18 minute read
“Death Row” David Craig 71
Raymond Craig - Gourdon joiner and business man, son of John Craig Cauld, callused fing-ers, Sheel-blade-hackit, A peenie roond hir waist, An auld chair back, a baisin, The past ten - twenty yeer she’s faced. Grey, woollen shawl aroond hir heid, Haiter at hir feet A skull, a line, a mussel troch, Twelve hunder heuks –Oh, what a thocht!
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Meg Anne Craig/Smith Margaret/Meg Anne was the oldest child of Joseph Craig and Mag Gowan, his wife. She was my grandfather, Adam’s sister and would be the great, great aunt of the writer of this poem. She is pictured here baiting a line, mussels on the baiting board over a basin, scull with rows of baited hooks to her right. However, the baiter referred to in Raymond’s poem is actually his paternal grandmother, Bella Craig.
Jim Stewart
Dialogue between an old dancer, “OD” and Gourdon Hall, “GH” when a new floor was put in the Hall.
OD Lang hae I heard o’ dancers tiggin’ To use their skill an’ po’ers o’ jiggin’ I’m sic a sair, auld, cankered biggin As thee, dear Ha’ Whaur Lads and Lasses aince were trig in Days noo awa.
GH Oh sair, sair ha’e I aft been dirkit An aften ha’e my een been smirkit Yet tho’ my broo be auld and lurkit I’m hale and stoot An’ like the miller’s soo, weel porkit Baith in and oot.
OD Within thy wa’s there’s mony met Their bonnie lass wi’ her’t sae het An love that they could ne’er forget Cum into sicht But noo, thae freens, dear Ha’ I fret At thee’s ta’en fricht.
Isles Burness, Inverbervie
Gin you’re inclined in verse or prose, A story to be telling, Beware a certain Gourdon lad, Wha’s daith on dodgy spelling.
Of something, if you’re certain sure, The word you want’s ‘averment’, And aye remember, when ye dee, The end result’s ‘interment’.
His guid wife Liz, accuses him, Of being overzealous, Wi’ eagle eye, he scans the text, And is heard to cry, “that’s hellish”.
Noo wha’s this chield of whom I speak? He gangs by name o’ Sooter, He used to be a fissureman, And wasn’a bad at footer!
Isles Burness, Inverbervie
A welcome aye extends to you, At Seaview Terrace, Number 2, But be advised, tak’ care to chap, And gie poor Lizzie time to hap. ‘Cos it’s nae fun without your skirt, (I wonder – was she trying to flirt?). So if her in dishabille you fin’d, Just close your een, pretend you’re blin’d. Or use some tact, say “It’s been weeks, Since last I saw sic bonnie breeks”.
“Pleengs”
Celia Craig
The plangent, plaintive pleengie’s plaint Transports me back in time and place To Gurden, To the Trustful, father’s boat To mother’s imitative cries, “They’re hungry. Hungry pleengies”, To my childhood days.
The early morning gulls Who ushered in the dawn After a sleepless night I hear again their mournful cries.
The pleengie on the dyke Oft greeted by my father, “Aye, aye, Edom!” Deddie reincarnate!
Back to my childhood And to a time when I was safest, Happiest. And still their cries can ground And anchor me.
Celia Craig
My father wis a fisherman He took his boat ti the sea, Caa’d the Trustful, ME 132 And a bonnie boat wis she.
Settin creels for partans, labsters In the glorious summer time. Catchin haddock and cod in dreich winter, Haulin the great lang line.
I grew up and started teaching, Syne on holiday joined as crew. We ran aichty creels aa summer And the golden moments flew.
Ae affy bonnie morning We were steerin wi the sun. The water flouwed by, surgin, As we hauled oor marker buoy in.
Yi’d ti be speedy and yet handy. Taak the crabs oot o the creel And throw them inti boxes. Tie in new bait as weel.
I teen hide o ae great big partan But it grabbed my finger and aa. I cried oot in pain for mi father Fa louped ower and snappt aff its claw.
