The Staff
by Roger McKillop
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Some memorable moments wi' the staff o' the college.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: Some memorable moments wi' the staff o' the college.
Scott
Scott wis the Heid o’ Section an’ anithir Outdoory. He wis involved in a few story- crackers! Yin time he wis oot Hillwalkin’ wi’ the students. It wis a nice day an’ he wis stridin’ oot, when the phone o’ a student walkin’ beside him, wrang oot. Scotty, a died in the wool techno-phobe, looked at him wi’ disdain, “Yer oot in the hills, the sun’s shinin’, can ye no’ switch aff yer damb phone, an’ jist enjoy the experience?” The student, unchasten, replied, “Ach Scott, it's the guys at the back, they said yer gain ower fast, can he no’ slow doon?”
Anithir time he wis oot Orienteerin’ wi’ a class at Cathkin Braes. He wis stan’in’in a clearin’ waitin’ fir the students tae return frae the course, when he spied a Police helicopter. It moved ower tae him an’ enquired, ower the loud speaker, who he was an’ what was he doin’? Scotty explained then received the reply, “Oh if any o’ yer students hae fun’ a died boady, will ye let us ken?”
It wis the day efter ma birthday, when A shambled intae College, ma heid wis gowpin’ an’ A felt like a hawf p’und o’ cheap mince! Scot, quite concerned, asked efter ma health? “Oh,” A explained, “A wisni a weel Teddy! A’ been given a nice bottle o’ Port an’ ower the evenin’ had scoffed the lot!” A went oan tae explain that A wis workin’ oan ma Uncle Peter’s wisdom, “Yin’ fine. Twa’s plenty! Three’s no’ enough!” He sympathised, an’ said he also enjoyed a Port but no’ by the bottlefu’! Wise man! Later in the year, Beth said yin mornin’, “It's a shame aboot Scott!” “Eh?” A enquired wi’ aw’ ma accustomed acuteness. She then proceeded tae relate an “Unco foefu’ tale!” It appears that fir months Scott had been goin’ hame efter College tae work oan his bathroom. The previous owner had covered the suite in some sort o’ lacquer an’ the bold Scott had been painstakin’ly removin’ it. He had feenished the job 2 nichts afore an’ last night had been shavin’ in preparation tae go oot. When he reached fir his Efter Shave, disaster followed almost immediately! As he passed the bottle ower his, gleamin’ wash hand basin, the top cam’ awa’ in his haun’, gravity accelerated the descendin’ bottle, which cracked the basin! “Awwwwww’, pair sowl!” A guffawed me sympathy! Scott wis ma draw fir the Secret Santa, whit tae buy? Nae problem, Port, Stilton an’ Oat Cakes. A’d Jist feenished re-readin’ aboot R.F.Scott’s ill-fated Antartica expedition, sae there wis the settin’ which also allowed me tae indulge ma “Toilet” humour!
Scott wis the Heid o’ Section an’ anithir Outdoory. He wis involved in a few story- crackers! Yin time he wis oot Hillwalkin’ wi’ the students. It wis a nice day an’ he wis stridin’ oot, when the phone o’ a student walkin’ beside him, wrang oot. Scotty, a died in the wool techno-phobe, looked at him wi’ disdain, “Yer oot in the hills, the sun’s shinin’, can ye no’ switch aff yer damb phone, an’ jist enjoy the experience?” The student, unchasten, replied, “Ach Scott, it's the guys at the back, they said yer gain ower fast, can he no’ slow doon?”
Anithir time he wis oot Orienteerin’ wi’ a class at Cathkin Braes. He wis stan’in’in a clearin’ waitin’ fir the students tae return frae the course, when he spied a Police helicopter. It moved ower tae him an’ enquired, ower the loud speaker, who he was an’ what was he doin’? Scotty explained then received the reply, “Oh if any o’ yer students hae fun’ a died boady, will ye let us ken?”
It wis the day efter ma birthday, when A shambled intae College, ma heid wis gowpin’ an’ A felt like a hawf p’und o’ cheap mince! Scot, quite concerned, asked efter ma health? “Oh,” A explained, “A wisni a weel Teddy! A’ been given a nice bottle o’ Port an’ ower the evenin’ had scoffed the lot!” A went oan tae explain that A wis workin’ oan ma Uncle Peter’s wisdom, “Yin’ fine. Twa’s plenty! Three’s no’ enough!” He sympathised, an’ said he also enjoyed a Port but no’ by the bottlefu’! Wise man! Later in the year, Beth said yin mornin’, “It's a shame aboot Scott!” “Eh?” A enquired wi’ aw’ ma accustomed acuteness. She then proceeded tae relate an “Unco foefu’ tale!” It appears that fir months Scott had been goin’ hame efter College tae work oan his bathroom. The previous owner had covered the suite in some sort o’ lacquer an’ the bold Scott had been painstakin’ly removin’ it. He had feenished the job 2 nichts afore an’ last night had been shavin’ in preparation tae go oot. When he reached fir his Efter Shave, disaster followed almost immediately! As he passed the bottle ower his, gleamin’ wash hand basin, the top cam’ awa’ in his haun’, gravity accelerated the descendin’ bottle, which cracked the basin! “Awwwwww’, pair sowl!” A guffawed me sympathy! Scott wis ma draw fir the Secret Santa, whit tae buy? Nae problem, Port, Stilton an’ Oat Cakes. A’d Jist feenished re-readin’ aboot R.F.Scott’s ill-fated Antartica expedition, sae there wis the settin’ which also allowed me tae indulge ma “Toilet” humour!
