Historic Hamilton By Garry L McCallum
Historic HamiltonBy Garry L McCallum 


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 
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 anoor 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

Mony’s the time I fell aff the tap
Fae aff yer
towr’n heights
taes and fingers
Ah should be
deid by rights

Cadzow bing it was’nae bad
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
Hestaggert 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,
tae blind Freddy

Unhappy circumstances wid unfold
mibbie even mair
Aheid 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 guessits 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

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
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.

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© Garry McCallum