Haud yir weesht!

In memory of all the steel work jobs
that migrated south.

Ravenscraig.

Haud yir weesht!

Haud yer wheesht ya we
bit man a’ll tell ye this
am no a fan. Ye micht
hay dun it when ye
waur 22 but it’s
nay yoose at
40 an yer oan
the buroo.

A wee durty fiver tae git
a drink, am a made
o’ money wad dae
ye think. Ma moneys
aw goan tae monday
week, anywise ye’d
pish yer drawers
an then ye’d reek.

Whaurs yer suit, it’s in the
pawn, nae yoose you
haudin oot yer haun.
A bocht sum tatties
an sum mince fur
wir dinner there
thi nicht, why
don’t ye git
yirsel a joab
an gie us aw
a fricht.

They shut thi Craig thirs nae
Joabs left, thi street
cleaner’s goat a degree.
Thi man in buroo saes
thirs naethin
tae dae an
it’s aw up
fur me.

Am no trained fur nursing
tae lay bricks isnae me,
am only trained as a
hoat bed slinger an
the only bed thas
hoat noo is
the wain’s
when she
pees.

Ifn thirs nae work tae be
hud wits a man tae dae,
thirs nae yoose prayn
tae God he’s been pyed
aff tae.

Aw the factories thas left
it’s weemin they want tae
employ, that an fur sweepin
up jist a young wee boy. A’ll
need tae get a license an
learn tae drive a truck,
mibies a’ll get a joab
then if thi tories don’t
F*** tha up.

Ravenscraig1

Written for Historic Hamilton by Kit Duddy.

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Doon the Burn.

Doon the Burn.

Doon the burn mam that’s
where we are gaun, an a
canny take the wee yin a’ll
be gaun too long.

There’s just me Wullie an
Jim mam, naw we’ll noa git
in tae bother, naw a canny
mam don’t make me tak
ma brother.

Daunner doon Hillhouse
Road an then ower the fence,
watch an noa snag yir breeks
it widna mak much sense.

Nae thochs o’ any polluted
streams entered oor wee
heeds, we wir fu o’ pirate
ships an fighting dastardly
deeds.

Building up a dam tae mak a
swimming pool, but it only
rose another foot I felt like
such a fool.

Wullie an I were chucking
stanes across the dammed
up pond, wan hit a wee wasps
bike then wan stung ma haun.

Then Wullie filled a pocket
wi mare o’ they wee stanes,
shinned up the tree, a said
It’s aw yir ain the blame.

The rest is confined tae
history aye Wullie he fell
doon, covered he wis in
stings frae his erse tae
his croon.

Wi tried our best tae suck
thim oot o’ his airms and his
legs, a wisnae fur daen the
middle bit he kin dae his
ain wee peg.

Wullie wis wupped aff tae
hospital tae get him some
Jabs, just because we hud
saved him we goat
Sherbet Dabs.

Written for Historic  Hamilton by

Kit Duddy

The Bottom Cross.

Botton Cross WM.

Bottom Cross
Written for Historic Hamilton
By Kit Duddy.

It’s amazing how some places feature high in your life, your memories keep returning be they bad or be they nice.

The Bottom Cross in Hamilton always had my mind, if you were ever looking for someone it’s one place you must have mined.

Let’s check out the area from my mind to see what still lingers, just how easy that would be when I don’t need to lift a finger.

Back in my school days would be my first journey there, trying to get those Latin verbs out from
In my hair. St. John’s I found was murder, I had to have an out that’s
when I found what Burtons was all about.

No not the corner windows it was just up the stair, the snooker hall or billiards to marvel at the flair. The guys up there were brilliant better than me or you, some of them so magic they had their
own cue.

Across the road was Equi’s a tally cafe there the patter was fantastic,
an the cokes were priced fair. Four Picture houses round the streets and you always were able to get a seat.

Sometimes the balcony was the thing you sat up there and we could fling nuts at all the courting couples just as the guys moved in for a cuddle?

Later on and looking for style I’d shop in Harrison’s for a while, my first made to measure suit and a pair of winkle picker boots.

The latter was an awful pair my face and nose ended up sair, jumped on a moving SMT bus
my shoes they weren’t very fussed. The pointed toe on the platform bent but my body to the floor was sent, my face and nose was quite a mess while the toe into the laces was pressed.

