in English
& Methil Dialect
There's lots o folk aye gaun on aboot 'the guid
auld days', an while it could be sayed that nooadays is no
a lot better, ye have tae admit it wiz different
then.
Ah'll tak yis aw back tae whit it wiz like in Methil in the
50s an bet yis onnythin ye like that ye widnae let yer
bairns cairry on like we did. A
lot of people are always going on about 'the good old
days', and while it could be said that nowadays is not a
lot better, you have to admit it things were different
then.
I'll take you all back, to what it was like in Methil, in
the 50s, and I will wager anything you like, that you would
not allow your children to carry on as we did.
Bein a
laudie in Methil, an ha'en the respect o yer pals, meant
only wan thing - ye h'd to go oot an explore 'The Kirklands'.
Th Kirklands wiz a piece o land next tae the river Leven,
an it wiz owned by the 'Steelworks'. That meant it wiz
private. It had notices up that sayed so. It wiz fu o trees
an stingin nettles. Ye had tae cross the 'Dam' tae get to
it. It wiz irresistable. Being a
boy in Methil, required the respect of your peers. That
meant only one thing - you had to go out, and explore 'The Kirklands'.
The Kirklands was an area of land, next to the river Leven,
and it was owned by the 'National Steel Foundry'. That meant, it was
private. It had notices posted, that said so. It was full
of trees and stinging nettles. You had to cross the 'Dam'
to get to it. It was irresistable.
Ye
needed tae be dressed richt. Jeans were the big thing. No
fashionable - jist claes fur workmen. Dead cheap - an magic
fur climbin trees! They were nettle-proof, an doon the
Kirklands, ye needed them! So ye stole yer brither's jeans
- faur too big - an held them up wi yer elastic-belt wi the
snakes-heid clasp. You needed to
be dressed properly. Jeans were the favourite. Not
fashionable - just clothes for workmen. Really cheap - and
magic for tree climbing! They were nettle-proof, and in the
Kirklands, you needed them! So, you stole your brother's
jeans - far too big - and held them up with an
elasticated-belt, with a snakes-head clasp.
Next,
intae the coal bunker, an ye took the axe that yer maw
yaised tae chap up the kindlin fur the fire. Watch no lose
it, noo!
Mah pal didnae hae an axe (they couldna afford the coal, so
wha needs kindlin?), so ah gi'en him the wee mash wi the
pund-an-a-hauf heid. There micht be a buildin tae knock
doon. Next, you opened the coal
bunker, and took the axe that your mother used to chop up
kindling for the fire. Make sure that you do not lose
it!
My friend didn't have an axe (if you can't afford coal -
who needs kindling?), so I loaned him, the little hammer
with the pound-and-a-half head. There might be a building
to knock down.
On the
wey, ye'd get aw the gang th'gether.
There wiz ayewis wan wi money, so the first stop wiz the
shop at the tap o the Steelworks Brae. The hale lot o yiz
wid pile intae the shop. A gang o bairns wid mak onny
shopkeeper worried, so ye made share that aw the axes were
tucked intae yer jook. We must have looked like a tribe o
Apaches wi cardigans an pullovers on. On the way, you'd gather all the gang.
There was always one with money, so the first stop was the
shop at the top of the Steelworks Hill. The whole lot of
you, would swarm into the shop. A gang of children would
make any shopkeeper nervous, so you made sure that all the
axes were tucked into your top. We must have looked like a
tribe of Apaches, wearing cardigans and
pullovers.
Straicht tae the knife display. We aw wanted a
sheaf knife (we could spell 'sheath', we jist couldnae
pronounce it richt!). Wan o the wans wi the layers o
leather in the haundle. The bigger, the better. Coorse,
what we usually ended up wi, wiz a cheap wan wi the
pressed-tin haundle, pented tae look like the real thing.
An a leather sheath! If ye had the money, there wiz nae
argument. If ye didnae - nuthin dae'n!
