My poem about Kingskettle has been included onto the Stanza Poem Map of Scotland. This is its first airing. KINGSKETTLE It lies in the middle of, The Howe of Fife, Thee epicenter of modern life A small conurbation that’s got loads of heart, It’s where my life, at the beginning, did start To grow up in Kettle, it was such a treat Where a character lived, or worked, on each street Experts in every field known to man From tilling the soil or drawing a plan Growing up with the worthies, they’d tell us great tales Of buyers and tryers, of guddling whales Of the factory’s old chimney, reaching up to the cloud Standing up tall and steadfast, mighty and proud Kettles train station, after a nice jaunty trip Where The Station Inn serves up a nice, well earned nip, Was closed by old Beeching, and it stayed proper shut But years after that, made a brilliant gang hut The ghosts in the graveyard, they made us all fairt It was the ghost o Bel Smith and her faithful chip cairt Stories regale from the Kettle Village Hall Of many a wild youth club or Tattiemans Ball, The Friday night disco’s were packed to the roof Wednesday’s Rural were never aloof Home baking and tablet at all sales of work The voting on polling day, you never can shirk The summers in Kettle were warm and long Delivering milk to the morning Larks song Then off up the den to dam Kettle burn It was supper time before our return A clip round the ear for coming in late But we knew at the time that would be our fate Slept in for the milk round the following day Then back up the den, to resume our play We discovered the joy of old motorbikes, And tore up old farm tracks, with joys and delights Fuel from Jock Kenny in old oil cans And stored in the back of my Faither’s old vans Then came Punk Rock, a wonderful sound The Bowling Club Disco was where we’d be found Leaping and jumping like Crickets on speed The Bowling Club rules? We paid them no heed Ladies were next on our teenage Radar, And a suitable one was found, from afar I took out a passport, the water I crossed To Ladybank Village, I almost got lost We married…..then flitted…..then flitted once more Now I’m back in Kingskettle, the village I adore Its couthy, its homely, its bonnie, its fine And everyone from here, they say that “it’s mine” Its North of Glenrothes and south of Dundee It’s the home of my past, its spiritual for me We’re West of Pitlessie off the A914 Freuchie to the East, just at our back door Our neighboring villages are pally with us They’re a very short hurl at the back o a bus I finish this off with a doff of my cap To Bonnie Kingskettle, the best on the map. The Glentara Bard.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Jul 2014 17:15:51 +0000
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