Trains and Boats and …… Poems?
Posted in Kirkcaldy, Nostalgia at 2:53 pm on 28 November 2008
If you enter Kirkcaldy railway station on the War Memorial side, go past the ticket office, and make your way up the stairs to Platform 1 (Trains for Edinburgh and the South) you will see hung permanently on the wall of the waiting area a poem, of all things. It is cut into an unusual material for such a display, linoleum – the origin of one of the queer-like smells I posted about recently. This is partly a celebration in verse of the town of Kirkcaldy and its most famous product, but more, it must be said, of the halcyon days of the railways. It is called The Boy in the Train and was written by Mary Campbell Smith.
Curiously, I first came across these same verses thirty years ago when I was working as a Research Chemist in Hertford, just north of London. My (English) co-workers brought them to me because they wanted to know what they all meant! Imagine their astonishment when I told them I would be taking the train to “Kirkcaddy” the very next day. (I was coming up as part of my holiday to visit the good lady’s parents who, at that time, lived in Glenrothes. Kirkcaldy was the nearest suitable railway station if you didn’t have access to a car; which at the time I didn’t.) I only moved to Kirkcaldy myself twenty years ago.
The poem has stuck in my mind ever since. (It is not only cheap music that has potency.) By one of those strange word association things that probably shows what kind of brain I have, whenever someone muses on what they’ll be eating for their evening meal I always mutter to myself, “a herrin’ or maybe a haddie.”
I very much doubt that the town’s name was ever pronounced Kirkcaddy as in the poem. That usage was clearly adopted to fit the rhyme scheme.
Whit wey does the engine say ‘Toot-toot’?
Is it feart to gang in the tunnel?
Whit wey is the furnace no pit oot
When the rain gangs doon the funnel?
What’ll I hae for my tea the nicht?
A herrin’, or maybe a haddie?
Has Gran’ma gotten electric licht?
Is the next stop Kirkcaddy?
There’s a hoodie-craw on yon turnip-raw!
An’ seagulls! – sax or seeven.
I’ll no fa’ oot o’ the windae, Maw,
Its sneckit, as sure as I’m leevin’.
We’re into the tunnel! we’re a’ in the dark!
But dinna be frichtit, Daddy,
We’ll sune be comin’ to Beveridge Park,
And the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!
Is yon the mune I see in the sky?
It’s awfu’ wee an’ curly,
See! there’s a coo and a cauf ootbye,
An’ a lassie pu’in’ a hurly!
He’s chackit the tickets and gien them back,
Sae gie me my ain yin, Daddy.
Lift doon the bag frae the luggage rack,
For the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!
There’s a gey wheen boats at the harbour mou’,
And eh! dae ya see the cruisers?
The cinnamon drop I was sookin’ the noo
Has tummelt an’ stuck tae ma troosers. . .
I’ll sune be ringin’ ma Gran’ma’s bell,
She’ll cry, ‘Come ben, my laddie’,
For I ken mysel’ by the queer-like smell
That the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!
Since it is not in Standard English doctorvee considers the whole thing to be written in slang, though it is of course in a variant of Scots, which, while now declined, was once one of the great languages of mediaeval Europe, capable of producing a classic work such as Ane Satyre Of The Thrie Estatis.
I make no literary claims for the poem in question, however. Since it is written from the viewpoint of a child its language is, no doubt deliberately, debased and the “poetry” is really no more than doggerel. (Though it is more than several degrees above McGonigal.)
Since those far off days in Hertford I have always had a hankering to provide a cod English translation. So to my old colleagues at MRPRA, to doctorvee (and to anyone who cares) here is:-
For what reason does the locomotive make that piercing noise?
Is it afraid of confined spaces?
Why is the fire not extinguished
When rain falls onto it down the chimney?
What will we be eating for our evening meal tonight?
Herring perhaps, or haddock?
Has Grandmother the modern convenience of electric lighting?
Is the next stop Kirkcaldy?
There’s a hooded crow atop a raw swede,
And six or seven seagulls,
I’ll not fall from the carriage window, mother,
It is secured as certainly as I am eleven years of age.
We have entered the tunnel and there is no light,
But there is no need to be scared, father,
Beveridge Park will soon be in view.
And the next stop is Kirkcaldy.
Is that the moon I can see in the sky?
It’s terribly small and curved.
Look! There’s a cow and a calf out there,
And a young girl pulling along a small playcart,
The attendant has checked and returned the tickets,
So give me my own, father,
Take the bag down from the luggage rack,
Because the next stop is Kirkcaldy.
There is a plethora of boats in the mouth of the harbour,
And, I say! Can you espy the cruisers?
The sweet comestible I was enjoying just then,
Has fallen and glued itself to my trousers,
Soon I shall be ringing the bell at Grandmother’s house,
She will say, ‘Enter, my fine young fellow,’
For I know myself, by the strange aroma,
That the next stop is Kirkcaldy!
Tags: Kirkcaldy
Lizzie Dickson May
November 28, 2008 at 5:19 pm
I have heard the town pronounced Kirkcaddy by older folk along the coast from Dysart to Leven. I also think that the first line of the second verse refers to a row of turnips rather than a raw turnip. Here is a poem we wrote for friends who moved back to London from Edinburgh last May (round the time of the Mayoral elections).
Enjoyed the piece.
jackdeighton
November 28, 2008 at 8:32 pm
Welcome to my blog, Lizzie. Now that you say so, I agree that it’s a row of turnips.
Consider the line amended to, “There’s a hooded crow on a row of swedes,” -
which actually scans much better too.
Groanin' Jock
December 2, 2008 at 9:56 pm
That’s the first time I’ve heard or read that poem in almost 20 years – I love it! Doggerel indeed…..
rona
April 15, 2009 at 1:51 pm
i am a scottish lass through and through but live in England
to educate!!!
i have been asked to read this at my best friends mothers funeral this coming
friday 17th april at 3.30 in Macclesfield
her mother was from KirkCaldy and wishes her ashes to be taken there
thanks for being here
rona x
Hilda Madden
August 7, 2009 at 9:37 pm
I had this poem at school 32 years ago. The first two lines of the poem have stayed with me, I couldn’t remember the rest of the poem. Recently I was in St Andrews and on my way back we went through Kirkaldy I wanted to see this place where this poem came from. I googled the first two lines of the poem and lo and behold there was the poem, Brilliant!
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Helena Nelson
October 15, 2009 at 5:14 pm
I loved your translation. It is very funny, full of character, and serves to prove, in the best imaginable way, how wonderful the original is.
Doggerel, however, it is not. It is a superb piece of formal writing. It evokes a whole period of time with flawless technique: Mary Campbell Smith knew how to turn a stanza; modern poets could learn a thing or two from her.
The layout would not have been centred. The proper layout is presented on the wall at Kirkcaldy station, etched in linoleum as is fit and proper, and also on the Scottish Poetry Library website at http://www.spl.org.uk/popular/boy-in-tra.html
jackdeighton
October 15, 2009 at 5:43 pm
I only centred it to make it stand out from the prose surrounding it in my post.
I know its metre cleverly echoes the sound of a train going over joints in a railway track but the ABABCDCD rhyme scheme, for me, lessens it overall. It does make it easier to learn and remember, though.
The poem clearly strikes a chord, still; which aids your argument.
I agree modern poets could do with a bit more structure. It’s actually very difficult to get hard rhymes – or even your poetic idea – to fit in with your chosen metre; which is why modern poets often don’t try.
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