Quick- thinking saved my finger That crab hid a grip like a vice Sae taak care fin handling partans Follow my hard-won advice.
Eftir, it seemed kinda funny A bit like a comic cartoon Bit if that crab hid mangled my finger I’d been singin a different tune.
Celia Craig The grave was decked with flowers, wreaths, messages To MUM, to GRANNY, BEST WIFE IN THE WORLD She died so suddenly, aged sixty-seven. And yet the day was bright; the sun still shone. (Death of Barbara Donaldson)
Down in the village there was further news Another loss, another sudden death –An older woman, living on her own. The day seemed duller, yet the sun still shone. (Death of Edna Smith)
Out in the garden, down beside the fence A robin lay, its red breast bright with blood. I dug a hole, and covered him with earth And now three deaths were dulling the bright day.
Turning to go, a flutter caught my eye A robin lighting on the dyke, above The place where robin one was laid A sudden surge of joy lifted my heart.
Robins fight to the death, or so they say. Was he the victor or the bird reborn?
Dave Ramsay, 2010
Chorus As we haul our nets from the cold North Sea, We ask for your blessing Lord, guidance from Thee. Like the fishermen of old, back in Galilee, Guide us fishermen home, safe home from the sea.
As your guiding care has watched o’er the deep, Brothers, sons and fathers, you’ll safely keep. As we shoot our nets, and look south- easterly, Each Gourdon man will share a prayer with Thee.
Chorus
Now the nets are down, hoping for a good haul, Out there we’re reminded o’ your power o’er all We ask a lot from the cold North Sea, But most of all Lord, we ask a lot from Thee.
Chorus
Sometimes it’s cauld, sometimes it’s rough, Out on the deep, as we ride the trough, We’re reminded of how frail we can be, Without the guiding care that comes from Thee
Chorus
And we’ve hauled our nets, and we head for home, As the storm it blows, battling surf and foam, To make it safe to our Gourdon berth, The Creator’s hand o’er Heaven and Earth.
Chorus
Now the harbour’s near with its welcome lights, We’re safe once more, for one more night, And come the morn sail for the open sea, And put our trust again in the hands of Thee.
Chorus
It’s a sad, sad thing tae selfish be, When we know that some will be lost at sea, How you decide, how you share your care, Save us fishermen please, answer our prayers.
Chorus
As we cross the bar for the fishing grounds, I thank you Lord that our faith is sound. The worried looks from those left on shore, “Take comfort friends, He couldn’t love you more.”
Chorus
He made the sky, the stars, the sea, And all the fish therein, we take from the sea. Each crewman’s proud to be a fisherman In the safety of your guiding hand.
Words: Gourdon Primary School; Music: Dave Ramsay Music 2013
Recorded on CD Tales of the Sea and the Maggie Law
Gourdon boats at the harbour quay. Plenty of fish swimming in the sea, Catching fish that swam so free, Bringing them home for you and me.
Chorus Pleens scraiching, fishermen baiting, Getting ready to put to sea, Crabs and dabs, an’ prawns and rans, At Gourdon harbour their catch they land.
Frae Gourdon harbour I can see, Miles and miles right out tae sea, Pleens flyin’ high aroon their boats, Heids and tails and guts they float.
As bairns we searched the wee rock pools, In the holidays and efter school, Haudin’ ticht tae yer deddie’shand, Wi’ yir bucket and yir podlie wand.
Chorus
When I grew up and left the school, Ye went tae sea as a family rule, Yir gansey and yir big sea boots, Hard work for life, ye hid nae doots.
Chorus
My ambition wis fur my ain boat, Wi’ my crew I’d head for the Norway coast, We wid pit tae sea wi’ wir trust in God As we trawled the seas in search o’ cod.
The fishing’s done, and the harbour’s bare, The Gourdon fleet it is nae mair. On my harbour bench, I watch the world go by, (Slow) Get a kindly word, and sometimes a fry.