Scott’s Last Expedition
Let's praise explorin’ heroes,
'Adventure' is their cry,
Like the michty Captain Scott,
B,Ed, RYA, DIY.
This wis his greatest challenge,
Read, now, from his log,
"Deprivation! Pain! An’ Suffering!"
"Explore Lochwinnoch Bog!"
"Depression, noo, in base camp,
Isolation on me steals,
Forced to scrape a living,
Devourin’ bath tub seals.
Noo, A begin ma journey,
For victory, A pray!!
Churchillian resolution,
This is ma great B-day.
In frozen bleak environs,
Aw’ whiteness noo is gone.
Found a Gallic notice -
'N' mange pas le neige jaune'!
A'm stricken to a marrow,
Like, a nicht, upon the tiles.
Fun’ a new companion,
By name o’ Fermer Giles.
Nae mair, thon sinkin’ feelin’,
Through lands, nae man has tracked,
Survived so many close shaves,
A'll, soon, hae this job cracked!
A bad attack of dropsey!
Exhaustion on me gropes!
Crevasse Bars my returning,
Destroyin’ aw’ my hopes.
Noo at ma verra zenith,
Hallucination grips -
A dream of hame and 'Trisha,
An' a great big pile o' chips.
A sit on throne - like mountain,
Ma energy aw’ crushed,
Yin meenute, strained and frozen!"
Next, A' m hot and flushed.
Here, at last, we fun’ him,
Whaur he met his end -
Escape had he, but, found it,
Was jist aroond the bend!
So this is where he perished,
Received nae praise or thanks,
A solid tragic statue,
Frozen on his shanks!
A cairn noo marks his passing,
This national disaster,
RIP, to Captain Scotty,
Means, "Result in Plaster".
Let's praise explorin’ heroes,
'Adventure' is their cry,
Like the michty Captain Scott,
B,Ed, RYA, DIY.
This wis his greatest challenge,
Read, now, from his log,
"Deprivation! Pain! An’ Suffering!"
"Explore Lochwinnoch Bog!"
"Depression, noo, in base camp,
Isolation on me steals,
Forced to scrape a living,
Devourin’ bath tub seals.
Noo, A begin ma journey,
For victory, A pray!!
Churchillian resolution,
This is ma great B-day.
In frozen bleak environs,
Aw’ whiteness noo is gone.
Found a Gallic notice -
'N' mange pas le neige jaune'!
A'm stricken to a marrow,
Like, a nicht, upon the tiles.
Fun’ a new companion,
By name o’ Fermer Giles.
Nae mair, thon sinkin’ feelin’,
Through lands, nae man has tracked,
Survived so many close shaves,
A'll, soon, hae this job cracked!
A bad attack of dropsey!
Exhaustion on me gropes!
Crevasse Bars my returning,
Destroyin’ aw’ my hopes.
Noo at ma verra zenith,
Hallucination grips -
A dream of hame and 'Trisha,
An' a great big pile o' chips.
A sit on throne - like mountain,
Ma energy aw’ crushed,
Yin meenute, strained and frozen!"
Next, A' m hot and flushed.
Here, at last, we fun’ him,
Whaur he met his end -
Escape had he, but, found it,
Was jist aroond the bend!
So this is where he perished,
Received nae praise or thanks,
A solid tragic statue,
Frozen on his shanks!
A cairn noo marks his passing,
This national disaster,
RIP, to Captain Scotty,
Means, "Result in Plaster".
Beth
Though 4 of us were qualified Sailin’ instructors an’ Senior Instructors, the best qualified was Beth. She an’ her husband met through sailin’. They bought a house in the Scotstoun area o’ Glasgow an’ spent months doin’ it up. She came in yin mornin’ an announced, “At bloody last! We’ve finished! T.F.F.T!” A looked up an’ said, “Bet John noo waants tae sell it an’ buy anithir hoose!” Mouth open in surprise, she exclaimed, “How did you ken that? He said it last night!” “Ach jist intuition!” A can only assume that the phrase “Golf, Tango, Foxtrot!” wis used cause they are still in the same hoose. We always used tae dae a Secret Santa at Christmas (A nivir understood the rules cause A ay’ gave the game away by includin’ a Scots poem). This year A drew Beth, nae problem A Kent Jist whit tae get her!
Though 4 of us were qualified Sailin’ instructors an’ Senior Instructors, the best qualified was Beth. She an’ her husband met through sailin’. They bought a house in the Scotstoun area o’ Glasgow an’ spent months doin’ it up. She came in yin mornin’ an announced, “At bloody last! We’ve finished! T.F.F.T!” A looked up an’ said, “Bet John noo waants tae sell it an’ buy anithir hoose!” Mouth open in surprise, she exclaimed, “How did you ken that? He said it last night!” “Ach jist intuition!” A can only assume that the phrase “Golf, Tango, Foxtrot!” wis used cause they are still in the same hoose. We always used tae dae a Secret Santa at Christmas (A nivir understood the rules cause A ay’ gave the game away by includin’ a Scots poem). This year A drew Beth, nae problem A Kent Jist whit tae get her!
