the place Where in the bloom of youth he sank, And ended life’s young race.
The fragrance of this bright, young flower For earth was far too sweet, Now in a region fairer far His bloom shall be complete. We’ll think of him in yonder land, We will not mourn him dead; But in the realms of the blest With Christ the living head.
Day after day we will think of him, And view his vacant seat; Day after day we think we hear The sound of James’s feet. And as the shadows flit and pass Across our window pane, We see the smile upon his face, And think he’s home again.
But the stillness is unbroken By the voice we loved to hear, And the days they bring no token Of James’s coming near. Alas, to us he cannot pass, But we shall join the throng Of white-robed ones in glory bright, And sing redemption’s song.
‘Tis but a few short years at most, When we shall meet again, And, James, we’ll see thee face to face, Where death has lost his claim. For once inside the pearly gates, Beside Immanuel’s feet, All long lost ones are found again, All unions are complete.
Author unknown
A poem written to commemorate the foundering of the “Morning Light”, a Gourdon fishing boat (my Grandfather Alex Mowatt’s family boat) which was engulfed by a high sea on the morning of 22 October, 1909, with the loss of the whole crew of four brothers, my Grandmother’s brothers: • William Smart : aged 43 years : Skipper and half brother • Alexander Mowatt : aged 36 years • David Mowatt : aged 33 years • Graham Mowatt : aged 29 years The following poems and the Newspaper Report capture the mood of sadness of the grieving family and indeed the whole village.
Lost at sea! From Gourdon village, Four brave men, all full of youth; Brothers, sons of aged parents Can these words be very truth.
Lost at sea! Will not some tidings, Reach us of the “Morning Light”? Can it be her crew lie buried, Gone so soon from mortal sight?
Lost at sea! We needs must face it, Must believe that ne’er again, In this world shall we behold them, All our watch for them be vain.
Lost at sea! How sad, pathetic, Are the scenes these words call forth, Weeping eyes, hearts well-nigh broken, Empty homes and shadowed hearths.
Lost at sea! The active mother, Needs no more their lines prepare; Never need the fond old father For their comfort have a care.
Lost at sea! Two sad lone widows, Feel for them life’s lamp gone out; Words will never tell them fully, All their anguish, grief and doubt.
Lost at sea! Two little orphans, All unconscious of their loss, Know not of their sad bereavement, Cannot share life’s heavy cross.
Lost at sea! All in a moment, A bright young life has shadowed been, Fondest hopes lie rudely shattered, Gone for her love’s golden dream.
Lost at sea! But not their virtue, Not the brave, leal, loving hearts, Not the souls of Christ’s true followers, Not the goodness Grace imparts.
Not what made them sons worth having, Husbands such as few possess, That which made them true examples, That lives on without recess.
In fond hearts they live forever, Nought will e’er their worth efface, Yea, the rather they’ve grown dearer, Since we saw their empty place.
And in heaven, what here was lovely, What in them was good and true, God shall bring to full perfection, Also give them graces new.
Lost at sea! Their loss is ours, Ours the want, the sorrow, pain, Ours the lonely nights of weeping, Theirs is the eternal gain.
Blessed Saviour to thy keeping, We our loved ones would resign, Help us not to grudge them to Thee, Nor for them too much repine.
‘Twill not be for long this parting, Gone soon for us life’s little day, Then in yonder many mansions, Where earth’s tears are wiped away.
We again shall greet our loved ones And our bliss shall fuller be, Than when here, because dear Saviour, We shall be at home with Thee.
There the meaning of this sorrow, We in heaven’s own light shall see; The “Man of Sorrows” will interpret The mystery of this loss at sea.
Mrs Hean, West End, Johnshaven
A boat sailed off from Gourdon shore, One morning fair and bright, Four men upon her in their bloom, They called her “Morning Light”.
Alas how soon their fate was sealed, The wind and waves rose high. Their little barque they could not wield, They in the sea now lie.
Tho’ these young men were stout and strong, Their lives they could not save, Tho’ struggling hard to reach their home, They found a watery grave.
