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cumbo wrote:Intresting little graveyard off Shawbridge Street I think its called Kirk road.The town house has a bit of history attached,My new project is old Glasgow Firestations there is an old one at the end of Pollockshaws road near 1901,look forward to your Info Kitten.
cumbo wrote:Intresting little graveyard off Shawbridge Street I think its called Kirk road.The town house has a bit of history attached,My new project is old Glasgow Firestations there is an old one at the end of Pollockshaws road near 1901,look forward to your Info Kitten.
Schiehallion wrote:cumbo wrote:Intresting little graveyard off Shawbridge Street I think its called Kirk road.The town house has a bit of history attached,My new project is old Glasgow Firestations there is an old one at the end of Pollockshaws road near 1901,look forward to your Info Kitten.
One of Robert Burns' daughters lies in that graveyard if I remember correctly.
Many of our readers will be interested, we doubt not, to learn that a natural daughter of the Ayrshire bard has been for many years resident in Pollokshaws. This individual is Mrs. Thomson (Elizabeth Burns), the wife of a decent and intelligent handloom weaver of the town. In features and complexion Mrs. Thomson admittedly bears a more striking resemblance to her father than any of his other children. We have had the pleasure of meeting with two of the poet’s sons, on both of whom the paternal stamp was obvious; but we were more forcibly reminded of the family lineaments as represented in the best portraits, on being introduced to Mrs. Thomson, than we were on that occasion. She is now pretty well advanced in years, being rather over sixty; her features are consequently somewhat shrunk from their original proportions, but still the likeness is sufficiently marked to indicate, at a glance, her relationship to the departed bard.
The mother of Mrs. Thomson was Anne Hyslop, of the Globe Tavern at Dumfries. She was the heroine of the beautiful song,
"Yestreen I had a pint o’ wine
In place where body saw na.
Yestreen lay on this breast o’ mine
The raven locks of Anna."
Mrs. Thomson never knew her mother; but she fortunately found a kind and affectionate substitute in Mrs. Burns. After remaining for two or three years at nurse in Edinburgh, she was taken to her father’s home in Dumfries, where she was brought up along with his other children. She has some faint recollections of her father, who was wont occasionally to take her on his knee and fondle her affectionately; and she remembers vividly the imposing ceremonials attendant on his death and funeral. After the poet’s decease she continued to live with Mrs. Bums, of whom she still speaks under the endearing appellation of mother, until her marriage with Mr. Thomson, who was then as a soldier located with his corps in Dumfries. The wedding was celebrated in the house and under the, auspices of the bard’s kind-hearted widow, who afterwards, even until the year of her death, continued occasionally to manifest her regard for Mrs. Thomson by sending her small presents, accompanied by affectionate inquiries after her welfare.
Mrs. Thomson is now the mother of a considerable family of grown-up sons and daughters, several of whom bear an obvious resemblance to their celebrated grandfather. Her second son, Robert Buns Thomson, is especially the "counterfeit presentment’ of him whose name he bears. He is, indeed, a living facsimile in physical appearance of what Burns must have been when in the prime of manhood. A degree more slender in person, or a shade more fair in complexion, from the nature of his employment, he possibly may be; but this, we feel confident, is the extent of difference. Nor is the resemblance only physical. He has in a considerable measure the same vigorous intellect, and pithy if not rude humour, combined with a manly sense of independence, and a taste for poetry and music, in both of which arts he is indeed no mean proficient. Altogether, he is admitted by all who have the privilege of his acquaintance to be an excellent specimen of the honest, upright, and industrious working man. We know not that, on the whole, we could bestow upon him a more estimable character. Mr. Thomson is of course proud of his descent, but he has not the most distant desire that his "bonnet should be hung on his grandfather’s pin." He would be respected for his own sake, or not at all; and we can assure those who would thrust themselves into his company, for the mere gratification of an empty curiosity that they will stand a pretty considerable chance of finding out what it is to be "taken through the whins."
crusty_bint wrote:I had found reference to Anne Downie's play 'The Witches of Pollok' which was played at thr Tron Theatre in 1990 (European City of Culture wasnt it?).
The play is an account of an actual event in the life of the first Laird of Nether Pollok: Sir George Maxwell of the Auldhouse branch of the family. Sir George is described as "zealous in his pursuit of witches", and shortly after taking part in a witch trial in Gourock in 1676 Sir George himself was "bewitched" ....
Sir George was taken ill with a "hot and fiery distemper" and for seven weeks suffered great pains "chiefly on his right hand-side" (anyone ever had a kidney infection ::): ).
After recieving information from a dumb girl who had recently come to live on the estate, effigies of Sir George with pins in thier sides were found at the house of Janet Mathie, the widow of the under-miller at the Shaw Mill.
Janet Mathie, her son John Stewart "a warlock in Pollokshaws", her daughter Annabel and three other unfortunate women were arrested, tried in February of 1677 at Paisly and all six "condemned to the fire to be burned and their effigies with them". Only Annabel aged 14 was reprieved.
Sir Georges recovery was short however: he died later that same year. The dumb girl afterwards recovered her speech and gave her name as Janet Douglas.
Anyone else had any "experiences" in Pollok Park?
This individual is known in local tradition as the bewitched baronet. On one occasion Sir George was seized with a severe illness, and as the doctors could do nothing for him his malady was ascribed to witchcraft. Suspicion led to certainty. A young vagrant woman having heard of the dread surmise, undertook to discover the offenders. This she at once set about, and to the astonishment of all, she accused several of the most respectable tenants on the Pollok estate. These parties she had private reasons for hating; and by cunningly secreting images of clay stuck full of pins about their houses, and afterwards pretending to find them, she lent an air of probability to her foul accusations, which in those days were sufficient to consign her victims to the tar-barrel. A special commission was ordered by government to investigate the matter, consisting of several Justiciary lords and the leading gentlemen of Renfrewshire. The result was, that the charges were found clearly proven, and no fewer than seven persons were actually sentenced to be strangled and burned—a sentence which, however monstrous it may now appear, was rigidly carried into effect. Full details of this melancholy event may be found in a work entitled The Renfrewshire Witches; and still, as a clever modern ballad on the subject, by Mr. Peter M’Arthur, states—
"The story Is told by legends old,
And by withered dame and sire,
When they sit secure from the winter's cold
All around the evening fire:
How the faggots blazed on the Gallowgreen,
Where they hung the witches high;
And their smouldering forms were grimly seen
Till darkend the lowering sky."
My Kitten wrote:Indeed it is a very interesting graveyard, have had a quick peek around
Mori wrote:There is an interestin little circular building at the pollokshaws roundabout that has always intrigued me when i drive by there, its lit up at night with all different colors wonder what it was used for in the early days.
Mori might be a bit of a risk getting to work at rush hour
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