finally we come to the city of Glasgow,
served by the fresh waters of the Trossachs,
nestled at the base of the verdant west
and the wild plains of the east,
It is the driving wheel
of those two hubs of commerce
that prompt the nation
from the central seam of the nations belly,
a joint cerebral stimuli,
sitting north of the industrial heartland
leaning heavily on the soft underbelly
and beauty of the lowlands
BORROWED FROM ‘A SASSANACH’S GUIDE TO SCOTTUSH FITBA, WUMEN N’WHUSKEY – LINK >>>
# This BLOG is 100% dedicated to drawing attention to everything and anything good, honest, creative, noteworthy and beautiful about those 30,414 square miles (78,770 km2) north of Carlisle to the west and Berwick to the east and known humbly and grumbly as Scotland the brave.
Talking of famous SCOTS people and famous SCOTS places which we were … introducing …
The BAIRD ~ The BARD & The BOARD
John Logie Baird
Did you know it was this man who invented the modern television?
and he was born in Hellensburgh, Dumbartonshire?
The development of television was the result of work by many inventors. Among them, Baird was a prominent pioneer and made major advances in the field. Many historians credit Baird with being the first to produce a live, moving, greyscale television image from reflected light. Baird achieved this, where other inventors had failed, by obtaining a better photoelectric cell and improving the signal conditioning from the photocell and the video amplifier.
From 1929 to 1932, the BBC transmitters were used to broadcast television programmes using the 30-line Baird system, and from 1932 to 1935, the BBC also produced the programmes in their own studio at 16 Portland Place. On 3 November 1936, from Alexandra Palace located on the high ground of the north London ridge, the BBC began alternating Baird 240-line transmissions with EMI’s electronic scanning system which had recently been improved to 405 lines after a merger with Marconi.
TEXT BORROWED FROM WIKIPEDIA http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Logie_Baird :
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Any blog connecting wi’ ma’ Scots root-balls must bae necess-i-tee include the words from ‘the laird’ ; ‘the bard’ ; ‘the lord’ ~ the archetypal scotsman ~ Robert Burns. For there is probably nae one more intrinsically Scots as the wee* poet, at least by the tender words he wrote and poured out from his soul for the most of his adult life. Hopelessly romantic, a socialist, a humourist, a ladies man but always fiercely Scots ~ Rabbie led a varied life, plainly a jock of many trades, certainly a master of one and I do refer to his particular talent with tha’ quill. I include a poem maybe not as readily known as some like :~ ‘Tam o’Shanter ; To a Mouse ; John Barleycorn ; Bonie Jean ; Holy Willie’s Prayer but nonetheless a rare beauty as we understand was the fair ‘Mary Morrison’ for whom briefly Robert Burns ‘carried a candle’.
*’wee’ used loosely in context to this piece. There is no evidence to support a theory that might suggest the great man was anything less than app. 5′ 10″in height (in old monies that being said)
O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wish’d, the trysted hour;
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blythely was I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun;
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison!
Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took a wing,
I sat, but neither heard, nor saw:
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’ the town, I sigh’d,
and said among them a’,
‘Ye are na Mary Morison.’
O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace,
Wha for thy sake wad gladly die!
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whase only faute is loving thee!
If love for love that wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought undgentle canna be
The thought o’ Mary Morison.
Guest poem by the great ~ Robert Bruce.
Another Local Hero
AND ALL GLASGEE LOVES
A BIT A’ COCK-NEE TOO …
Back in 1969 I travelled on the night bus from Kings Cross to Glasgow Central. It departed about 5.30pm and including stops on the borders the journey took about 12 hours. I went with my best mate Ian Peacock and on my first night in Glasgow we trolled several nightspots of the famous Sauchiehall Street and I imbibed a little too much a’ Bellhaven and a fue Bell’s – known locally, certainly in those days, as ‘a pint and a haff’. I was welcomed with open arms by my new Scottish buddies who just loved the ‘cockney’ accent. Och aye cos they loved the lad from Lundun’. Apparently at this time young Glaswegians are currently absorbing a lot of cockney expressions into their dialect due mainly in part to the overwhelming popularity of ‘Eastenders’ in Scotland.
A scene from the incredible Tutti Frutti
which starred Emma Thomson & Robbie Coltrane
Glasgow is a hotbed; a melting pot ~ where honest culture is appreciated and respected and absorbed rather than put on a pedestal and worshipped. Scotland loves a local hero wherever he comes from and the Glaswegians themselves are not afraid or threatened by those who are not of their own, although they def-in-ate-ly will ask a question or two of ya’, cos’ they want to learn and they need to know.
Johnny Byrne’s brilliant example of Scots cultishness
In this way Glasgow is probably closer in multicultural absorbance levels to New York than London, Paris or Munich. It has historically infused immigrants from all 4 corners of the globe and spat them out as true Scots-born, brave and blue. A culture with a veritable ‘Regina Blitz’ permeableness but grounded in an earthy appreciation of what is truly good. Consequently Glasgow and Scotland itself has taken to its heart matters as diverse as Country Music, Indian and Italian cuisine and strangely was the 1st British outpost to ‘catch on’ to the sport of American Football. Scotland just loves to embrace a cult culture. Consider for example the roots of the Edinburgh festival and all the grass-roots culture that has birthed over the years.
