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Nostalgia of the Tenement

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  • Art Hunter
    Hi everyone: I wish I knew the author of this so that I could give him credit. I m sure there is enough material in this great poem to keep our group going
    Message 1 of 3 , Apr 11, 2000
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      Hi everyone:
      I wish I knew the author of this so that I could give him credit.
      I'm sure there is enough material in this great poem to keep our group
      going for days. Enjoy.

      Nostalgia of the Tenement
      As deep within my mind I see, a barefoot lad that once was me.
      Of folks and places all well kent, Nostalgia of the tenement,

      Two wally dugs upon the brace, Maw throw me over a jeely-piece,
      The jawbox where I scrubbed my feet, the pipe-clay patterns of the
      street,
      We little had of worldly wealth, a jeely-pan upon the shelf.
      A jug or two at Christmas sent, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      Milk cans rattling at the dawn, the fender stool we all sat on,
      The Monday ritual of the pawn, things and customs long since gone,
      The jet black kettle on the hob, the dinner cover minus knob,
      The old zinc bath below the bed, the heilan soldier made of lead,
      The next door neighbor old and bent, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      The day I won a hundred jorries, stolen rides on back of lorries,
      A golliwog deprived of hair, "Doon the Watter" at the Fair,
      The loabby and the kitchen press, the blankets in the old wood chest,
      Things of childhood sentiment, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      The rumble of the Riddrie tram, a two pound pot of rhubarb jam,
      A card from Flanders from the war, insurance money in the drawer,
      The waxcloth polished fresh and bright, the bath-brick used on Friday
      night,
      A footprint in the wet cement, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      The built-in bed where four weans slept, green bunker where the coal was
      kept,
      The wee canary bonnie bird, that early in the morn was heard,
      The dabbities that widnae stick, the old oil lamp, the flickering wick,
      Saturday penny, carefully spent, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      Hunch-cuddy-hunch and kick the can, the many barefoot miles we ran,
      Peever, Forfeits, Gird and Stick, Release and Moshie, take your pick,
      These were our games in yester-year, little we knew of adult fear,
      Ragged but happy and content, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      The clabber dancing, mouthpiece band, how many cards are in my hand,
      The dykes, the jumps, the battered toes, climbs, adventures, tattered
      clothes,
      Guesses at the sweetie shop, meetings at the tramway stop,
      Patch sheets make a bonnie tent, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      Picnics at the Cuddies Park, scurry home before the dark,
      Ali Bali who's got the ball, wickets chalked upon the wall,
      Fetch the rags for Candy Rock, a jumper and your father's socks,
      Eddie Polo, Pearl White, Episode 3 on Thursday night,
      Oh! For the days so happy spent, Nostalgia of the tenement.

      Nuts and apples, Hallowe'en, Dook for them the bath is clean,
      Ha'penny Pea-Brae, Vinegar Sour, Georges Square - pinch a flower,
      Carters, Horses, Heavy load, jam the breadth of Parly Road,
      Wan, two, three a leerie, I went out tae spin my peerie,
      The ship that sailed the eely ally oh, a step for the hint I didn't
      know,
      Never a word of discontent, Nostalgia of the tenement,

      Are you a Billy or a Dan, somebody sent the cruelty man,
      Take you choice, Cock or Hen, join the Fitbaw team again,
      And though we didn't own a thing, some paper and a dawd of string,
      Would make a ball that we would boot, until the Bobby made us scoot.
      Up the closes, through the pen, Nostalgia of the tenement,

      The caur has disappeared for good, a car park, where the chippie stood,
      The old Townhead, a wind-swept wreck, the tally shop a discotheque.
      Now as I reach my final page, I look back on a by-gone age,
      And wish that once again could I, hear my mother's goodnight cry,
      "Ben the room" and coorie doon, Children of old Glasgow Toon,
      Close the book my muse is spent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
      Author unknown.
      Art
    • RB & R Cathcart
      Hi Art, Greetings from the Sunshine Coast, Queensland, Australia. I was nae born i Glasgow (wasn t game to put Glesgie ) but in Orstraylya but I vote for the
      Message 2 of 3 , Apr 12, 2000
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        Hi Art,
        Greetings from the Sunshine Coast, Queensland, Australia.
        I was nae born i' Glasgow (wasn't game to put "Glesgie") but in
        Orstraylya but I vote for the whole poem.
        Regards, Bob
      • carladempsey22
        This was written by my great Uncle Claude Currie from Glasgow
        Message 3 of 3 , May 10 7:29 AM
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          This was written by my great Uncle Claude Currie from Glasgow

