Ra Old Man's People
Monday 25th Dec., 2006. 1:47 p.m.
It could have been at the beginning of the 19th century when my ancestor on my father's side went from Inverness to Northern Ireland to be a gamekeeper. Though it was a bit of a tradition for Scottish presbyterians to go the Northern Ireland and murder Irish catholics, this jock actually married one. They had a deal that the girls would be brought up catholics and the boys brought up protestants. The first born was a girl and was sent to the catholic school. The second kid was a boy and he was also sent to the catholic school. Which just goes to show that you cannot trust these papist basturns!
The boy came back to Scotland to live in Mossend (which is now a part of Bellshill) around 1838. His family lived in the Clydedale Road in Mossend and the boys were all tradesmen. My grandfather on my father's side was one of these boys and he was a blacksmith in the steelworks, Stewart & Lloyds, which I worked in for a year after I left university. Then it was British Steel. Anyway, this blacksmith got married in his forties and had eleven kids, one of which was my old man. They were brought up in a room and kitchen near the Woodend Hotel. My maw got a job in the hotel when she left school and that's how she came into contact with my old man.
He was a bricklayer and she refused to sell him a drink when she was working in the bar because he didn't look old enough. He'd be about twenty five. He was five foot two and weighed seven and a half stone, which was normal in Lanarkshire in those days, after the three hundred years of malnutrition. When he took part in the Normandy Landings, he nearly drowned when he jumped off the landing craft because he was so wee.
When I was a kid, I suspected my old man might be a saint. I was maybe fourteen when he passed away, and couldn't really understand all the tears coming from all these catholics. If he was going to heaven, what were they greetin' about? I thought dying and going to heaven was supposed to be the good bit.
I tend to remember my old man at this time of year because he passed away on Christmas Eve. Sometimes I've felt a bit like doing that myself, but this year everything is going very well indeed!
It could have been at the beginning of the 19th century when my ancestor on my father's side went from Inverness to Northern Ireland to be a gamekeeper. Though it was a bit of a tradition for Scottish presbyterians to go the Northern Ireland and murder Irish catholics, this jock actually married one. They had a deal that the girls would be brought up catholics and the boys brought up protestants. The first born was a girl and was sent to the catholic school. The second kid was a boy and he was also sent to the catholic school. Which just goes to show that you cannot trust these papist basturns!
The boy came back to Scotland to live in Mossend (which is now a part of Bellshill) around 1838. His family lived in the Clydedale Road in Mossend and the boys were all tradesmen. My grandfather on my father's side was one of these boys and he was a blacksmith in the steelworks, Stewart & Lloyds, which I worked in for a year after I left university. Then it was British Steel. Anyway, this blacksmith got married in his forties and had eleven kids, one of which was my old man. They were brought up in a room and kitchen near the Woodend Hotel. My maw got a job in the hotel when she left school and that's how she came into contact with my old man.
He was a bricklayer and she refused to sell him a drink when she was working in the bar because he didn't look old enough. He'd be about twenty five. He was five foot two and weighed seven and a half stone, which was normal in Lanarkshire in those days, after the three hundred years of malnutrition. When he took part in the Normandy Landings, he nearly drowned when he jumped off the landing craft because he was so wee.
When I was a kid, I suspected my old man might be a saint. I was maybe fourteen when he passed away, and couldn't really understand all the tears coming from all these catholics. If he was going to heaven, what were they greetin' about? I thought dying and going to heaven was supposed to be the good bit.
I tend to remember my old man at this time of year because he passed away on Christmas Eve. Sometimes I've felt a bit like doing that myself, but this year everything is going very well indeed!
posted by Hotboy at 1:52 PM
4 Comments:
Merry Christmas!
Have a safe and joyful holiday!
Love,
Lee Ann
Lee Ann: Merry Christmas to you too!
Eric: You have to tell them something! Hotboy
A blissless Chrissmiss post?
Have you any pictures of your old man in the war? You could get someone (the hut commandant?) to help you scan and post them.
My old man went the day before yours, which happened to be the old dear's birthday. No comment.
Isn't it a relief when Boxing Day comes along? Hopefully HB will take the name as an injunction, and beat the crap out of his shadow.
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