‘The flying Scotsman’
This week at the Ally Pally, darn in Lundun tarn, another local hero hath emerged and surprise surprise his roots are already well founded and plucked from the darkest of Scots sod. Not from good ole’ Glasgee however, nor the Royal Troon, nor Edinburgh, nor even Dundee, Aberdeen or even the Isles of Skye. No this particular laddie hails from those Scottish borders on a similar line of latitude to where I first set foot on Scots soil those 40+ years ago for a night-time toilet break. A little way east from that particular midnight soiree however, in the coastline fishing town of Eyemouth that boasts a population of no more than 3,500, is an hours drive from Edinburgh and whose nearest town is Berwick, 13 mile due south and quirkily the only English town to boast a Scottish footie team.
Gary Anderson is the perfect stock to become a Scottish legend working as he has done for quite a few successful years as a ‘dartsman’ in that shadowy grey occupation that settles him on face value somewhere between an Olympic sportsman and a poolroom hustler.
A ‘dartsman’ – who surely might have plied his trade as an archer or something like that in a previous incantation. Darts is certainly underground trendy or ‘culty’ enough at present to tick all the boxes for the kind of hero we are considering and at the Alexander Palace in London this week his ‘sport’ has surely added another wedge of followers to it’s already enthusiastic, rowdy and growing fan base.
These considerations aside, tonight the challenger stepped out against the greatest darts player of all time – Phil ‘the Power’ Taylor and in a game for me already as famous and iconic as ‘the battle of the wood rackets’ fought out at Wimbledon between one Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe which itself was both monumental and indelibly memorable and a contest that is seared into my personal consciousness.
The stand-out difference is that on that long hot, sunny afternoon in June 1980, the challenger eventually bowed to the Champion.
The ‘flying Scotsman’ nailed it at the Ally Pally tonight after a truly roller-coaster of a game where both players led, saw arrers’ bounce out of the bed and suffer immense tension despite scoring record-breaking trebles and some great 10/11 dart finishes. Missing ‘easy’ doubles, making errors when calculating finish scores and for Anderson himself receiving an unnecessary bout of bawdy heckling that he eventually and cleverly turned to his own advantage.
Yes tonight Gary Anderson stepped out of any clinging ignominy and into the book of legends by taking the ‘World Darts Title’ from the 16-times Champion and at least for one night truly became another kind of ‘local hero’.
#Notes – Tutti Frutti is a BBC Scotland six part drama series, transmitted in 1987 and written by John Byrne. It starred Robbie Coltrane, Emma Thompson, Maurice Roëves, Richard Wilson and Katy Murphy. It brought many of the cast to national prominence.
‘Regina Blitz’ – a very posh kitchen roll with reputed high absorbency.
O’ GANNETS, WEE CHARLIE, JOE BAKER AN’ CRIEFF
I would categorically state that those knockers of the beloved Tartan land, ‘mae hailen hame’, have nev-er crossed its lowland borders, nor sampled its purple heather, its olde, gaelic flavoured tradition, magical sun-drenched and bitter coastline, heard the crying of its lonely bird life, watched the plunging gannet or sat with its people rare, raw and strangely colourful while supping on a native malt so steeped in age and skills or a glass a’bevy like a common Belhaven, a rare Yellowhammer or ‘culties’ with names like Bitter and Twisted, Black Isle Blonde or Simmer Dim.
This by the way is certainly their loss and not something for which they should be castigated. A pity akin for me, to the loss a non-hetro male must have in ne’er holding in cupped hand a full woman’s breast. You should tell I am not scripting a January TV holidays brochure whispered in those soft Edinburgh tones. I too love the hard, gutterell Glasgee’ drawl, as well the sing-song sprawl of the western isles who hardly pull their words apart or put them back together. Yes, I am a Scotsman true who both drools and dreams as the Highland mist brings rain and the July evenings a horde a’ miserable midge who bite and bust and make their sell’ so intolerable.
Scot-lund has birthed so many wealthy in the area a’ culture and art. So why else has Edinburgh written so many actors thumbnails or who else paved the stony back streets of Dundee, Motherwell and the like a’ Ger’s own Pollockshores, where played wee boys the likes a’ Charlie Cooke, Dennis Law, slim Jim Baxter and Joe Baker who kicked a fitbaw with grazed knees in the greatest and first established football academy of them all, the stony backstreets of places like La Paz, Marseilles, Napoli, Bermondsey and Dudley while Rivelhino é amigos played their samba game on the softest sand – far too easy!
Chelsea fans everywhere should applaud the streets o’ Dundee whence came the wee Charlie as well as did jute and jam and we may remember Joe Baker the reluctant Englishman whose Liverpool birth, in those days had excluded him for selection for his beloved Scotland while fate later took him east to Torino and serie ‘A’ where not many Scots have ever trod.
I personally have a sheaf of Scots history and visits to suckle upon, leading to ‘nurture and train’ whilst still dreaming of Princes Street, the Trossachs, Fort Wulliam and Callendar, Mallaig and a particularly pleasant evening wi’ a bevvy a’ raven-haired beauties on a Disco jetty that jutted out into a youthful summer evening, way back, in a special place called Crieff. That was in 1969! – Michty me!
Such is the vista, the coppered rainbow, the warp and woof, the rollin’ green hills, an’ the full celtic profile of this plaited jewel, nestling so near the mystical northern lights where it has caught many time that infused heat within its fishermen sails, its prospectors-shawl, laid out random and crocheted, where towns and cities of the royal blue with the diagonal cross, stretch like Rob Roy’s sturdy arms to cover and bring home the booty, the fruit of spoil, to the softest bosom most near its warm and thistled heart .
‘Scotlund, I adore thee’