The Decoratin' Blues
A’ woke up this mornin',
Wi’ the blues all round my head,
A’ thought' that's bluidy funny,
'Cause the bedroom's painted red!
A’ was lyin’ on the sofa,
An' John stretched on the flair.
We'd just flaked oot thegither,
'Cause we couldni' paint nae mair!
We goat the, Paint Scrapin' - Maskin' Tapin' -
Back Breakin' - Sander Shakin',
- DECORATIN' BLUES!
Wa’ scrapin', paper hangin',
Makes me want tae scream,
Erse-deep in shavin's,
Like some surrealist dream.
Eyes bleared with patterns,
A’ canni’ get tae match,
Fu’ o’ colour changes,
Frae some ither batch.
I goat the, Paste Spreadin' - Carpet Treadin',
Peel Off Dreadin' - Nerve Shreadin',
- PAPER HANGIN' BLUES!
Bogged doon wi’ ball-cocks,
Cistern just won't flush,
John's had a curry,
An' Christ! He's in a rush.
Lifted up the carpet,
Flairboards’ goat wet rot,
Bit goat some guid advice,
Consultin' ma pal Scott.
A’ goat the, Curse Sayin' - Tile Slayin',
Carpet Layin' – Plumbin’ Prayin',
- LAVATORY BLUES!
Well A'm sae bluidy knackered,
A’ could sleep for weeks,
BIit the radiator's hissin',
An' the soddin' windi’ squeaks.
The wirin's eccentric,
An' the blanket won't come on,
An' I am lyin' freezin',
'Cause John's still oan the John!
He goat the, Erse Rippin' - Bowel Strippin',
Face Trippin'- Pan Grippin',
- RED HOT CURRY BLUES!
Weel A’ never want tae see,
Anither brush again,
Wi’ mair bluidy paper,
A’ think A'd go insane.
John's bum's in tatters,
An' A’ am racked with pain,
'Cause the smell stripped the paper,
An' we had tae start again!
We goat the, Tile Groutin' - Lip Poutin',
Abuse Shoutin' - Finish Doubtin',
- DECORATIN' BLUES!
A’ woke up this mornin',
Wi’ the blues all round my head,
A’ thought' that's bluidy funny,
'Cause the bedroom's painted red!
A’ was lyin’ on the sofa,
An' John stretched on the flair.
We'd just flaked oot thegither,
'Cause we couldni' paint nae mair!
We goat the, Paint Scrapin' - Maskin' Tapin' -
Back Breakin' - Sander Shakin',
- DECORATIN' BLUES!
Wa’ scrapin', paper hangin',
Makes me want tae scream,
Erse-deep in shavin's,
Like some surrealist dream.
Eyes bleared with patterns,
A’ canni’ get tae match,
Fu’ o’ colour changes,
Frae some ither batch.
I goat the, Paste Spreadin' - Carpet Treadin',
Peel Off Dreadin' - Nerve Shreadin',
- PAPER HANGIN' BLUES!
Bogged doon wi’ ball-cocks,
Cistern just won't flush,
John's had a curry,
An' Christ! He's in a rush.
Lifted up the carpet,
Flairboards’ goat wet rot,
Bit goat some guid advice,
Consultin' ma pal Scott.
A’ goat the, Curse Sayin' - Tile Slayin',
Carpet Layin' – Plumbin’ Prayin',
- LAVATORY BLUES!
Well A'm sae bluidy knackered,
A’ could sleep for weeks,
BIit the radiator's hissin',
An' the soddin' windi’ squeaks.
The wirin's eccentric,
An' the blanket won't come on,
An' I am lyin' freezin',
'Cause John's still oan the John!
He goat the, Erse Rippin' - Bowel Strippin',
Face Trippin'- Pan Grippin',
- RED HOT CURRY BLUES!
Weel A’ never want tae see,
Anither brush again,
Wi’ mair bluidy paper,
A’ think A'd go insane.
John's bum's in tatters,
An' A’ am racked with pain,
'Cause the smell stripped the paper,
An' we had tae start again!
We goat the, Tile Groutin' - Lip Poutin',
Abuse Shoutin' - Finish Doubtin',
- DECORATIN' BLUES!
This wis based oan a Blues sung by The Corries, when Beth heard it read oot, she turned tae me an’ asked, “Hae you been in ma hoose?” Whit wis Kath’s present? A “His an’ Her’s” stand. Kath’s side held a paint brush an’ scraper, John’s a lavy roll!
Callum
Big Callum wis, fair tae say, the maist authoritarian o’ the staff. A mind when he first joined the staff, he went oan a Nordic Skiin’ “residential” A had arranged at a local Ootdoor Centre. It wid be a Guid chance fir him tae get acquainted with the students o’ oor furst Sport an’ Recreation course. The students went oot tae the pub the furst nicht an’ disgraced themselves! Callum, efter hearin’ the complaints frae the Duty Officer, pulled the group thegithir, an’ tore them aff a strip as only he could! “It's a disgrace, can ye no’ dae withoot booze fir yin week? Ye’ve distrubed the Centre, ye’ve let the College doon! Someone wis sick in the toilets! Ye should aw’ think shame o’ yersel’s!” Aw’ these admonishments wis directed, rightly, at the boys. The girls were staunin’, quietly smug, feelin’ they were safe frae the flyin’ vitriol. Steam pourin’ oot his ears, Callum turned his gaze oan them. “An’ you lot areni’ ony better! A inspected yer rooms when ye were at breakfast! They were a shambles!” ranted Callum, noo thoroughly warmed up tae his task. “There wis claithes lyin’ aboot aw’ ower the place!” Ian Paisley-like, wi’ yin finger pointin’ tae the heavens, he announced, “An’ there wis a BRA hangin’ frae the lights!” At which the girls collapsed in fits o’ laughter. Callum eventually realised that he’d lost his audience an’ calmed doon.