The one that heaved that awful wave, He claimed the gallant four, Their work was done – Their race was run, Their toil on earth was o’er.
They left their wives and parents here A sweetheart young and bright, To mourn their loss, and bear their cross, Until “Eternal Light”.
When all will meet – each other greet, If only kept the plan, That Jesus drew, ‘tis ever new, Then all be joined in one.
Cecilia/Celia Craig, Principal Teacher of English at Westhill Academy, 1979- 2005, daughter of Alexander (Alex) Mowatt Craig
I saw the picture on my Granny’s wall –Of her four brothers lost at sea, that day The “Morning Light” went down, swamped in a gale. Alex and David and Graham Mowatt With Skipper, William Smart, half-brother, Leaving two widows and a bride–to-be, The aged parents, two sisters And a whole village grieving.
The seas were high, high as the railway bridge. A lump of water had engulfed the boat, Just back from Scarborough fishing herring. A scull, a flag buoy and a box or two, Marking the spot while gulls swooped at the catch.
Years later came another grievous loss –My Uncle Joseph, Granny’s youngest son Torpedoed, off Iceland, just 23, Serving his country, 1943 My year of birth.
I think too of my father, a near miss, Swept with his crew past Gourdon, in a gale, Making the next harbour, safely.
Aye, they that go down to the sea in ships.
My Granny’s four brothers, lost when the “Morning Light” foundered.
In Loving Remembrance of ANDREW COLIN MOWATT, MASTER, JOHN RITCHIE, ANDREW RITCHIE, AND JOHN TAYLOR …. Crew of the MAYFLOWER, who were drowned at Gourdon on the 2nd day of November, 1911
J.L. Gourdon
The morning was bright and the sea was calm, And the fishermen rowed so cheery and gay; Love of wives, and mothers, and children dear, Was the aim and hope for the toils of the day.
But in a few short hours the clouds grew dark, And high winds blew over the sea, And smooth waves rose high as in anger they dashed The boats, and fears rose in the hearts on the sea.
“To the Harbour!” they cried, and soon set their sail, And bravely they rowed for the shore, And were welcomed by loving ones weeping with joy, But one boat returned no more.
And all eyes were watching and looking for her To return like the others to home, But cries of anguish and sorrow were heard –For they sunk ‘neath the wild billows’ foam.
Poor mothers, and widows, and children dear, Will miss their dear loving friends; But God will provide, His mercies are sure, And day by day richest blessings will send.
1d each Proceeds to be devoted to the Casualty Fund
“In Sweet Remembrance” of Our Dear Son, David Anderson who was drowned in Gourdon Harbour on the 17th August, 1921, Aged 12 Years
Jeanie Leask
The angels sang their evening hymn While stars shone bright and clear, And our dear boy – a darling child –Listened that song to hear.
An angel saw his eager gaze, And lovingly took his hand, And led him to the pastures fair To join that heavenly band.
His mother’s heart yearns for her boy At eve and early morn, And his vacant seat at the fireside Stands cheerless and forlorn.
No sea! no darkness now! But Heaven’s everlasting light! O safe retreat for weary souls! In that city all is bright.
When morning breaks and shadows flee Loved ones will meet again In joy, in peace, in a Saviour’s love, And in that land remain.
“Overdue”
Helen B Cruickshank (well-known Scottish poet from Hillside, Montrose - 1886 – 1957)
Although this poem does not relate specifically to Gourdon fishing disasters, it offers a perceptive insight into the feelings of those, usually women who wait for news of loved ones, dreading their loss at sea.
O ragin’ wind An’ cruel sea, Ye put the fear O’ daith on me. I canna sleep, I canna pray, But prowl aboot The dock a’ day, An’ pu’ my plaid Aboot me ticht, ‘Nae news yet, mistress!” Ae mair nicht!
Poems of War
Dave Ramsay
The poem tells the fascinating story of an incident in World War I, involving a Gourdon fishing boat and a German submarine.
