Part of the great Scottish heritage was the various “Bings” that were left following the closure of mines and pits throughout the country. I was born and brought up at the top of Hill Street in Burnbank, better known as the “Jungle” right at the bottom of Earnock bing, as a wee boy I looked on it as my own personal real estate. Many of the coal miners were pigeon fanciers (doo men) and had their loft out the backyard including my own dad which explains a wee bit the following tale.
The poem below was written by
THOMAS MATTHEW EDGAR MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA.2005.
AND WAS DONATED TO WILMA BOLTON. Wilma has kindly shared this for the Historic Hamilton readers to enjoy.
Corrugated iron—wae the ends turned up
Blint— wi stoure and shale
Fifty miles an oor at least
Anither on yer tail
Earnock bing my Everest
The biggest bing aroon
Ah climbed ye every day in life
The tallest in the toon,
Mony’s the time I fell aff the tap
Fae aff yer towr’n heights
Broken taes and fingers
Ah should be deid by rights
Cadzow bing it was’nae bad
But wis’nae near sae steep
Naewhere near the broken bones
Aw’right for grazin sheep.
Dae ye mind wee Wullie doon the road
We put him in a tyre
Ah’m shair it wis aff a Chieftan bus,
An’ fae aff yer very spire,
We gied’m sich a hefty shove
He fell oot haufway doon
He staggert’ roon for hauf an oor
An roon n’ roon n’ roon,
As soon as he could staun at peace
He said “Christ that wiz great”
“Could we dae it agane jist wan mair time”
It wiz clear he could’na wait.
So intae the tyre again he went
This time we tied him in
An wi an even harder shove
We sent him for a spin.
Well “Tottie Minto’s” pigeon loft…
Ah’ ken ye’ve guessed already
It, wiz quite plain for aw tae see,
Even tae blind Freddy
Unhappy circumstances wid unfold
And mibbie even mair
A heid oan crash, a lot a stoure
An’ feathers everywhere
Deid doos deid as dodos
Died in their loft that day
Like road kill they aw’ lay aroon
Ah guess its fair tae say
We thought the wee block doon the road
Wi’ the doos had done his dash
Surprise, surprise, would ye believe,
Fae in amang the trash
A ghostly figure staggert’ oot
An roon n’roon n’roon
He said “Christ that wiz bliddy great”
Ah hope that very soon
“ We dae that agane jist wan mair time”
“This time ah’ll git it right”
at this point ye can guess the rest
its time to say guidnight
Dear Earnock bing where ur ye noo
Wherever did ye go
Scattered to the winds, ah think
Ah’ ken ah miss you so.
Oh Earnock bing my Everest,
It’s time to say fareweel
Ah won’t forget ye ever
Fareweel Fareweel Fareweel!!!!!
(A wee efter thought)
For those of nostalgic persuasion
Ah hope ye enjoyed my heart felt reminiscence
Slidin doon ma Earnock Everest, Oan ma erse…….in verse.
Thomas Matthew Edgar.
Wilma Bolton. 2005.