It wis again in relation tae Ootdoor Pursuits that A chose that year's Santa pressie. Callum had taen the HND students doon tae Galloway tae paddle the River Nith. Efter makin’ the “Transfer”, takin’ the Minibus an’ trailer, with the students’ clothes an’ any spare equipment, doon tae the egress point an’ returnin’ back tae the students an’ boats at the access point, Callum, fir some reason, gave the minibus keys tae a “Teachin’ practice” student frae Jordanhill, whae wis accompanyin’ the group. This student wis an’ experienced paddler an’ wis given the task o’ leadin’ the group doon the river. He was, as is normal practice, the furst tae go afloat. While he wis waitin’ fir Callum tae brief the group an’ fir them tae get afloat, he did a couple o’ rolls (capsizin’ an’ rightin’ the boat with the paddle an’ hip flick). A can see ye noddin’, sae hod oan, yer way ahead o’ me! The group sucessfu’ly descended the river an’ at the egress point there followed the inevitable conversation. Callum, “Can A hae the minibus keys?” Student, “A’ve no’ got the keys, you have!” Callum, “No A’ve no’! A tied them tae you at the tap o’ the river!” Callum an’ Student, in tandem, “Oh fuck!” They had tae phone Scott tae bring the spare keys doon in the ithir minibus. Callum tae this day protests his innocence o’ blame fir this incident, an’ o’ course the mair he dis, the mair we keep it up! That’s whit freen’s dae! A goat yin o’ the current students tae make him a wee buoyancy aid, tae which A attached a karabiner fir his keys!
Callum
Big Callum wis, fair tae say, the maist authoritarian o’ the staff. A mind when he first joined the staff, he went oan a Nordic Skiin’ “residential” A had arranged at a local Ootdoor Centre. It wid be a Guid chance fir him tae get acquainted with the students o’ oor furst Sport an’ Recreation course. The students went oot tae the pub the furst nicht an’ disgraced themselves! Callum, efter hearin’ the complaints frae the Duty Officer, pulled the group thegithir, an’ tore them aff a strip as only he could! “It's a disgrace, can ye no’ dae withoot booze fir yin week? Ye’ve distrubed the Centre, ye’ve let the College doon! Someone wis sick in the toilets! Ye should aw’ think shame o’ yersel’s!” Aw’ these admonishments wis directed, rightly, at the boys. The girls were staunin’, quietly smug, feelin’ they were safe frae the flyin’ vitriol. Steam pourin’ oot his ears, Callum turned his gaze oan them. “An’ you lot areni’ ony better! A inspected yer rooms when ye were at breakfast! They were a shambles!” ranted Callum, noo thoroughly warmed up tae his task. “There wis claithes lyin’ aboot aw’ ower the place!” Ian Paisley-like, wi’ yin finger pointin’ tae the heavens, he announced, “An’ there wis a BRA hangin’ frae the lights!” At which the girls collapsed in fits o’ laughter. Callum eventually realised that he’d lost his audience an’ calmed doon.
It wis again in relation tae Ootdoor Pursuits that A chose that year's Santa pressie. Callum had taen the HND students doon tae Galloway tae paddle the River Nith. Efter makin’ the “Transfer”, takin’ the Minibus an’ trailer, with the students’ clothes an’ any spare equipment, doon tae the egress point an’ returnin’ back tae the students an’ boats at the access point, Callum, fir some reason, gave the minibus keys tae a “Teachin’ practice” student frae Jordanhill, whae wis accompanyin’ the group. This student wis an’ experienced paddler an’ wis given the task o’ leadin’ the group doon the river. He was, as is normal practice, the furst tae go afloat. While he wis waitin’ fir Callum tae brief the group an’ fir them tae get afloat, he did a couple o’ rolls (capsizin’ an’ rightin’ the boat with the paddle an’ hip flick). A can see ye noddin’, sae hod oan, yer way ahead o’ me! The group sucessfu’ly descended the river an’ at the egress point there followed the inevitable conversation. Callum, “Can A hae the minibus keys?” Student, “A’ve no’ got the keys, you have!” Callum, “No A’ve no’! A tied them tae you at the tap o’ the river!” Callum an’ Student, in tandem, “Oh fuck!” They had tae phone Scott tae bring the spare keys doon in the ithir minibus. Callum tae this day protests his innocence o’ blame fir this incident, an’ o’ course the mair he dis, the mair we keep it up! That’s whit freen’s dae! A goat yin o’ the current students tae make him a wee buoyancy aid, tae which A attached a karabiner fir his keys!
University Challenge?
