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Saltcoats Nostalgia This is the page to express our old memories of Saltcoats - if you have any you would like to share then please email them to me [The Auld Pan Brae] [The Auld Sea Shore] [ Doon the Shore] My
Hearts in Old Saltcoats My
hearts in Old Saltcoats, My
heart is bereft, My
hearts in Old Saltcoats Not what they have left. I
used to could go to the old bathing pool, Or
down Springvale Street to the site o ma school, But
now they’ve all gone and lots more I fear, My
hearts in Old Saltcoats, my heart isnae here. Now
I used to get a hot Herdmans pie, And
a big sody scone from Ross’s near bye, And
rolls oot o Howies and slice oot o Grubs, My
hearts in Old Saltcoats And
I hate they new shrubs. At
Nelsons we queued for their guid rhubarb pies, McAllisters
swiss tarts just lit up oor eyes And
Thomson’s was famous for their tattie scones My
hearts in Old Saltcoats But
where have they gone We
went to the Maypole for butter and tea, The
smell outside Coopers was nectar tae me, Jack
Boyd’s for our photos Owen Kelly for tea, My
hearts in Old Saltcoats, Am
sure you’ll agree. We
went to the pictures we liked them so well. Now
the Regals shut up and The Countess itsell, Toni
Lami, Winnie Baird’s, Hilda Fleming’s every wan My
hearts no in Saltcoats Wi
all of them gone Did
yeas ever remember going up Gibsons stair, And
many a crony you’d find sittin there, Del
Greco’s is good But it cannot compare My
heart is in old Saltcoats My
heart is nae here. Now
what have they done to the place we once knew With
their Band Stands and flooers and tiled pavements too, I
could go on forever with places knocked down, But my hearts in Old Saltcoats And
not in this town
There used to be a busy street That reached oot towards the sea. Its cobbles worn wi’ busy feet A’ makin’ for the quay. The busy lassies bless their he’rts They lent their willin’ han’s, Before the sun hls lang day starts Doon by the auld saut-pans. The fisher folks a hardy race 0’ guid auld Saltcoats schule, No’ mony could e’er fill thelr
place Wi’ thelr seamanship sae cool. Independent fu’ 0’ pride *
* their
* * Their fame renowned ayont the Clyde Just hearken to these names. . Murray’s, Robertson’s, Reid’s
an’ Pllu’s The Harris’s an’ Blair’s, An’ the famous Shedden crews Withstood ” Auld Neptune’s “
snares. Never feared o’ honest work Yet never Fortune’s Pets, Never trled their share to shlrk Aye mendln’ boats or nets. These names will aye be brought to
mind Where Saltcoats chiels e’er meet. For the crack will aye come roon,
you’ll find To that famous Saltcoats street. But whaur the fisher folk aince bade There’s naught but memories left, An’ as the evening sun shall fade 0’ them we’ll be bereft. For noo the auld quay’s o’ the
past An’ the dryln’ poles hae gone, The fishers hae their last net cast For their fishin’ days are done. Then as the toon draws owre the hill Oor history will relate, That “ Time “ ye canna speed nor
still For we a’ must yield to fate. Then as anither year comes roon I’ll aye be prood to say, That I was reared in SaItcoats toon An’ born In ” The Auld Pan
Brae.”
The auld sea shore, wi' its bonny shells and stanes An' places whaur we gathert them when we were cheery weans, Wi' scarce a care to fash us then, an gran' things aye in store; Nae won'er gin I lo'e it yet, the weel-kent, auld sea shore.
The auld sea shore -- e'en noo I mind the wintry days, We biggit castles gran' as strong an' heich as we could raise, An' laucht oor fill when loupin' cam' the waves wi' angry roar, An' dang them doon, or drouk't us weel, doon at the auld sea shore. Poem by William Brown Smith
"Doon the shore!" the cheerfu' bairnies' cry; I hear it whiles, as I am passing by; Tho' mony a year, atweel, has gane syne I Was ane mysel; I brawly mind thae days - sae, e'en I'll try O' them to tell.
'Mang rocks an' stanes, wi' hearty lauch and squeel, We searched for starfish, shrimp, sea-stang, an' eel, While labster's hole, an' cruben's den as weel, A' got their turn; Wi' wilks an' limpits in ilk can an' creel -- A king we'd spurn
Aiblins we waded owre the yellow sauns, Guidin' wee boaties wi' oor sticks an' hauns; In fancy, noo, I see the spot where stauns The weel-kent quay, An' faces missed, or lang in foreign lan's Ayont the sea.
Poem by William Brown Smith
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