We’re gaun far’s the Lily Loch

This lee-lang day in June

We’ll speel the braes abune Shotts-Burn

An’ sit on Cant Hills croon



Round Kirk-O’-Shotts we’ll dauner slow

An’ muse on bygane days

When Glegly Grossart rambled

oot ower the glens an’ braes



Syne we’ll ca’ at Myres an’ Wastfield

Muirhoose an’ Birniehill

While up by at auld Fortissat

The view oor een will fill



We’ll see Roughdyke an’ Jersey

Green-Hill an’ Fernieshaw

An’ Hillhooserig an’ Penty

While mid-day sunbeams fa’



We’ll strap alang by Hills-O’ Hirst

The ‘Rigs an’ Highmuirheid

We’ll kindly keek at Wellesley

As yont road we speed



We’ll see the Hill an’ Blairmakhole

Knoweheid an’ Quarryneuk

An’ think o’ ither places syne

While forward we maun look



South Blair an’ Blairmains near the loch

We’ll scan while toddlin’ on-

Dewshill, Bentfit an’ Papperthills

Upraised as on a Throne



We’ll westward by Duntilland gang

An’ whiles we’ll fondly see

Some Faint an’ fadin’ traces

O’ Hamestead, Bush an’ tree



By Lane Mountcow an’ Braco Glen

oor feet will hameword turn

Doon past Loch-Hill and Annies-Hill

ower Tipper-Davy Burn



There may be brawer places ‘tweel

than thae wild rugger hills

But aye some glamour lingers

Roond sic moors an’ mossy rills



There’s calm the toon can never ken

there’s halesome caller air

There are whisp’rings in the silence

That I hear nae ither where



Far, far awa’ there’s mony a ane

Wha weel would like to stray

‘Mang kindly friends on Hills O’ Shotts

The Green, the Grim, the Grey



May peace an’ joy be in the hearts

O’ friends ayont the sea

Baith here an’ there may a’ leal folk

In harmony agree







Should ye care for soothin’quateness

  Awa’ frae car or gig,

Come ye wi’ me, if ye’re willin’

  The road by Jersay Brig.


Far oot on a peacefu’ muirlan’

  Broon, and rocky, and big,

There’s a hantle sykes and burnies

  And a’e wee auld-time brig.


Langsyne aroon’ this high muirlan’

  Mony a weel-plooghed rig,

And mony a lowly homestead

  Was seen near Jersay Brig.


Aft atweel in years depairted

  The feck o’ folk would dig,

A stack o’ peats for the winter

  Frae muirs around the brig.


A’e day when the wind was reezie

  An auld man lost his wig,

An his hat forby, in crossing’

  The open muirlan’ brig.


It is telt that steerin’ ladies

  Wha caired na e’en a’ a fig,

In sicht o’ the Kirk folk dookit

   In burnie near the brig.


Braw lads and lassies at nicht fa’

  Unco fond o’ a jig,

Merrily danced on the green swaird

  Abune the auld stane brig.


Syne quately when drooped the gloamin’

  A’e lassie, weel-faured, trig,

Crackit lang time wi’ her laddie

  In bield o’ Jersay Brig.







Owre the waistlin’ rim o’ the Parish o’ Shotts

  Doon the braes frae the Linnrigs twa,

There’s a deep, steep Glen weel clad wi’ trees

  Airts onward near Chapelha’,

And weel I wat ilka time I see ‘t

  To me it’s by-ordinar’ braw.


In days lang gane an auld Meal Mill

  Hummed blithe at heid o’ the Glen,

And the water that  made the wheels gang roond

  Cam’ frae hills o’ Shotts ye ken,

O, a bonnie place and a cheery place

  Was the Glen o’ the Fairies then.


The Shotts burn wimples frae yont the Kirk

  Up by on the bare braeside,

Then sings its sang roon mony a turn

  ‘Tween Peatpots and Langside,

To me atweel it’s a loe’some burn

  Tho’ it isna deep or wide.