If it wiz a nichtime expedition, the faverit buy wiz a
'bullseye' torch. Fitted neat in yer pocket an made ye the
'King o the Nicht'. We went
straight to the knife display. We all wanted a
'sheaf-knife' (we could spell 'sheath', we simply couldn't
pronounce it correctly!). One of the kind with the layers
of leather in the handle. The bigger, the better. Of
course, what we usually ended up with, was a cheap one with
a pressed-tin handle, painted to resemble the real thing.
And a leather sheath! If you had money, there was no
argument. If you didn't - nothing doing!
If it was a nightime expedition, the favourite buy, was a
'bullseye' torch. It fitted neatly, in your pocket, and
made you the 'King of the Night'.
If
there wiz onnythin left ower, it wiz 'Jubblys' aw roond. Ye
needed guid teeth tae try an chaw the package open. It wiz
a triangular pyramid (richt clever, that!) an the chances
were that wance it wiz opened, it wid pop richt oot o the
packet an land in the dirt. Nae problem. Dirt is somethin
ye can lick off an spit oot. If
there was anything left ower, it was 'Jubblys' all round.
You needed good teeth, to chew open the package. It was a
triangular pyramid (very clever, that!), and the chances
were, that once it was open, the contents would pop right
out of the packet, and land in the dirt. No problem. Dirt
is something that you can lick off, then spit
out.
When
awboddy wiz ready (or quicker, if wan o yiz had been
spotted shopliftin!), it wis off an away doon the
brae. When everybody was ready (or
quicker, if one of you had been spotted shoplifting!), it
was off, and away down the hill.
Noo
the Kirklands wiz private, so ye ouldnae jist wander doon
an in the front gate. Ye had tae fund the secret path
through the wids on this side, till ye come tae the tree
that had fa'en doon ower the Mill Dam.
Up on the tree an walkin across. The bark wiz rotten an
covered wi green moss. If ye slipped, ye'd been in the dam
an droont! But ye had tae staund up an walk across. Only
bairns sat astride the tree an shuffled across. Onnybody
that got scared an started greetin, it wis 'Faerdy-gowt!'
an 'Wha's a wee baby, then?' Riskin death wiz better than
livin wi the contempt o the gang. Ah think we wiz aw
scared, but naebody w'd show it. No efter the furst
time. Now, with the Kirklands
being private, you couldn't just wander down, then in
through the front gate. You had to find the secret path
through the woods, on this side, until you came to the tree
that had fallen down over the Mill Lade.
You went up onto the tree, and walked across. The bark was
rotten, and covered with green moss. If you slipped, you'd
be in the Lade, and drowned! But you must stand up, and
walk across. Only small children sat astride the tree, and
shuffled across. If anybody got scared, and started crying,
it was shouts of 'You are afraid!' and 'Who's a little
baby, then?' Risking death was preferrable to living with
the contempt of the gang. I think that we were all scared,
but nobody dared show it. Not after the first
time.
Jump
aff the end o the tree, an ye were in the Kirklands.
Nettles higher than yer heid. Ye really needed thae jeans,
but ye still had t'try an trample the nettles doon tae mak
a path. The jeans only come up tae yer waist, an if ye
slipped an let the nettles spring back up, it wiz a face fu
o fire. Ye usually got stung onnywey, an ye jist had tae
jump up an doon till the stingin eased aff. Then the
blisters got aw warm feelin an that wiz OK. It wisnae worth
the stingin though.
Dock leaves rubbed on wiz supposed tae stop the sting, but
it's no much yaise if ye have tae fecht yer wey through a
hunnert yairds o stingin jungle tae fund wan. They were
awricht as toilet paper, though. Jist mind where ye
go! Jump off the end of the tree,
and you were in the Kirklands. Nettles, higher than your
head. You really needed those jeans, but you still had to
try and trample the nettles down, to make a path. The jeans
only come up to your waist, and if you slipped, and let the
nettles spring back up, it was a face full of fire. You
usually got stung, anyway, and you just had to jump up and
down, until the stinging eased off. Then, the blisters
produced a warm feeling, and that was OK. It wasn't worth
the stinging, though.