“Last starter for ten.” auld Bamber said,
The student’s brains, tae tease,
Their fingirs oan the buttons,
Itched, the men o’ Caius.
He floated a conundrum,
For them tae unlock,
Though, “Whit’s Dumfries’ river?”
Caused them quite a shock!
A Caius man, lisped the answer,
“Please dinny tak’ the pith,
Bamber, dinny think me,
‘Cauthe A’ think it ith the Nith!”
Their bonus questions followed,
“Could you gie us 5 examples,
O’ different types o’ keys?”
“The first, comes in aw’ sizes,
Whether Mortis or a Yale,
As Mini, Max or Midi,
Mind, therein lies a tale.”
“The second yin is music,
F minor,C or G,”
Wi’ a frown, he quavered,
“An’ as crotchety as me!”
“The third ane, gies the symbols,
Aw’ doon the side o’ maps,
O’ paths an’ crag an’ contours,
An’ river beds perhaps?”
“The fourth yin’s by the docks,
Whaur they tie up boats,
An’ like aw’ thin’ oan watter,
Mak’ shair it bloody floats!”
“The fifth’s, an auld Scot’s signal,
Frae oor childhood games,
Tae cease aw’ retribution,
An’ trail back tae oor hames.”
“The time is up, the games a tie!
For the decidin’ wrench;
The winner is the team,
Wha can sat aw’ that in French!”
Fair gobsmacked, were they baith,
Their faces, drew a blank,
“Je ne sais pas,” oor Caius man said,
“Mais peut-etre, Les Clefs Cinq?”
“Last starter for ten.” auld Bamber said,
The student’s brains, tae tease,
Their fingirs oan the buttons,
Itched, the men o’ Caius.
He floated a conundrum,
For them tae unlock,
Though, “Whit’s Dumfries’ river?”
Caused them quite a shock!
A Caius man, lisped the answer,
“Please dinny tak’ the pith,
Bamber, dinny think me,
‘Cauthe A’ think it ith the Nith!”
Their bonus questions followed,
“Could you gie us 5 examples,
O’ different types o’ keys?”
“The first, comes in aw’ sizes,
Whether Mortis or a Yale,
As Mini, Max or Midi,
Mind, therein lies a tale.”
“The second yin is music,
F minor,C or G,”
Wi’ a frown, he quavered,
“An’ as crotchety as me!”
“The third ane, gies the symbols,
Aw’ doon the side o’ maps,
O’ paths an’ crag an’ contours,
An’ river beds perhaps?”
“The fourth yin’s by the docks,
Whaur they tie up boats,
An’ like aw’ thin’ oan watter,
Mak’ shair it bloody floats!”
“The fifth’s, an auld Scot’s signal,
Frae oor childhood games,
Tae cease aw’ retribution,
An’ trail back tae oor hames.”
“The time is up, the games a tie!
For the decidin’ wrench;
The winner is the team,
Wha can sat aw’ that in French!”
Fair gobsmacked, were they baith,
Their faces, drew a blank,
“Je ne sais pas,” oor Caius man said,
“Mais peut-etre, Les Clefs Cinq?”
Marion an’ Morag
Marion is oor Health an’ Fitness queen. She either runs or cycles tae College Every day. She gave us aw’ a laugh yin day when she proudly presented her new mobile phone fir us aw’ tae admire. This wis in the days afore sich devices became in universal usage. It was small. Compact, as was the current fashion. She then announced that, “It's great, ’cause you can put the ring tones doon bit still ken if someone’s callin’ you because it's a vibrator!” A took a deep, settlin’ breath, examined the ceilin’ ower her heid an’, professional, said, “Oh that’s good, Marion.” Ma professionalism only lasted hawf w’y up the corridor afore A burst oot laughin’!
We went oot fir a Staff jolly tae mountain bike at Brig o’ Turk. A, sensibly, decided no’ tae get caught up in Scott an’ Callum’s competition tae beat each ithir tae the tap o’ the hill. Marion, Beth an’ I took it easier. It wis quite a warm day an’ Marion wis soon lamentin’ her choice o’ wearin’ aw’ black. A didni help, enquirin’ gin she kent the words o’ the Haka. She wis the least experienced Mountain biker an’ fund the descent mair taxin’ than the ascent. Beth or A wid descend, the ithir wid wait an’ descend ain't Marion, then change roles. In this w’y we’d assist in gettin’ oor Marion safely doon. As the terrain started tae flatten oot near the bottom, we only had the river tae cross! A went doon tae inspect it, then came back up tae brief the ithir. Noo there’s a teachin’ mantra, “Tell me an’ A forget! Show me an’ A understaun’! Involve me an’ A learn!” A briefed them tae build up speed oan the descent, go tae the right haun’side o’ the river an’ keep paddlin’!” A then went doon an’ demonstrated, Speed, Right, Paddle like buggery! Beth lead Marion doon bit Marion changed the script tae Slow, Left, Stoap peddlin’! As she reached the deepest pert o’ the river she reached a brief period o’ equilibrium, whaur Move, Stoap, Up an’ Doon, fifth themsel’s tae a staun still! O’ course in this battle the favourite, Gravity (Isaac bluidy Newton’s goat a loat tae answer fir!) won! Marion slowly keeled ower in a gracefu’ curve intae the water. She resurrected hersel, blowin’, shiverin’ an’ splutterin’ an’ lookin’ fell “Drooned Rat-like!” She, drookit, descended tae the minibus, whaur she wis met by Morag, oor spiritual leader an’ colleague, known tae me as St Maux. She suggested that we hae an auld Scottish secular communion, read as “Coffee an’ scones”, in the nearby tearoom. Maux had set oot wi’ us bit quickly became a backslider an’ went back tae worshipin’ at the temple o’ Tennis, amid threats o’ dire retribution, in Callum’s direction! A presented these poems tae them the nixt mornin’. Scott asked me “Hoo quick dis your mind work?” A said, “Ach Scott, A hud them composed afore we reached back tae the bus!” Whit an insufferable geek?