Fae her hame port of Gourdon the Bella set forth Wi’ a crew of six men they steered a course for north. It was 1916 wi’ the country at war But the lads of the Bella they didnae get far.
Line fishing it was the task of the day As they shot their lines just off Catterline Bay To hunt fine silver fish and tae Gourdon tae sell When the fisherman became the hunted themselves.
A German U-boat had surfaced and came closing in Took command of the Bella and all of the men. Wi’ the crew taken prisoner by German marines, The Bella was blown in the water intae smithereens.
There was skipper James Ritchie, Auld Brimy by-name, His son Jimmy Ritchie, a fine lad o his ane, James Freeman Ritchie, William Ritchie and a’ On that German U-boat they were ta’en awa’.
Auld Johnny was the tee name for old John Cargill And Davity, his son was ta’en prisoner as well. In the morning six fishermen were working and free And by nightfall they were sailing for far Germany.
Now what was the sense in such an event? Fower Ritchies, twa Cargills tae Germany went. As prisoners of war for two years they stayed For fishing that day in Catterline Bay.
When they returned tae their hames and in Gourdon set foot, I’m sure they oft wondered whit it wis a’ aboot For the whole German Navy and yon Kaiser fellah Scared o’ six Gourdon men and their boat called the Bella.
“In memory of my brother Joseph”: Killed in action – 11th April 1943
Alexander Mowatt Craig
This poem and several others were written by my father during World War II. Alexander Mowatt Craig (later Skipper of the “Trustful” ME 132) served in the Royal Navy, being part of that trained band who were termed Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve. These young men, mostly fishermen, attended training in Portsmouth a couple of times in their early lives and were first to be called up at the very start of the War, indeed they were involved from very early stages when it was termed the Phoney War.
Alex Craig as a young man on Royal Naval Reserve training in Portsmouth
The poems were entitled Poems by AC: “In my lonely moments” and dated as starting from 1941, covering his service on Atlantic convoy escort duties and in Kirkwall, Orkney. Some are deceptively simple pieces; some full of heartfelt emotion. The poem “In Memory of my brother Joseph” records the feelings and reactions of the writer and his family on the loss of Joseph who was killed in action when his ship, the HMS “Beverley” was torpedoed on convoy duty off Iceland on 11 April 1943 and, along with the second poem to his best pal, Willie Cargill, both give insight into the feelings of people in the village on the loss of loved ones during the War. My father’s two other brothers were also in the Royal Naval Reserve, my uncles, Willie in Cape Town while Jeems (James) was on coastal patrol.
Joseph Craig, World War II
We do not need forget-me-nots Or your picture on the wall To remind us to remember Or your youthful days recall.
You will always be just as you were You will never older grow. As the years go by we’ll remember you As our faithful brother Joe.
As we grow old and our eyes grow dim Our memory may sometimes fail But love in unforgetful hearts For you, will ever prevail.
When that day the sad news came It rent our very hearts And life’s blood seemed to trickle down From souls half torn apart.
Grief and anguish rent our souls Our wishes were in vain Alas, alas, upon this earth We’ll never see you again.
We loved you well, you loved us too And wherever we may go The engraven memory in our hearts Will go, dear Brother Joe.
We hope you are in the Happy Land Away from earthly strife Where God is good And Jesus Christ, gives everlasting life.
“Fraternal Memorandum” (in memory of Willie Cargill)
Alex Craig
This poem was written in memory of my father’s best pal, Willie Cargill, (killed in action on the (“Carnarvon Castle”), also from Gourdon, brother of Skipper Govie Cargill (died 2nd June 2015, aged 94) and expresses the grief felt at the loss.
Willie Cargill (left) and Alex Craig (right), World War II
My heart is sad and full of grief In my eye there springs a tear When I remember my old pal, A friend I loved so dear.
It was on board the Carnarvon Castle Down South Atlantic way He was killed by a piece of flying shell And buried at sea that day.
It seems so hard, but it is true We will ne’er see him again. They buried him in a watery grave Somewhere on the Raging Main.
