South Leith Parish Church and Cemetary

On my way to and from work, I often cut through the South Leith Parish cemetary on Constitution Street. My options are to go up the shopping alley past the delights of Lidl, Cash Converters and that Frozen Food place and then further up under some schemey apartment block, or to go around down Constitution Street which for some reason reminds me of men peeing on walls, or to cut through the lovely cemetary that's usually open during the day.

I think the answer is obvious.

The church website claims history dating back to the days of William Wallace, but more than likely the bulding and grounds itself only date back some 200-300 years. (The nearby Leith Town Hall, current home of the Leith Police) was built in the late 1800's.) Most of the gravestones in the cemetary date back to the 1700's and 1800's, though not all of them are legible.

[Agnes Sutherland]

THEIR ELDEST DAUGHTER

DIED 11TH OCTOBER 1865

AGED 2 YEARS

WILLIAM ANDERSON

THEIR SECOND SON

CHEIF ENGINEER S.S. ESPARTO

DROWNED IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

20TH NOVEMBER 1897

AGED 29 YEARS

HUGH JOHN CUTHBERTSON

THIER THIRD SON

DIED AT KALIMPONG INDIA

7TH SEPTEMBER 1914

AGED 43 YEARS

In Memory of

JEAN C NICOLL

Daughter of

MICHAEL NICOLL, Baker in Leith

who died 13th Aug 1813

Aged 19 years

Her blameless life

and mild unassuming manners

Endeared her to all who knew her.

She will live long in the

Recollection of her Friends,

the ardent Affection of her Parents,

(which was reciprocal) will only terminate

with their Existence.

Here lie also the Remains of

MARY and MARGARET

who died Young

Also SARRAH KYLES his Spouse

who Died July 6th 1818

Aged 43 years

Sacred

to the Memory of

JAMES MACNEILL

eldest son of Rob Jolly

surgeon

who died 29th Dec 1828

Aged eight years

and nine months

He was a mild amiable and

a promising youth and

will ever be Remembered

with the deepest regret

by his aflicted parents.

ROBERT PATTERSON his Son

died the 2nd Jan 1830

Aged 7 years and 5 month

much regretted.

Mrs MARY BLACK MACNEILL

his wife died 2nd June 1831

She was a good wife [text obscured]

There are other pictures, other stones, and other stories that linger under the trees. Babies who lived only long enough to have a name, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, all are mourned. The most recent stone I saw was 2004; most were in the eras named above.

It's definitely worth a look if you're in the area. It's a peaceful oasis in the sea of noise and junkies.

Advertising Fail

In today's Metro. Effective, isn't it? What's that big black blob? Oh, right, a bunch of roses! Poorly planned, poorly executed, massive failure. Next time, check the contrast before you print the ad in black and white. (I wrote in red pen in the top corner, just to prove it wasn't my scanner.)

Get th' Scots doon!

Ah, the Scots language. To anyone unfamiliar with the dialect, it is a mangling of vowels, a slurring of consonants, and an almost French ability to leave the end off words, all said whilst lowering your voice and sounding as aggressive as possible. To the average American, it is incomprehensible. Or near enough. Remember Mike Myer's character "Fat Bastard"? And his caricatures in "My Wife is an Axe Murderer"? Compare that to the character on "Rab C Nesbitt", an unemployed ex-alcoholic from the back estates of Glasgow (or "Glasgae" as it's sometimes called).

But what is it that makes a language? A language, famously is "a dialect with an army". Ha ha. True, but these days, with linguists advocating for the recognition of different Englishes, for example, Hong Kong English, there is an ever-growing cry to recognise Scots as an actual variety of English, that than a mere local quirk.

The Scotsman newspaper often hosts letters and articles about Scots (the language), but today an article about an author releasing a book in Scots for a whole year before the book is released in English. A quote from the book, as given in the article:

WHIT wid ye dae if ye fund yersel face tae face wi a muckle lion? Staund as still as a stookie? Mak yer feet yer freens and rin? Creep awa quiet-like? Mibbe ye wid jist steek yer een and hope that ye were haein a dream – which is whit Obed did at first when he saw the frichtsome lion starin strecht at him.