My first job was a butcher boy in Millers shop there was a real joy, away from Doc Gilmour’s golden rules meant that I could play the fool. Every single
Friday night a game of snooker or a bit of a fight, then the Troc to have a dance get a lumber if you
had a chance

The Bottom Cross where every thing started, lovers met or they just parted. Guys hung out or the Cops moved them on we were all youngsters but now our youth is gone.
My memories linger at
Burton’s door and I would love to be there with friends once more.

Stepek Poem.

JAN STEPEK,
The poem below was written for Historic Hamilton
by Kit Duddy.

Jan Stepek , 
Jan Stepek the man wi Tv’s you could buy them for cash have them on Tic, when your mates maw had colour it fair made ye sick.

They started oot wee, mibies a 6 inch screen, the folk on the tele could have been pixies and green. They aw had funny voices like bools in their mooths, great big smiles and white white tooths.

Jan Stepek, Jan Stepek wi a shoap up the street every wan knew him,
an the stock he could keep. He had Grundig an Bush an radio rental when you couldn’t get Caroline it sent you mental.

The shops and memories are all long gone but with Historic Hamilton Garry will make yours go on. So here’s to more memories please write down them all, and send them to Garry and we can all have a ball.

Laughs at the Hamilton Baths.

Hamilton Baths WM.

Hamilton Baths

By Kit Duddy.

I remember the baths of

old you queued outside

to pay your your fee, maybe to swim or wash your knees.

In through the turnstile left for a bath, straight

on for a swim and plenty of laughs.

The changing stalls had stable doors you could look over the top or underneath for drawers.

When they were full we had little choice especially when you were boys. Up on the balcony up the stairs trying to get changed with everyone there.

Worst was still yet to come when even the balcony was done, they took you through the wash house doors into the stalls through the wash house floors.

The women there were drying their washing

and dirty comments

they didn’t mind tossing. “Dinnae be shy we’ve seen it all before you’re

no in the changing rooms noo son there isnae any doors”.

It’s then you suddenly realise you hired some swimming pants they were medium size. Not like the speedos you might have now just a nappy tied any old how.

The whistles followed you through the door as you walked with a swagger

( or not very sure). Into a noisy swimming baths while all of your mates pointed and laughed.

You knew what was coming it was now your turn, dared to dive and show your bum. Those nappies they hired I am sure it is true were a test of your manhood-

I promise

It’s true.

Up on the dails tying it tight you stood there knees knocking and

dying with fright. Two steps to the edge diving right in everyone laughing it’s a bloody sin.

Those nappies triangles of cloth now in two were left on the dails and nothing is covering you. A swim to the side with danger was fraught God help any wee man if you were caught.

Scotland’s Treasures.

Related image

Scotland’s Treasures, By Kit Duddy.

What is Scotland, who do you see.
Do you see you, do you see me.
Scotland with mountains,
while around us the sea.
Can you see you, can you see me.

Lochs and Lakes and National parks
with Eagles and Ospreys and dogs
that bark. Scotland’s Treasure is
not in the trees, not in the Lochs
or in the seas. Do you see you,
do you see me.

We are Scotland’s Treasure still.
It’s People our treasure and always
will. Look to your left and then to
the right,your friends are your
treasures so treat them right.

I can see you, can you see me.
I am Scotland’s treasure
and I am free.

Kit Duddy

Boost post

Earnock Raws..

There were times when Hamilton’s treatment of there own
was not always the best this poems tries to talk to that from my memories.
 
Earnock Raws
Aye Earnock Raws jist stie awa
don’t go doon thair tae plae at fitba.
Ye ken it’s ruff bit thae dinnae know
it’s noa a plaice whaur ye shud go.
 
Thi hing ower the railins an shoutin
thir washin aye wis luks loupin.
Thirs mony a durty wee face thair
his nivir seen baths up thae stairs.
 
Bit thi Raws had thi same as any street
some wir thi best o’ folk yi cud meet.
The Raws an Jungle an ower Whitehill
the folks wi cash gave us luks tha wud kill.
 
In fur joabs or jist in tae borrow
yir address wid mak thair brow furrow.
Thaed hum an thaed haw sayn naethin at awe
faces screwed up as at jumpers thae claw.
 
Sum hae gone an moved tae new plaices
livin aside thae auld screwed up faces.
Disnae matter ataw it’s a hoose or a haw
wir aw part o’ thi same Human Races.
 
The above poem was written for Historic Hamilton by Kit Duddy.