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  

                                                                Poem by Maureen Moffat

THE AULD PAN BRAE.

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

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

"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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