He was so young and full of life, An ideal blooming rose. That flower was plucked while in the bud And now rests in sweet repose.
There will always be a spot, dear Bill, Left in my heart for you. The world may, but I’ll ne’er forget A pal so good and true.
James (Jim) Stewart
A Petty Officer from the Mearns, now on duty off the coast of Normandy, dedicates these lines to all Mearns’ lassies.
James (Jim) Stewart - well known Gourdon fish salesman, founder of the Gourdon Fishermen’s Association and concert impresario - wrote a number of poems in praise of his “beloved Mearns”, a region he loved and admired.
Mearns lassie, once again we face the German foe Upon the coast where fields of lovely poppies grow And while the roar of gunfire rends the air I humbly try to offer up a prayer That he who guards us and our every way discerns May guide me through to safety in our beloved Mearns.
Mearns lassie, I will do my very best To face up to this onslaught’s grimmest test And venturing over tracks which many leave For destinations where no war shall grieve I’ll find sweet solace in the thought that ever turns To be with you once more in our beloved Mearns
Mearns lassie, I had never thought or planned For war clouds hov’ring o’er our pleasant land Nor partings for such years as these have been With few short spells to bridge the gap between. Yet from his roamings to and fro this wanderer learns To love no place so dear as his beloved Mearns,
Mearns lassie, filtering through this barrage haze Appears a hope for bright and happier days When we shall once again renew our lease Of home which breathes of friendship, love and peace, The sanctuary for which this heart forever yearns And hungers to be back, in its beloved Mearns.
Alex Craig
Like an unceasing peal of thunder Came the rumbling of tanks and guns The noise broke the stilly summer’s night And once again the Belgians Were being crushed by Germany’s might.
On they came in their tens of thousands, Hoards of tanks, guns, and men. Bedlam let loose upon the land, Like troubled waters in the Golden Strand. King Chaos reigned again.
The mighty arms of misery, With one sweep did descend On Belgium’s sons, and Belgium’s soil And crushed their fruitful years of toil. And thus a kingdom did end. This hoard of men, war-minded, Will prosper but al in vain, For like the rising tide it must Rise to its height, and linger there, Only to ebb again.
Alex Craig (then stationed in Kirkwall Bay, Orkney, WWII)
We strolled around the deck one night, After our work was done, Little thinking of the dangers, And horrors that were to come.
The air that night was cold and damp: It was cold enough for snow. The sky seemed like an approaching storm Although not an air of wind did blow.
Away to the north the sky was red ‘Twas a sign of wind and rain And before the clock struck 12 that night It blew a hurricane.
Some ships were lying in the bay, Some tied up at the pier. When the wind blew hard, they tossed their heads It seemed as if in fear.
How the wind did blow that night! The seas came mountains high And five of the ships that lay in the bay Were washed up, high and dry.
The storm did last an hour or two, Then went as quick as it came And everything seemed quiet once again –No snow or wind or rain.
Though everything was still once more, Everything was not well –Five ships ashore, one ship sunk –‘Tis a mournful story to tell.
For in that bay the “Disperser” lay. She had seemed so safe and sound But the sea had filled up her hold. She sank – and ten of her crew were drowned.
Alex Craig
I was leaving a lovely girl at home But the parting was not sad ‘Cos it was only for a day or two Because of that I was so glad.
It was over a job to guard a ship That came in just that day. She was under suspicion, therefore held Captive, in Kirkwall Bay.
But e’er I was away an hour. My heart was longing for The girl that I had left behind, The girl that I adore.
As I went on guard that night, Guarding those foreign men, The only pleasant thought I had, Was, I’ll soon be back again.
Now I am back on watch once more But ‘tis the setting sun I see. ‘Tis the same said sight but not so good, As when watched by you and me.
As I watch I feel all alone, For without you here, my dear, This lovely sight is wasted For you and me, I fear.
So hurry on, you dreary hours. Let’s see what tomorrow will bring For I long to roam with the girl I love O’er the fields where the skylarks sing.
Ciss (Elizabeth) and Alex Craig – on leave during WWII