Translation (of my best guess):

What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a "muckle" lion? Stand as still as a "stookie"? Make your feet your friends and run? Creep away quietly? Maybe you would just "steek yer een" (rub your eyes?) and hope that you were having a dream -- which is what Obed did at first when he saw the fightsome lion staring straight at him.

 Want some more Scots fun?

The Bible in Scots:

  7. Than, Herod, convenin the Wyss Men privately, faund oot mair strickly o' the comin o' the starn ;

    8. And bad them gang to Bethlehem ; and quo' he, "Gang, and seek ye oot the wee bairn ; and whan ye ken, fesh me word again, that I as weel may come and worship."

(Mathew Chaipter Twa, verses 7 til 8 frae 'The Four Gospels in Braid Scots' - Rev William W Smith)

 Or perhaps a translator:

Your translation (from woohoo) is:
Ah, th' scots leid. tae anyain unfamiliar wi' th' dialect, it is a manglin' ay vowels, a slurrin' ay consonants, an' an almost french ability tae lae th' end aff words, aw said whilst lowerin' yer voice an' soondin' as aggressife as possible. tae th' average american, it is incomprehensible. ur near enaw.

Or read Scots straight from the source (the horse's mouth as it were), on Bebo, the social networking site popular among the working and underclasses of Scotland. Some excellent samples are found on the Glasgow Rangers page:

 Boyd is SHITE......you wee deluded hun......
King of scoring wee SHITTY goals you mean.....

Nae bother greg. goodnyt n godbless yous fuckin huns go on

Or the rival Glasgow Celtics Page:

YOUS HUV WON MARE TITLES THIN US COS YEESE WUR MADE ABOOT 16 YER BEFORE US UR SUM FUKIN HING YA DIRTY WEE HUN BASTERD

Or a comment on the somewhat satirical Glasgow Neds page:

haha loveittt neds are the fuckin best , hilarous m8 ! specially glesga wans but i think yeez are a bunch ae goons fur makin a group boot it ?

Is there a cohesiveness to it? Does the use reflect the academic dictionaries? Or is the bulk of it the random phonetic scrawlings of a half-educated ape sitting at a computer? And is my knee-jerk reaction that this is primarily a class issue correct?

Psychic or Chiropractor?

Earlier this week (Monday, perhaps?) I noticed the following ad in the Metro and thought, gee, that guy looks like a psychic!


Notice the overly large face pic, the gentle smile and light facial hair, the blue and white lines radiating from his space-age state-of-the-art chrio-whatsit machine...

I was dying to compare it to an actual psychic ad to see if I was right in my first impression. Fortunately for me, John Edward is coming to Glasgow.


The expression is different, a pensive seriousness to show that being a psychic is hard work and that he's touched by our dead relatives' presence, the whole hand on head thing lends an air of relaxation. And there are no space-age lines coming from his head (or eyes, like lasers!). So really, I suppose these are two different beasts.

They're both still twats, though.

Nanny said NO!

More signs today that the people running the government have no interest in self-sufficiency and Independence.

Example 1:
An Englishman built a castle behind haystacks, lived in it for 4 years, and then was told by the local council that he had to tear it down.
Apparently it took him two years and only £50,000. The case is founded on a law that says if someone builds a property and lives in it for four years, it can't be torn down. But the property in question was hidden behind bales of hay. The court argues that the bales of hay constitute construction material, thus, they only lived in the place while it was under construction. I just think that if any official with the slightest bit of curiosity could have easily found out what was behind the bales of hay.

This is a clear case of the government taking steps to discourage personal independence.

In other news, children are apparently being curtailed as well.
Up in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, a bus full of school children got stuck in the snow, so the kids got off and walked home. Of course, that isn't the way the adults see it. "Inquiry after pupils refuse to stay on school bus stuck in snow"! Apparently the policy is to keep the children on the bus, you know, for safety reasons. These kids apparently had other plans, and all of them got off and started heading for the nearest town, a mere mile back. Some caught another bus, and others called their parents.

Who cares? This is probably the most exercise these kids got all week! Inquiry, my ass!