David Elder
David is the son of Balfour and Alice Elder (nee Gauld – Mr Gauld, her father was Headmaster of Fetteresso Primay School) of Greenden, Stonehaven. David’s parents lived in England but visited Greenden frequently, giving David an enduring love of Stonehaven and indeed Scotland. He is a keen photographer as well as being a poet and author.
David sent me this poem along with his photo of my boat which was Alexander Mowatt Craig, my father’s retirement boat after he had sold the ‘Trustful’ ME 132 which he skippered for many years out of Gourdon: a water colour painting of the latter presently hangs in the Museum. The retirement boat, the “Celia Craig” is now owned by the Lownie family, a long-established Gourdon family and I am happy to see her in the harbour and think of her still being in use under the same name
After the year’s first great storm I came to Gourdon harbour, Its silent edges flickering Patterns of gold On the disbelieving water.
Along the pier Lobster pots conferred, In their longing to return To a submarine life.
Then, as the sunlight fell vacant For one last time, the wings Of your boat flew out their whiteness, In witness of the men lost at sea.
“To Suffie, last of the Buchan Fishwives”
Flora Garry (Well known North East poet, 1900–2000).
Although this poem does not relate specifically to Gourdon, it offers a perceptive depiction of the typical fishwife, akin to Betsy Souter.
A fish creel wi a wife aneth’t Steed at wir kitchen door. A sma’ quine grat at the wild-like shape She’d nivver seen afore.
Ye cam fae anidder warl, Suffie, Amo’hiz lan’ward folk, The sough o the sea in the vera soun’ O the words ye spoke.
Oor wyes warna yours, we nivver vrocht Wi’ net nor line Nor guttin knife. nor fan on haggert thoom The stang o the brine.
We nivver hid to flee demintit Tull the pier heid, Nor harken tull the hurricane at midnicht, Caul’ wi dreid.
Spring efter Spring, or the teuchat’s storm wis past Ye wannert the road, Heid tull the sleety win’ and boo’t twa-faal, Shoodrin yer load.
Simmet parks war kin’lier tull yer feet Gin steens an styoo. Bit fyles the stirkies chase’t ye. Fa wis feart? Them or you?
Yon bricht huddry buss that wis eence yer hair Is grizzl’t noo, An ower lang scanning o the sea his bleach’t Yer een’s blue.
Wark and dule an wider sharpit yer face Tull skin ower been, As the tides torment an futtle A sma fite steen.
Weel, umman, noo it’s lowsin-time, we wuss For you a fylie’s ease; Syne, at the hinmost wy’gyaan, Quaet seas.
Traditional, popular rhyme
We brak nae breid o’ idlecy Doon by in Fittie Square; A’ nicht oor men toil on the sea An’ wives maun dee their share.
Traditional, popular rhyme
Fae rocks and sands An barren lands An ill men’s hands Keep’s free. Weel oot, weel in, Wi a gweed shot
Words and Music: David Craig, formerly of Gourdon, now Johnshaven, musician and song writer
On a bench at the harbour the auld fishermen sit And talk o times lang ago, Reminissin and pittin the world tae its richts But Willie he ca’d it death row.
Efter years at the sea then there’s nithin tae dae Jist sit an while awa time Mindin o storms an big shots o fish Fin they were a in their prime.
As the years they roll on, one by one they get less Jist had enough, so they go. Nae fishermen left tae replace them that leave. Aye Willie still ca’s it death row.
Well, lest week wiz bonnie, so I hid a seat Fin Willie says, “Quick min, let’s go. We’re sittin here yarnin an nae thinkin richt Coz noo we’re the anes on death row.”
Am sittin here noo on a fine summer’s day Lookin like I’m the last ane tae go. There’s naebody here - jist masel an ma thochts. Looks like I’m the last on death row. Looks like I’m the last on death row.