Marion is oor Health an’ Fitness queen. She either runs or cycles tae College Every day. She gave us aw’ a laugh yin day when she proudly presented her new mobile phone fir us aw’ tae admire. This wis in the days afore sich devices became in universal usage. It was small. Compact, as was the current fashion. She then announced that, “It's great, ’cause you can put the ring tones doon bit still ken if someone’s callin’ you because it's a vibrator!” A took a deep, settlin’ breath, examined the ceilin’ ower her heid an’, professional, said, “Oh that’s good, Marion.” Ma professionalism only lasted hawf w’y up the corridor afore A burst oot laughin’!
We went oot fir a Staff jolly tae mountain bike at Brig o’ Turk. A, sensibly, decided no’ tae get caught up in Scott an’ Callum’s competition tae beat each ithir tae the tap o’ the hill. Marion, Beth an’ I took it easier. It wis quite a warm day an’ Marion wis soon lamentin’ her choice o’ wearin’ aw’ black. A didni help, enquirin’ gin she kent the words o’ the Haka. She wis the least experienced Mountain biker an’ fund the descent mair taxin’ than the ascent. Beth or A wid descend, the ithir wid wait an’ descend ain't Marion, then change roles. In this w’y we’d assist in gettin’ oor Marion safely doon. As the terrain started tae flatten oot near the bottom, we only had the river tae cross! A went doon tae inspect it, then came back up tae brief the ithir. Noo there’s a teachin’ mantra, “Tell me an’ A forget! Show me an’ A understaun’! Involve me an’ A learn!” A briefed them tae build up speed oan the descent, go tae the right haun’side o’ the river an’ keep paddlin’!” A then went doon an’ demonstrated, Speed, Right, Paddle like buggery! Beth lead Marion doon bit Marion changed the script tae Slow, Left, Stoap peddlin’! As she reached the deepest pert o’ the river she reached a brief period o’ equilibrium, whaur Move, Stoap, Up an’ Doon, fifth themsel’s tae a staun still! O’ course in this battle the favourite, Gravity (Isaac bluidy Newton’s goat a loat tae answer fir!) won! Marion slowly keeled ower in a gracefu’ curve intae the water. She resurrected hersel, blowin’, shiverin’ an’ splutterin’ an’ lookin’ fell “Drooned Rat-like!” She, drookit, descended tae the minibus, whaur she wis met by Morag, oor spiritual leader an’ colleague, known tae me as St Maux. She suggested that we hae an auld Scottish secular communion, read as “Coffee an’ scones”, in the nearby tearoom. Maux had set oot wi’ us bit quickly became a backslider an’ went back tae worshipin’ at the temple o’ Tennis, amid threats o’ dire retribution, in Callum’s direction! A presented these poems tae them the nixt mornin’. Scott asked me “Hoo quick dis your mind work?” A said, “Ach Scott, A hud them composed afore we reached back tae the bus!” Whit an insufferable geek?
La Lamantation de la Soeur Noir
“There is a green hill, far away,”
Around yon corner tall,
That Scotty telt us wis the tap,
He lied untae us all!
“Noo, yonder, there, the summit lies,”
Fatigue, he soucht tae foil,
“Be o’ stout he’rt an’ fu’ o’ faith,
An’ there ye’ll shairly toil!”
Thus his conversation went,
(oor sense fur tae fool)
Fu’ o’ Bovine fallicies,
Jist aw’ Pamplonan bull!
Hr tried tae laed oor weary souls,
Ay’ up Nirvana’s track,
Bit when the blond git buggered aff,
We only saw his back!
Ye caani ken, bit A will tell,
Whit pains a had tae bare,
O’ poundin’ he’rt an’ wearied limbs,
An’ erse aw’ numb an’ sair!
A plodded oan richt steadfastly,
Aw’ tortures A did thole,
Tae lead thon pair o’ backsliders,
Untae oor, lang saucht, goal.
We reached the Zeneth o’ oor climb,
An’ said a gratefu’ prayer.
Alsa we couldni’ lang remain,
Upoan they hichts sae fair.
As Angles fa’, we drapped frae grace,
Tae Hell, we did descend,
Wi’ achin’ joints an’ shoogled banes,
An’ pain in ma rear end!
The ithirs hurtled ae their doom,
Wi’ careless, wilfu’ speed,
Bit Faith an’ Hope, were ay’ ma brakes,
Agin sic a sinfu’ deed!
(A’m gled he’s taen this frae a Hymn,
O’ some Jamaican rap,
‘Cause ma knickers, like his heid,
He’d say were fu’ o’ crap!)
