Evacuating Doos at the Kirk Belfry
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Your job I couldna weel refuse,
Tae clear the belfry clean o’ doos,
For I’m in nae guid place tae choose
               My feedin’ barrel;
Wide and varied are the chores
A Slater tak’s but whiles he scores
              Without a quarrel.
This job has sent me near berserk,
A week o’ murder at the kirk,
A mission mony folk wad shirk
              When drawin’ blid;
An’ yet the task had commendation
Worthy o’ ma concentration
              I made a bid.
But Ah1 I never yince suspected
That doos a kirk sae disrespected
The feculent substance they collected
              Tak’s some believing;’
In this Holy place sae calm
They must hae gorged themsel’s for lang
              An’ din some theivin.’
Nae won’er they were loathe tae flit
Frae this dry an’ sheltered bit,
Defyin’ a’ my wiles an’ wit
               Tae get them oot;
They nearly had me aff ma heid,
My patience worn tae a thried
               Without a doot.
I tried tae fleye them wi’ a flail
Tae grup them by the heid or tail;
These efforts proved tae nae avail,
                They clum the higher.
An’ looking’ doon they smirked at me,
Temper an’ frustration et me
                As I did tire.
They look’d tae me lik’ folk attack’d
Lik’ tenants wha are always back’d
Wi’ this Rent Restriction act
               For their protection;
I tried each ruse that cam’ tae mind;
The pigeons wadna hip nor wynd;
               Complete dejection.
The question struck me lik’ a trudge on;
Was this the loyal type o’ pigeon
That wadna pairt frae his religion,
                 Or hear o’ union?
Or thocht himself’ a faithful’ member,
Ower mony years, a staunch attender
                O’ this dominion.
These thochts were rennin’ thru’ my heid,
As on them a’ I dew a bead,
An’ callously I shot them deid,
               Yae end in view;
The bloke that always rings the bell
Need never fear his claes’ll smell
              On Sundays noo.

Poems of Arthur G. McColm

The Spooncreel's End Evacuating Doos at the Kirk Belfry Bobby and The Wartime Blackoot
An Encounter The Toothache The Glen Kirk Choir
Our Sacred Cause Lambie's Close The Ghost O'Drumley Hoose
Maybole and District The Ash Tree and The Varnished Door Burns and Splendid Isolation

Notes about these poems contributed by the author's daughter Anne McCrindle

Arthur McColmThese poems were written by my dad about Maybole and some of the characters from the town. Some poems were written for events and 'smokers' do's. Some serious some fictional and quite comical. Quite a few about Maybole in war time and his thoughts about the war. Dad was the last son born 1907 to Emily and Tom McColm. They lived in Montgomery Street till they moved to Ladyland Road, across from the school which later burned down in 1919. Dad was a slater and chimney sweep, well known in the town. He played in the Maybole burgh band for many years till it was disbanded. He later became a member of the Ayrshire Yeomanry Band. Sadly he died at the age of sixty in 1968, but has left us with many happy memories and treasures in his written words
Anne Mc Crindle (nee McColm) born in Maybole, daughter of Arthur Mc Colm and Maggie McKay.

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Copyright © Permission for display on this site granted by Anne McCrindle. You may view and download poems for personal use only. No other distribution or use of this text is authorized.