APPENDIX 1
Obituary
Mr James Mowatt, Boatbuilder, Gourdon
Boatbuilder of the “Maggie Law”
This week the grave has closed over one of the best known inhabitants of Gourdon, in the person of Mr James Mowatt, Gourdon, who has carried on for over 40 years the business of a boatbuilder, and whose work is to be found in nearly every fishing village in Scotland. Mr Mowatt was born in Gourdon nearly seventy years ago, but his parents originally belonged to Arbuthnott. At an early age he was apprenticed to the late Alexander Bruce, who carried on his trade in the same shed as deceased worked for many years. On completing his training he worked for some time in Montrose with a Mr Waddell who was a shipbuilder in that town. At twenty six years of age he returned to Gourdon and took over his apprentice master’s business. At that time the building of wooden boats was at its zenith, and by his energy and honest workmanship he soon built up a large and profitable business. So well liked were the boats he turned out that at this period he employed from fifteen to eighteen men. Very often he would have two boats on the stocks at the same time. Up to 1900 the boatbuilding continued very brisk, but with the advent of steam drifters with iron and steel hulls the day of the wooden built fishing boat of larger size rapidly passed away. Nevertheless from 1890 to the present day he had launched fifty three boats. Unfortunately the record of what he built previous tom that date cannot be found. Deceased was the first boat builder on the east coast to build a decked yawl, and when the late Mr Peter bought a motor for experimental purposes, it was Mr Mowatt who prepared the “Willock” and fitted the motor into it. Since then he has had to do with the preparing of practically every boat in Gourdon to receive its motor., as well as many other places, which came to Gourdon to be fitted with motors. To the design of the Late Mr Hercules Linton, Bervie, he built two steam fishing boats, one for the Firth of Tay, and one that was afterwards used as a launch on Loch Lomond. Latterly his work was confined to preparing boats for motors, and to repair work. His last big repair job was the “Skylark” of Stonehaven, which was thrown on to the North Pier of that port, and was so badly damaged that it was a wonder she ever reached Gourdon. Deceased had a severe illness some two years ago, and had never been quite the same since, but at the last had been confined to bed for two days only. Of a cheery sunny disposition, Mr Mowatt was universally liked and few better known citizens moved about the village. “Jeem’s Sloch” to the east of Cunstray, where he landed his boats will long keep his memory green. He is survived by a widow and four of a grown up family. There were eight altogether, but four are dead. The survivors are – Mrs Smith (in Australia) Mrs Peters, and Miss Mowatt who lives at home. The only surviving son is Charles, who was associated with his father in the business. The funeral took place on Tuesday which was largely attended. It should be mentioned that during the war Mr Mowatt joined the Volunteers, but owing to increasing frailty was never able to drill.
From the Mearns Leader, December 1920
APPENDIX 2
Gold Medal Award to Hugh Lownie Ritchie
The following interesting, historical documents here transcribed record the commendation and award made to Hugh Lownie Ritchie for his brave rescue of a fellow fisherman, performed at sea, 1918, averting one of those tragedies so often recounted in the poems of the period, exemplified in the Lost at Sea section of this Anthology.
The documents were supplied by John Ritchie, creator of the now defunct Gourdon website “Gourdon – Sea Pie An’ All That “
Case 44, 519: Hugh Lownie Ritchie
At 5.10 a.m. on the 9th October the motor fishing boat “Grace” was at sea about 4 miles ESE from Gourdon on the Kincardineshire coast going at about 5 ½ knots an hour, the sea being rough and the weather dull and threatening, when a heavy wave broke over the boat, washing one of the crew, Robert Davidson overboard. When the water cleared the man was seen about ten yards to windward.
Fully clothed and wearing heavy sea boots Hugh L. Ritchie at once went after him and bringing him to the surface supported him for nearly half an hour, when the boat was brought round and both were hauled aboard in an exhausted state.
The silver medal was voted to Hugh L. Ritchie.
Stanhope Gold Medal for 1918 awarded by the General Court.
Committee Meeting of 12th November 1918
Case of Hugh Lownie Ritchie, aged 18 years, who rescued his brother-in-law, Robert Davidson, aged 32 years.
