Cygnus update and other stuff. July 2014

I've been taking a few short walks this week.

Here's a few of the pictures I've taken.

Over on Blairmount Pond  the cygnet's are doing fine.

The ducks get short shrift from the swan parents if they get too close.

A chaffinch poses for a picture.

Flowers bloom in the gardens by the memorial to Randolph,9th Earl of Galloway.

A young family by the riverside.

This one goes walkabout.

Liz Niven poetry

summer cree

river traffic buzzes

mayfly, dragonfly, dipper

ripple-arc surfaces

swallows water-pattern weave

Japanese Knotweed

kimonos the earth

spring cree

Galloway greens again

the river silvered with

white eggs, sharp scent of cucumber

sweet vernal grass

vanillas air

hope buds like catkins

The riverside.

A wren at the Wood of Cree.

The Otter Pool

(That looks like a heron at the far end)

A long zoom gets the picture.

Too late to photograph the otter that put in a fleeting appearance.

A quiet pool by the burn at the Wood of Cree car park.

Zoomed in and enhanced, the Cumbrian Mountains from Baldoon.

Another full zoom towards Workington and Whitehaven.

Yacht sails perhaps (they were moving around), strange how they appear to be floating above the shimmer.

Mochrum Loch.

The Old Place of Mochrum built in 1368.

Home until her death in 2005 of Miss Flora Stuart. president of the Belted Galloway Cattle Society. 

Penningham Forest.

Loch Eldrig 

Bumble bee on a thistle.

More of Loch Eldrig

A Common Blue butterfly.

A thrush in the forest.

Wednesday night's moon.

Lochinvar by Sir Walter Scott

I've only recently started reading Sir Walter Scott,which is very amiss of me being of Central and South East Scotland stock.
I've messed about with a picture I took on my recent trip to Edinburgh.
If the piper in question ever happens upon this page and recognises himself,maybe he'll get in touch.
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; --
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide --
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."



The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, --
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a gailiard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, "'twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Sir Walter Scott

Galloway Forest Park and Stewartry Drive

Today Thursday 14th of February is St Valentines day.It's also the last full day of my friends visit.
First stops are at the Glen of the Bar,then the Mare's tale in the Galloway Forest Park.Usually there's a fairly copious flow of water over here,but there's been no rain for a week now.It doesn't take long for the water to slow to a trickle.

On then to the wild goat park,where a few biscuits were appreciated.

And then to the Red Deer range,where there were Forestry men and Vets in attendance.We talked to one of the vets.They were about to round them up and tranquilise a number of them.Apparently instead of culling them they now move them around the country to purpose built deer parks.Great idea.


On now to Clatteringshaws Dam.

A lot of South West Scotlands lochs are the product of
Hydro Electricity.Here's what a Wikipedia page says.

Today the dams are well liked and a source of pride to the people of Galloway and of course are still generating environmentally friendly electricity. However they were not universally admired when they were first built, as local poet W.G.M. Dobie wrote:

This is our land of Galloway
Where in a more heroic day
The Bruce contrived to trap and slay
An army of invaders
Where Patrick Heron, Silver Sand
May Maxwell and the Smuggler band
Adventured as by Crockett's hand
Is Written in The Raiders


A raider comes today who kills
The glories of our glens and hills
With unheroic acts and bills
and "Private Legislation"
The Company promoters pen
Will Dam the Deugh and dam the Ken
and Dam the Dee - oh Dam the men
Who Plan such desecration!

After sandwiches at Kenick Wood,were now on the Laurieston to Gatehouse of Fleet road.The camera never seem to do justice to the wonderful views from here.



I love the name of the viewpoint.


Down to Gatehouse of Fleet and Cally Woods.

Mill on the Fleet.


After enjoying a cuppa at the cafe we head over to the Cream of Galloway to find it closed until Easter.
It's still a lovely day,so we drop down to Kirkcudbright.