Bit when A’d reached ma soul’s Nadir,
Fir the crossin’ o’ the Stix,
Chinged doon a gear, an’ drove richt in,
An’ landed in a fix!
Sae erse deep in thon bluidy dub,
A looked uptae the skies,
An’ ca’d ma twa disciples,
Sae A could them, baptise!
Bit A only goat derision,
Frae thon mackin’ crowd,
Sae deep in ma extremity,
A swore at them oot loud!
Then a vision, o’ St Maux, appeared,
In me she “Wis weel pleased!”
Bit said “A maun keep warm an’ dry,
No’ nae ma kneecaps freezed!”
Sae then the Eucharist, she broke,
Aw’ fir ma ain Faith’s sake,
Though Bried an’ Wine, ne’r offerd me,
Jist coffee an’ some cake.
The Benediction sign, she made,
Her blessin’s gien tae me,
Bit a, wi’ shanks fu’ tichtly crossed,
Wis desperate fir a pee!
“There is a green hill far away,”
Wi’ burns yer bum tae soak,
Sae ye can keep yer Mountain bikes,
‘Cause they fair gies me the boak!
“There is a green hill, far away,”
Around yon corner tall,
That Scotty telt us wis the tap,
He lied untae us all!
“Noo, yonder, there, the summit lies,”
Fatigue, he soucht tae foil,
“Be o’ stout he’rt an’ fu’ o’ faith,
An’ there ye’ll shairly toil!”
Thus his conversation went,
(oor sense fur tae fool)
Fu’ o’ Bovine fallicies,
Jist aw’ Pamplonan bull!
Hr tried tae laed oor weary souls,
Ay’ up Nirvana’s track,
Bit when the blond git buggered aff,
We only saw his back!
Ye caani ken, bit A will tell,
Whit pains a had tae bare,
O’ poundin’ he’rt an’ wearied limbs,
An’ erse aw’ numb an’ sair!
A plodded oan richt steadfastly,
Aw’ tortures A did thole,
Tae lead thon pair o’ backsliders,
Untae oor, lang saucht, goal.
We reached the Zeneth o’ oor climb,
An’ said a gratefu’ prayer.
Alsa we couldni’ lang remain,
Upoan they hichts sae fair.
As Angles fa’, we drapped frae grace,
Tae Hell, we did descend,
Wi’ achin’ joints an’ shoogled banes,
An’ pain in ma rear end!
The ithirs hurtled ae their doom,
Wi’ careless, wilfu’ speed,
Bit Faith an’ Hope, were ay’ ma brakes,
Agin sic a sinfu’ deed!
(A’m gled he’s taen this frae a Hymn,
O’ some Jamaican rap,
‘Cause ma knickers, like his heid,
He’d say were fu’ o’ crap!)
Bit when A’d reached ma soul’s Nadir,
Fir the crossin’ o’ the Stix,
Chinged doon a gear, an’ drove richt in,
An’ landed in a fix!
Sae erse deep in thon bluidy dub,
A looked uptae the skies,
An’ ca’d ma twa disciples,
Sae A could them, baptise!
Bit A only goat derision,
Frae thon mackin’ crowd,
Sae deep in ma extremity,
A swore at them oot loud!
Then a vision, o’ St Maux, appeared,
In me she “Wis weel pleased!”
Bit said “A maun keep warm an’ dry,
No’ nae ma kneecaps freezed!”
Sae then the Eucharist, she broke,
Aw’ fir ma ain Faith’s sake,
Though Bried an’ Wine, ne’r offerd me,
Jist coffee an’ some cake.
The Benediction sign, she made,
Her blessin’s gien tae me,
Bit a, wi’ shanks fu’ tichtly crossed,
Wis desperate fir a pee!
“There is a green hill far away,”
Wi’ burns yer bum tae soak,
Sae ye can keep yer Mountain bikes,
‘Cause they fair gies me the boak!
Jackie
Jackie wis the bairn o’ oor staff. She an’ her younger sister had been students wi’ us. A nivir taught Jackie bit her name wis ay’ mentioned wi’ reverence by the rest o’ the staff as the epitome o’ the perfect student. This meant her sister Maggie wis ay’ much less reverently kent as Maggie-A-Canni-Believe-She’s-Jackie’s-Sister Leslie! Yin day Jackie’s Maw came intae College tae pick her up. They announced that Maggie’s car had a flat battery. “We’re Jist awa tae start Maggie.” “That’s mare than we ivir managed!” wis ma tart reply! A could hear their giggles aw’ the wy’ doon the corridor.
It wis Christmas time again, A’d drawn Jack. Pressie, again “Nae bother at aw’!” Ma mind immediately went back tae a conversation we’d had, no’ lang efter Jackie had joined the staff. She often said that she had tae work harder daein’ prep in College than she ivir did at Moray Hoose! A used tae hae tae tell her tae mind an’ go hame! Yin nicht she wis creatin’ some PowerPoint fir yin o’ the modules she wis teachin’. A asked whit she wish daein’ an’ she said, “Anatomy.” “Jackie,” A said, “ye dinni’ hae tae dae it aw’ yersel’” an’ gave her a copy o’ ma material. A dinni think A’ve ivir seen sich grateffu’ relief on ony face! Onywy, A digress, as usual! Ae Friday eftinoon, A wis Jist aboot tae leave the staff room when Jackie asked me a question. This allowed me tae paraphrase a quote frae Rumpole, A held up ma haun, dramatically an’ said, “ No’ noo Jack, A’ve an urgent appointment wi’ a weel chilled Pino Grigio!” This lead us intae a wine based conversation, whaur Jackie revealed her love o’ sparklin’ wines. Hence the following, which needless tae say wis accompanied by twa bottles o’ Cava!