Rubbing on Dock leaves, was supposed to stop the sting, but
it's not much use, if you have to fight your way through a
hundred yards of stinging jungle, simply to find one. They
were alright as toilet paper, though. Just mind where you
go!
There
wiz an auld red saundstane buildin in the middle o the
wids. Ah think it wiz the auld manse that gi'ed th
Kirklands its name. Probably historic. We wiz bairns. We
climbed aw ower it, an yaised the mash tae knock the stanes
aff so we could drap them fae a great height.
In later years, efter the benefit o a High Skale education,
we filled empty 'Harpic' tins wi hame-made explosives an
blew bigger bits aff the buildin! Ah never had an eye fur
architecture, but ah got tae be richt knowledgeable aboot
auld mortar an the wey it crumbled under yer fingers when
ye were thirty fit up a chimney breast. There was an old, red sandstone building in the
middle of the woods. I believe that it was the old Manse,
that gave the Kirklands its name. Possibly historic. We
were children; we climbed all over it, and used the hammer
to dislodge the stones, so that we could drop them from a
great height.
In later years, with the benefit of a High School
education, we filled empty 'Harpic' tins, with home-made
explosives, then blew even bigger bits off the building! I
never had an eye for architecture, but I became very
knowledgeable about old mortar, and the way it crumbled
under your fingers, when you were thirty feet up a chimney
breast.
Havin
got demolition mair or less oot o oor system fur the day,
ye had a choice. It wiz either the 'Black Pipe or Tarzan
practice. Having got demolition
more or less out of your system for the day, you had a
choice. It was either the 'Black Pipe', or Tarzan
practice.
The
'Black Pipe' wiz a six-fit diameter sewage pipe that
spanned the river Leven. It wiz over thirty fit long, and
they'd fitted a hauf-circle o spears at each end tae stop
onnybody crossin the watter. Jist tae labour a point, they
greased the middle section o the pipe. Ah've never figured
oot hoo that wiz supposed tae be a safety feature, but in
thae days, it wiz a challenge.
Ye walked up tae the circle o spears an chucked haundfu's o
dirt on the grease. Needed summat tae walk on! Then it wiz
oot along the bottom spear that wiz nearly level, shufflin
yer feet till ye go tae the end. Look doon if ye like, but
ah dinnae recommend it. Holdin on tae the spear tips, ye
swung yer body aroond the points, then made yer wey back
along the bottom spear tae the pipe. Walk across the dirt,
wobblin a wee bit as the wind caught ye, an dae the same
tae the ither circle.
Easy peasy! Ye were noo in Donaldson's widyaird - a
wonderland o wid, rope an canvas. But that's anither story
... The 'Black Pipe' was a
six-foot diameter sewage pipe that spanned the river Leven.
It was over thirty feet long, and they had fitted a
half-circle of spears, at each end, to stop anybody from
crossing the water. Just to labour a point, they also
greased the middle section of the pipe. I've never figured
out how that was supposed to be a safety feature, but, in
those days, it was a challenge.
You walked up to the circle of spears, then threw handfuls
of dirt on to the grease. You needed something to walk on!
Then, it was out along the bottom spear, that was nearly
level, shuffling your feet until you reached the end. Look
down if you like - I wouldn't recommend it. Holding on to
the spear tips, you swung your body around the points, then
made your way back along the bottom spear to the pipe. Walk
across the dirt, wobbling a little, as the wind caught you,
then do the same at the other circle.
Simple! You were now in Donaldson's woodyard - a wonderland
of wood, rope and canvas. But that's another story
...
Playin
Tarzan wiz the easier choice. Along fae the auld Manse wiz
an avenue o trees. Must hae been a bonnie place in its
time, but it wiz getting overgrown an the trees were gey
near touchin. Up the first tree ye'd go. Ye yaised the axe
tae mak steps, removed awkward branches, or jist cause ye
fancied yersel as a lumberjack. Naeboddy seemed tae mind
that the real Tarzan didnae wear jeans an a
lumber-jeckit.