Nomination sent by J.H. Johnstone, Headmaster, Gourdon.
Silver medal sent by post on 29th May, 1919 to the Chief Constable, Stonehaven.
Reported to the Carnegie committee meeting on 14th January, 1919.
Silver medal cases for 1918 were laid before the meeting and case number 44, 519, Hugh Lownie Ritchie was unanimously selected for recommendation to the general court for the Stanhope Gold Medal which was awarded.
Hugh Lownie Ritchie in the front row, wearing a bonnet, later when Skipper of the Bluebell.
APPENDIX 3
Excellence in Creative Writing in the Scots Language : 2014
Creative Writing in Scots by Gourdon School pupils for yearly Awards and the Celia Craig Quaich.
Pupils from Primaries 4, 5, 6 and 7 submitted poems for the Awards and the following were winners. I was impressed by the quality and vitality of the poems which were also beautifully illustrated. The pupils coped well with words from the Scots language.
The Quaich winner for 2014 was Ciara Mcintosh. The other poets won Book Tokens. A fifth Book Token was awarded to Emily Cargill of Primary 7 who was highly commended.
“Gurden Tod” and “Tak Care Fit Ye Fish For” relate directly or indirectly to Gourdon and all are by Gourdon pupils, thus meriting a place in this Anthology. I append my responses in verse too.
Primary 4 Winner - Ben
Even the nestie anes Dinna herm them at a’ From tigers tae bears Dinna even pou their hair, Even if they’re lions Dinna hirt thaim Dinna bather thaim Because that winna please thaim If they’re tigers or Very poisonous wyvers If they’re bears or elephants I’ll give ye a wee moot they’ll herm ye back
Primary 5 Winner – Cara
“Tak Care Fit Ye Fish For”
Tak care fit ye fish for, Dinna catch bairnie fish, Nor an octopus, Naither squids nor whales, Naither sharks wi great muckle jaws, Nor eels wriggling aboot, Naither sea horses, Nor jellyfish stinging in the sea, Tak care fit ye fish for
Primary 6 Winner – Fianaid
Primary 7 and Quaich Winner - Ciara
Dear P4 and P5, Stonehaven, Friday, June 13, 2014.
Thank you very much for your poems in the Scots language. I really enjoyed reading them: they are very good – very lively, with super illustrations. You have also learnt some new words in Scots. The winners will receive Book Tokens. Well done everyone!
You also inspired me to write a poem on the same theme as you chose – the Christina Rossetti poem about living creatures. Here it is:
Dinna be coorse ti craiters, Whether big or sma. Dinna fleg the birdies, Sittin on the wa.
Dinna be coorse ti craiters. Jist lave them abee. Dinna torment the wee doggie Or squash a wyver or flee.
Dinna be coorse ti craiters. Jist be gid ti them aa. Pit oot crumbs for the birdies, Even for the craws
Celia Craig
Dear P6 and P7, Stonehaven Saturday 21 June. 2014
Thank you very much for your poems in the Scots language. I really enjoyed reading them on Thursday morning last week. They were very good, with vivid description and lovely illustrations. You also used a number of Scots words very effectively. The winners will be receiving Book Tokens. Well done everyone!
After reading your poems I felt I should try to write on an animal theme in Scots too. I have written a poem about a pleeng – a seagull who is sad because the old days of plentiful fish have gone and he is reduced to scavenging from fast food outlets.
I’m an auld and hungry pleeng Fa stravaigs the Gurden quay But ye’ll aftner find me noo Seeking worms ahint the ploo.
Nooadays it’s nae the same As it yoosed tae be afore Fan plenty fish were on the line In the bonnie days lang syne.
But noo I must confess That I’ve turned scavenger, Rakin bins and fest food litter. It maks me feel gey bitter –Fan I think o the days lang ago.
Aye, I’m an auld and hungry pleeng. Mony better days I’ve seen Noo I pine for the days that are gone –For the bonnie, fishy days lang ago.