Jackie wis the bairn o’ oor staff. She an’ her younger sister had been students wi’ us. A nivir taught Jackie bit her name wis ay’ mentioned wi’ reverence by the rest o’ the staff as the epitome o’ the perfect student. This meant her sister Maggie wis ay’ much less reverently kent as Maggie-A-Canni-Believe-She’s-Jackie’s-Sister Leslie! Yin day Jackie’s Maw came intae College tae pick her up. They announced that Maggie’s car had a flat battery. “We’re Jist awa tae start Maggie.” “That’s mare than we ivir managed!” wis ma tart reply! A could hear their giggles aw’ the wy’ doon the corridor.
It wis Christmas time again, A’d drawn Jack. Pressie, again “Nae bother at aw’!” Ma mind immediately went back tae a conversation we’d had, no’ lang efter Jackie had joined the staff. She often said that she had tae work harder daein’ prep in College than she ivir did at Moray Hoose! A used tae hae tae tell her tae mind an’ go hame! Yin nicht she wis creatin’ some PowerPoint fir yin o’ the modules she wis teachin’. A asked whit she wish daein’ an’ she said, “Anatomy.” “Jackie,” A said, “ye dinni’ hae tae dae it aw’ yersel’” an’ gave her a copy o’ ma material. A dinni think A’ve ivir seen sich grateffu’ relief on ony face! Onywy, A digress, as usual! Ae Friday eftinoon, A wis Jist aboot tae leave the staff room when Jackie asked me a question. This allowed me tae paraphrase a quote frae Rumpole, A held up ma haun, dramatically an’ said, “ No’ noo Jack, A’ve an urgent appointment wi’ a weel chilled Pino Grigio!” This lead us intae a wine based conversation, whaur Jackie revealed her love o’ sparklin’ wines. Hence the following, which needless tae say wis accompanied by twa bottles o’ Cava!
Il Rap di Vini Italiani
I Vini ‘Taliani ye gied tae your Granny,
Her een went aw’ misty, swiggin’ Lacrima Christi.
An’ mind yon Chianti, papped aff tae your Aunty
When her thirst was sated she was constipated!
The same wi’ Pinot Grigio, you find you dinni needgio,
The opposite wi’ Souve you canny leave the lavy!
An’ Asti Spumantis ca’ havoc wi’ your panties!
For a beve Lambrusco’s nae feckin’ useco!
Any rhyme for Grappa has nae place in this rapa!
Valpolicella’s no’ fully a fella!
Wi’ ower much Frascati he jined the castrati,
It’s no’ drinkin’ Orvieto that mak’s him sing falsetto!
Wi’ bairns, drink Verdicchio, tae keep it oot their reachio!
Barbera d’Alba, A’ think, aw’ wine-o Scots should drink.
Bit we guzzle Aqua Vitae till we’re feelin’ sheetae!
Barolo, Bardolino or ony ithir vino,
When bevuto Italiano, gae piano-piano!
Afore your heid is gowpin’, oan the china phone you’re coupin’,
Tak’ up ma advice an’ amend your ‘Tally vice,
Gie up aw’ their vino an’ stick tae Cappuccino!
An’ be gled A’ noo han’ ya, un vino d’Espaňa!
Buon Natale!
I Vini ‘Taliani ye gied tae your Granny,
Her een went aw’ misty, swiggin’ Lacrima Christi.
An’ mind yon Chianti, papped aff tae your Aunty
When her thirst was sated she was constipated!
The same wi’ Pinot Grigio, you find you dinni needgio,
The opposite wi’ Souve you canny leave the lavy!
An’ Asti Spumantis ca’ havoc wi’ your panties!
For a beve Lambrusco’s nae feckin’ useco!
Any rhyme for Grappa has nae place in this rapa!
Valpolicella’s no’ fully a fella!
Wi’ ower much Frascati he jined the castrati,
It’s no’ drinkin’ Orvieto that mak’s him sing falsetto!
Wi’ bairns, drink Verdicchio, tae keep it oot their reachio!
Barbera d’Alba, A’ think, aw’ wine-o Scots should drink.
Bit we guzzle Aqua Vitae till we’re feelin’ sheetae!
Barolo, Bardolino or ony ithir vino,
When bevuto Italiano, gae piano-piano!
Afore your heid is gowpin’, oan the china phone you’re coupin’,
Tak’ up ma advice an’ amend your ‘Tally vice,
Gie up aw’ their vino an’ stick tae Cappuccino!
An’ be gled A’ noo han’ ya, un vino d’Espaňa!
Buon Natale!
About the Author
Edinburgh-born Roger McKillop is a retired Sports Studies lecturer. He has been writing poetry in Scots for many years and has had his work published in The Scots Magazine. His pen name is Roger Ceann Maol Beag, which means Wee Roger with the Bald Head!