And a walk round the harbour and marina.


Back past Maclellans Castle.


And the emotionally stirring monument to loved ones.

It's still quite light as we head back to Newton Stewart,the days are certainly getting longer.
I hope my friends have enjoyed their visit.I'm sure they have.

Cargoes

I first knew of this poem back in primary school.That was just a few years ago!.I wish..........Have loved it ever since.

Cargoes

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amethysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

-- John Masefield

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks-The Banks of the Devon

Most Burns Night Suppers tonight will be reciting the more popular of Burns poetry,a lot of which will mean nothing to a lot of people without a Glossary of Scottish words.
A very old book given to me by my father says that this first poem was probably Robert Burns last,he sent it to his editor a week before his death.



Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou wert wont to do?

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear,
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear!
O did not Love exclaim: "Forbear,
Nor use a faithful lover so."

Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou wert wont to do?

Then come, thou fairest of the fair,
Those wonted smiles, O let me share;
And by thy beauteous self I swear,
No love but thine my heart shall know.

Fairest maid on Devon banks,
Crystal Devon, winding Devon,
Wilt thou lay that frown aside,
And smile as thou wert wont to do?

This next one written in 1787 was about a young lady living on the banks of the river Devon in Clackmananshire-but whose earlier years were spent in Ayrshire.

How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair!
But the bonniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.

Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew!

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn;
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden or lawn!

Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,
And England triumphant display her proud rose:
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys,
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

Tomorrow is Burns Night

Tae A Fart.

Oh whit a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
Jist as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts tae stir an enormous win'.



The neeps 'n' tatties 'n' mushy peas
Sterts workin' like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin' wi' the sauncie face
Will hae ye blawin' a' ower the place.



Nae maiter whit the hell ye dae
A'bodys gonnae hiv tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet
oot a rifle.



Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair
Tae try an' stop the leakin' air
Shift yersel' fae cheek tae cheek
Pray tae God it disnae reek!



But aw yer efforts go asunder
Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom.



God almichty it fairly reeks
Hope a huvnae shit ma breeks
Tae the bog a better scurry
Aw whit the hell, it's no ma worry.



A'body roon aboot me chokin'
Wan or twa are nearly boakin'
A'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile.



Wis him! A shout wi' accusin' glower
Alas too late, he's jist keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome ony mair.



Where e'er ye be let yer wind gang free
Sounds like jist the job fur me
Whit a fuss at Rabbies party
Ower the sake o' wan wee farty.
(Anonymous)

Lazy Day

I wrote this poem about 30 years ago.It reflected a typical Saturday in my life.
I've never published it before,but since this is my blog i think i can be a little self indulgent.
The cigarettes were an expensive habit,i gave up on September 28th 1986.

Lazy Day

By Jim D

up in the morning at 10 o’clock
everyday movements around the block
look in the fridge for bacon and eggs
empty the teapot of yesterdays dregs

collect the daily paper from the front door
dodge the cat sprawled out on the floor
sit in the armchair with teacup and fag
glance at the headlines while having a drag

half an hour later, off to the loo
a quick wash and shave, and teeth brushed too
look in the mirror combing hair
distinct impression, there’s more grey there

it’s 11 o’clock, there’s a test match on telly
back in the armchair with hands on belly
openers are slow, look at the crossword
listen to the chatter of the neighbourhood blackbird

one o’clock, score – forty for two
look under the stair for missing shoe
into the car and down to the bookies
call at the bakers and buy some cookies

back home, coffee in cup
back to the telly, volume up
first race is due off in five minutes time
should have called for a lager and lime

lose interest in racing when selections go down
contemplate a trip, perhaps into town
decide against, turn back to the match
just in time to see a great catch

half past five, what’s for tea
beefburgers, how many?, as many as three
back to the box, news of the day
everyone wanting to have their say

telly and crossword the rest of the night
it’s been a lazy day all right