Noo, there’s roofless wa’s and a Silent Mill

  Whaur the Fairy Glen begins,

Nae mill wheen’s splash, nor happers click

  I’ the lade nae water rins,

And lanesome like the burn slips by

  In its track frae the muirlan’ linns.



         ON  THE  SLATE?


The Kirk roof, we have found o’ late,

Is badly in the need o’ slate;

Nae shame tae roof, the puir, auld fella,

But soon we’ll need oor umbarella!


Through rain, hail, snaw, up on the hill,

The Kirk may staun’ a long time still,

But, if we dinna act the noo,

We’ll sit there in a soggy pew!


Some men went up tae check the slate,

And cam doon wi’ an estimate;

Haunded it ower, wi’ dooncast een,

And then we made an awfu’ scene!


Thirty thou! – the figure quotit,

Needless to say, we hivna got it!

But, though the sum sounds much too dear,

It could be paid – ower a year …..


Three hunder member we do hiv,

And now must ask then all to give

Twa pund a week;  it’s no’ too much,

If we cut doon on cigs. and such!


Whit’s this?  The Kirk takin’ on tick?

“It’s frae the deil!”  “We’ll no hae it!”

But “slate” is now the world’s way,

If what we want, we canna pay.

So dig in deep, yir haun’ tae pockit,

Or when in Kirk, ye may get soakit!


I know this is a lot tae ask,

The fundin’ o’ this awesome task;

But think, you people shy to pay,

You may yet want the Kirk some day.


                -David J. Nelson (Sept. 1997)



    Thoughts on Kirk O Shotts

The cauld March wind blaws frae the East
The blast comes o'er Shotts mair
and we seldom gie a passing thocht
To our forbears lying there

Nae cairn is there to mairk the spot
of folk we proudly own
Nae sculptured marble has been their  lot
Nor yet an inscribed stone

But we who bear that ancient name
And maintain it with great honour
Commit ourselves its right to fame
Our glorious name of Connor 

Ephraim Connor [1891-1980]


Theres a fool moon over Salsburgh

‘ Tis the time that I do dread

For werewolves’ prowl , vampires fly

Then comes the walking dead

They wait in dark filled places

For innocents to come their way

Then with tooth and claw and bloodied axe

Another one do slay

So close all curtains , Lock all doors

Hold the crucifix for all to see


There’s a Fool moon over Salsburgh

And the lunatics are free …
                                               John Bergin



Dae ye mind the auld Kirk O’ Shotts

Wi’ Hartwood Towers nearby

The Auld Bog Road you’ve often trod

A thirst to satisfy

There’s Woodypoint and Murdostoun

I’m sure you’ve coorted there

There’s Kingshill Bings that can be seen

For mony a mile and mair

There’s Dura Kirk and Fanny’s Burn

The Heidless Cross an a’

A few place names you’ll aye recall

When you’re sae far awa

Nae doot you’ll mind o’ mony things

And a’ the folks at hame

But mind that we a’ mind o’ you

And wish you back again.


Weel oot frae a’ the city’s thrang, this langest day in June

Aroon’ Knowenoble’s woods and braes, the scene seems a’ in tune.

A langsome upward journey noo, we glegly here begin

Ere nichtfa’ mony a mile we’ll gang by hill and loch and linn.

Gaun on by Swinstie, Spindleside, we’ll see auld Windyedge,

Broonhill and braw Knowenoblehill, adorned wi’ tree and hedge.

On far’er north, past twa Linriggs, and Fairybank ane sees,

Gartness, Bowhouse, Dunsyston’s twa, twa Bothwellshields, Tardees.

Millfarm, Craigen’ and Gimmerscroft, Coo-brae and Moffats twa,

Syne frae Stepends and Annieshill we clim’ by Berryswa’.

The Lily Loch and Caldercruix, East Braco and Hillen,

A’ eastward lie, but weel I wat, auld time flees on, ye ken.

Gaun past Lochhill and auld Banken’, Drumbowie’s next I trow

East frae Roughrigg big loch we see Duntilland and Mountcow.