Ye headed oot as far as ye could go, an the branches were
saggin a bit. Tuck the axe in yer belt, an mak a mad
breenge in the direction o the next tree. Scrabblin
desperately, ye'd finally reach a decent sized branch an ye
were safe. We kent that a big enough haundfu o twigs is
jist as strong as a branch. Kind'o profound, that iz!
So on tae the next tree. Playing
Tarzan was the easier choice. Along from the old Manse, was
an avenue of trees. It must have been a beautiful place in
its time, but now, it was getting overgrown, and the trees
were almost touching. You would climb the first tree. You
used the axe to make steps, remove awkward branches, or
simply because you fancied yourself as a lumberjack. Nobody
seemed to care, that the real Tarzan didn't wear jeans and
a lumber-jacket.
You headed outwards, as far as you could go, and the
branches were sagging a bit. Tuck the axe in your belt,
then make a mad jump in the direction of the next tree.
Scrabbling desperately, you'd finally reach a decent sized
branch and then you were safe. We knew that a big enough
handful of twigs, is every bit as strong as a branch. Very
profound, that!
Now, on to the next tree.
Like
lacerated monkeys, scarted tae hell an wi leaves an
startled sparries fleein aweys, we jumped fae tree tae
tree. Never touchin the grund till we reached the twentieth
tree.
Ah wiz the only wan that jumped on tae the twenty-first.
Nae ither bairn ever did! Nuthin tae be prood o. Ah wiz the
wan that discovered the twenty-first tree wiz a hawthorn.
Never jump intae a hawthorn bush. It taks an awfy long time
tae fa' tae the grund, an ye collect an awfy lot o thorns
in the process. No only that, but thorns hurt mair when yer
takin them oot than what they did gaun in.
Like lacerated monkeys, scarred all over,
and with leaves and startled sparrows fleeing in all
directions, we jumped from tree to tree. Never touching the
ground until we reached the twentieth tree.
I was the only one that jumped on to the twenty-first. No
other boy ever did! Nothing to be proud of. I was the one
who discovered that the twenty-first tree was a hawthorn.
Never jump into a hawthorn bush. It takes an eternity to
fall toe the ground, and you collect an huge quantity of
thorns in the process. Not only that, but thorns hurt more
when you're taking them out than how they did, going
in.
Efter
that, it wiz back through the nettles (stung again!) an
across the fa'en tree cross the Dam. On the wey up the
brae, ye'd get a drink fae the well ootside the cottages.
It wiz made o cast-iron an had a top in the shape o a
lion's heid. Tae turn it on, ye had a tap like a brass
door-haundle. Spring-loaded sos ye'd hae tae twist it back
an forrit, buildin up momentum till the watter gushed oot o
the lion's mooth. Ye held yer heid under the lion's mooth,
and as it scooshed oot, ye got a drink an washed the blood
aff yer face. After that, it was
back through the nettles (stung again!), then across the
fallen tree, across the Mill Dam. On the way up the hill,
you'd get a drink from the water-tap outside the cottages.
It was made of cast-iron, and had a top in the shape of a
lion's head. To turn it on, you had a tap like a brass
door-handle. It was spring-loaded, so you had to twist it
backwards and forwards, building up momentum, until the
water gushed out of the lion's mooth. You held your head
under the lion's mouth, and as it poured out, you took a
drink, and washed the blood off your face.
Ah
dinnae ken whit an eight year auld bairn would get tae dae
these days.
The Warriors o Methil were annointed in blood at the lion's
heid. These days, I doubt that any
eight year old child would be allowed to do any of these
things
The Warriors of Methil were annointed in blood, at the
lion's head.
Original material © Dave Sloan 2005, 2016
'tachras' and 'Winding Yarn' © Dave Sloan 2005, 2016