          --- In scots-origins@yahoogroups.com, Art Hunter <artenter@...> wrote:
          >
          > Hi everyone:
          > I wish I knew the author of this so that I could give him credit.
          > I'm sure there is enough material in this great poem to keep our group
          > going for days. Enjoy.
          >
          > Nostalgia of the Tenement
          > As deep within my mind I see, a barefoot lad that once was me.
          > Of folks and places all well kent, Nostalgia of the tenement,
          >
          > Two wally dugs upon the brace, Maw throw me over a jeely-piece,
          > The jawbox where I scrubbed my feet, the pipe-clay patterns of the
          > street,
          > We little had of worldly wealth, a jeely-pan upon the shelf.
          > A jug or two at Christmas sent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > Milk cans rattling at the dawn, the fender stool we all sat on,
          > The Monday ritual of the pawn, things and customs long since gone,
          > The jet black kettle on the hob, the dinner cover minus knob,
          > The old zinc bath below the bed, the heilan soldier made of lead,
          > The next door neighbor old and bent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > The day I won a hundred jorries, stolen rides on back of lorries,
          > A golliwog deprived of hair, "Doon the Watter" at the Fair,
          > The loabby and the kitchen press, the blankets in the old wood chest,
          > Things of childhood sentiment, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > The rumble of the Riddrie tram, a two pound pot of rhubarb jam,
          > A card from Flanders from the war, insurance money in the drawer,
          > The waxcloth polished fresh and bright, the bath-brick used on Friday
          > night,
          > A footprint in the wet cement, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > The built-in bed where four weans slept, green bunker where the coal was
          > kept,
          > The wee canary bonnie bird, that early in the morn was heard,
          > The dabbities that widnae stick, the old oil lamp, the flickering wick,
          > Saturday penny, carefully spent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > Hunch-cuddy-hunch and kick the can, the many barefoot miles we ran,
          > Peever, Forfeits, Gird and Stick, Release and Moshie, take your pick,
          > These were our games in yester-year, little we knew of adult fear,
          > Ragged but happy and content, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > The clabber dancing, mouthpiece band, how many cards are in my hand,
          > The dykes, the jumps, the battered toes, climbs, adventures, tattered
          > clothes,
          > Guesses at the sweetie shop, meetings at the tramway stop,
          > Patch sheets make a bonnie tent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > Picnics at the Cuddies Park, scurry home before the dark,
          > Ali Bali who's got the ball, wickets chalked upon the wall,
          > Fetch the rags for Candy Rock, a jumper and your father's socks,
          > Eddie Polo, Pearl White, Episode 3 on Thursday night,
          > Oh! For the days so happy spent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          >
          > Nuts and apples, Hallowe'en, Dook for them the bath is clean,
          > Ha'penny Pea-Brae, Vinegar Sour, Georges Square - pinch a flower,
          > Carters, Horses, Heavy load, jam the breadth of Parly Road,
          > Wan, two, three a leerie, I went out tae spin my peerie,
          > The ship that sailed the eely ally oh, a step for the hint I didn't
          > know,
          > Never a word of discontent, Nostalgia of the tenement,
          >
          > Are you a Billy or a Dan, somebody sent the cruelty man,
          > Take you choice, Cock or Hen, join the Fitbaw team again,
          > And though we didn't own a thing, some paper and a dawd of string,
          > Would make a ball that we would boot, until the Bobby made us scoot.
          > Up the closes, through the pen, Nostalgia of the tenement,
          >
          > The caur has disappeared for good, a car park, where the chippie stood,
          > The old Townhead, a wind-swept wreck, the tally shop a discotheque.
          > Now as I reach my final page, I look back on a by-gone age,
          > And wish that once again could I, hear my mother's goodnight cry,
          > "Ben the room" and coorie doon, Children of old Glasgow Toon,
          > Close the book my muse is spent, Nostalgia of the tenement.
          > Author unknown.
          > Art
          >
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