Blackrig, Langside, Langacre, we’ll keek at while we speed,

Peatpots, Muirha’ and Goodoakhill, Shotts Myers, The Glebe, Craighead.

By Blackhill, Auchinlea, Greenhill, richt up the braes we’ll spin

Scrieve on by Hareshaw, Fernieshaw and auld Backmuir look in.

The Hill O’ Murdostoun we’ll see amang its gaucy trees,

Then Easterhouse and Penty next, ‘mang woods and grassy leas.

While lookin’ owre by Hartwood Towers we’ll mind the auld Meal Mill

Beside Sooth Cather Water track that comes frae Benhar Hill.

On by Muirhoose and Birniehill, and Jersay blithe we stap,

Yet no’ forgettin’ Hillhooserig, weel sooth on yon knowe tap.

Owerby that airt is Ladylands, Dykeheid and fair Roseha’

Yont Catherheid is Rimmon Croft near peacefu’ Starryshaw.

Westfield, Roughdyke, Fortissat Mains – Fortissat up the brae

But noo on Cant Hill croon we rest, this bonnie simmer day.

When air is clear the sichts are gude, sae fair and far the view

Though here ane fain could linger lang, we on maun gang anew.

Shotts Kirk and Inn, and Shottsburn Farm, ‘mang upland scenes are here

A’e fond look roond we gi’e to a’ then eastward fainly steer.

Dewshill, Bentfit and Pappithills upraised as on a throne,

The Hirsts and Blairmains, near the Loch, we scan while shankin’ on.

Sooth Blair, twa Hassockriggs we see, The Baton and Broonhill,

Syne Welleslea and High Muirheid, whaur gowfers try their skill.

Ahint the hichts a bittie north, are Forrest, Forrestdyke,

And yon lang Loch, seen frae the train, whaur a’ may fish wha like.

Snod Reeziehill, The Toll and Baads, Bogen’ and Forrestburn,

Wi’ Blairmuckhole, Knoweheid, Treesbank and maun be seen in turn

Bankheid, auld Back O’ Moss, Paxstane, Balbaikie far’er on

Next Blairmuckhill, the Hill, the Mains syne Netherton and Loan.

Come noo, cheer up! We’re maistly hame, past Torrance at Northrig,

We turn oor face to hinmost place – Standhill beside Blackrigg.

Oor langsome ramble noo is owre, through Shotts high countryside,

And weel we ken that kindly folk in hamely bields abide.

Gude speed to a’ ye farmer folk! O’ health and best success.

May ilka ane ha’e gudely share, wi’ cares that lichtly press
                                                                                                           John Black

The love of this land

It’s not in the mountains and glens, though beautiful they are for sure

Nor the myths and the songs of the past, they also have their allure

Nor even the causes for pride, the struggles we’ve had to endure

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

In forest and cave they gave birth, in hovel and tenement slum

They worked for their bairns to survive, they worked for the good times to come

And when all the soldiers marched by, they marched to a different drum

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

For when the land stealers came with their guns and their sheep and their fire

The women stood strong to resist, and screamed for the funeral pyre

They burned them right down to the sea, the victims of honour for hire

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

They took to the streets in rent strikes and Miner’s wives marched for their men

They marched to get Suffrage for women, and for safety to walk on their own

They marched at Coulport and Faslane, to say: ‘Nuclear War, never again’

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

From factory and office and mill when the long working week was done

From harbours where poor fisher lassies found their name used to put women down

They’d stream home to put on their glad rags and go out for a night on the town

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

There’s a body of knowledge and wisdom from mother to daughter passed on

Of how to get by on a little, what to do when your man’s drunk or gone

For where would be without mothers, and sisters and friends to lean on

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

This land’s been well served by its women though you wouldn’t ken that from a book

Nor from its places of power, where they get scarcely a look

But it’s time to start listening to women, their story we must understand

It’s the women of Scotland who move me and give me the love of this land

The women of our land down through the ages are the trueFlowers  of Scotland. When will we see their like again?

Kathy Galloway.

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