The Best Seamen in the Firth

Old Bo'ness Iron Co building

     Sitting on the hill-side overlooking the Firth of Forth lies a small town called Borrowstounness, or Bo'ness as it is known. It's history can be traced back to Roman times and remnants of the Antonine Wall run through the town centre. However, its importance in Scottish history doesn't stop there and I decided to visit the town recently to stretch my legs and take a look around.

Over-looking the Firth of Forth

    Once Scotland's second largest port, Bo'ness shipped coal and salt to Europe, with France and Holland being main traders. While the harbour is no longer in use there is evidence in the town of its industrial past, which included coal-mining, ship-building and iron metalwork.

    Interestingly enough in its heyday, author of 'Robinson Crusoe,'  Daniel Defoe visited here and wrote about the town in his book, 'A Tour Through the Whole Island of Great Britain' (1724) praising the local men as, the best seamen in the Firth.

The town of Bo'ness

 
    Standing on the harbour looking back towards the town, if it wasn't for a few obvious modern-day additions, the grey-stone buildings make you believe you're living in times gone by. The old churches, town hall and the library funded by Andrew Carnegie dominate the town.

Bo'ness and Kinneil Railway site

  
    My last stop in the town was the Bo'ness and Kinneil Railway site, unfortunately film crews were filming and I couldn't access the station and platform. But, I did manage to take a few photos of some of the carriages and trucks there. For railway enthusiasts and especially children it's a great place, Thomas the Tank Engine visits frequently and there is a railway museum which is a must.
    

   

    
www.bkrailway.co.uk/
     



   

Columbus

   

    My poem this Monday, is by American poet, Joaquin Miller. I love the sea, but as we know it is treacherous and unforgiving. The courage of explorers, such as Columbus has to be acknowledged. This poem tells of the sailors fear and of the drive and determination needed to succeed in any quest.

Columbus 

Behind him lay the gray Azores

Behind the Gates of Hercules

Before him not the ghost of shores

Before him only shoreless seas

The good mate said, "Now we must pray,

For lo the very stars are gone.

Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?"

"Why, say, 'Sail on! sail on! and on!' " 

 

My men grow mutinous day by day

My men grow ghastly wan and weak

The stout mate thought of home, a spray

Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek

"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,

If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"

"Why, you shall say at break of day,

'Sail on! sail on! and on!' " 

 

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow

Until at last the blanched mate said,

"Why, now not even God would know

Should I and all my men fall dead

These very winds forget their way

For God from these dead seas is gone

Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"

He said, "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate

"This mad sea shows his teeth tonight.

He curls his lip, he lies in wait,

With lifted teeth, as if to bite!

Brave Admiral, say but one good word:

What shall we do when hope is gone?"

The words leapt like a leaping sword,

"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

 

Then pale and worn, he kept his deck

And peered through darkness. Ah, that night

Of all dark nights! And then a speck

A light! A light! At last a light!

It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn

He gained a world, he gave that world

Its grandest lesson, "On! sail on!"

                              Joaquin Miller (1837-1913)           

Celebrating Youth

Scottish Youth Hostel Association, Stirling

    While many countries celebrate their youths on various dates, the United Nations has recognised August 12th since 1999, as International Youth Day.

    Hostelling has been plauded by the young for a long time, because it's a cheap place for them to stay while back-packing their way around the world. Normally fairly basic accomodation, hostels are usually located near to the main tourist attractions.

    You might say that Stirling's youth hostel is no different, as it's located on the main access road to the castle, in the centre of the city. However, it is a hostel with a slight difference. On first look if there was no signage, it would be easy to believe that it was still a working church.

    Old gravestones are still dotted amongst the surrounding greenery of the Erskine Marykirk. As well as, the elaborate monument and tomb of the church's founder Reverend Ebeneezer Erskine. Looking down onto the tolbooth in St John Street, makes it most definitely an interesting place to stay. That's as long as you're not kept awake by the resident ghosts.

Stirling Tolbooth

   

   

Night

    

    OMG, it's Monday already. Where do the days go?  My poem today is by poet, artist and art critic, John Ruskin. His words are ghostly and discriptive. Two of my photographs were taken in Dunfermline Abbey, Scotland and hopefully add a little to the atmosphere.

NIGHT 

 

Faint from the bell the ghastly echoes fall
That grates within the grey cathedral tower
Let me not enter through the portal tall
Lest the strange spirit of the moonless hour
Should give a life to those pale people, who
Lie in their fretted niches, two and two
Each with his head on pillowy stone reposed
And his hands lifted, and his eyelids closed

From many a mouldering oriel, as to flout
Its pale, grave brow of ivy-tressed stone
Comes the incongruous laugh, and revel shout
Above, some solitary casement, thrown
Wide open to the wavering night wind
Admits its chill, so deathful, yet so kind
Unto the fevered brow and fiery eye
Of one, whose night hour passeth sleeplessly

Ye melancholy chambers! I could shun
The darkness of your silence, with such fear
As places where slow murder has been done
How many noble spirits have died here
Withering away in yearnings to aspire
Gnawed by mocked hope-devoured by their own fire
Methinks the grave must feel a colder bed
To spirits such as these, than unto common dead 

 

John Ruskin 1819-1900

Tick-Tock

    Time plays a huge part in our lives. We constantly check our watches, clocks, computers, and phones for the time. We all have places to go, people to see, we arrange a time to meet and make appointments. The rate of our heart is measured by the number of beats per minute (BPM) and our transport systems run to timetables.

    Cooking instructions on our TV dinners and recipes in our favourite cookbook all include times. One year finishes as another one starts, on the strike of twelve. As the clock's hands tick-tock, our lives pass, but what I'm grateful for is that you all took the time today to read my post.

Moonrise

       

     The classic poem I'm featuring today is by English poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins. Classed as being one of the greatest poets during Victorian times, unfortunately his work was not not recognised until after his death. His work has a  certain darkness about it, something that appeals to me. Being a  religious man, God also heavily featured in many of his poems. Other titles include, The Philosopher's Stone and I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.

Moonrise  

I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle
Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain

A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not quite utterly.
This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily
Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber 

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

Going Down to Bangor

    Some years ago I worked in Belfast, Northern Ireland. It was a wonderful vibrant city like many capitals. In the time I spent in this wonderful country I tried to do as much site seeing as I could, although the weather was a little unkind. So when I went down to Bangor, unlike the Van Morrison song the sun didn't shine and I didn't neeed a bucket and spade.

    When I read that it will be ten years on July 31 since the British Army left the country, I wanted to celebrate and remember the time I spent there.