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Parcel of Rogues in a nation

February 14, 2018

Dad quoted this often


Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 
Fareweel our ancient glory! 
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name. 
Sae famed in martial story! 
Now Sark rins over Salway sands, 
An' Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands -- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 
2.
What force or guile could not subdue 
Thro' many warlike ages 
Is wrought now by a coward few 
For hireling traitor's wages. 
The English steel we could disdain, 
Secure in valour's station; 
But English gold has been our bane -- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 
3.
O, would, or I had seen the day 
That Treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay 
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! 
But pith and power, till my last hour 
I'll mak this declaration :- 
'We're bought and sold for English gold'-- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

Email sent to BBC Morning Call 15 Sept 2014

February 14, 2018

The "union"? The people of Scotland were not consulted in 1707.The "union of the Parliaments" was imposed on them by the Duke of Hamilton and his titled cronies, compensated by English gold. The people of Scotland were trapped in a marriage of convenience with England at the behest of a greedy suitor. There NEVER was a union agreed by the people of Scotland and it is time that the "parcel of rogues" to which Robert Burns referred, were identified and what rewards they received for their treachery.

The Founding “Fiddlers”

The "parcel of rogues " who sold their votes named and shamed; Lord Elibank sold his for £50 The Earl of Findlater for £100, Lord Banff for £11.2s The Marquis of Montrose for £300.Lord Justice Clerk Cockburn of Ormiston £200 The Earl of Balcarres £500 The provost of Wigtown £25 The provost of Ayr £100 The Lord High Commissioner £12,325.10d plus an English dukedom, as Duke of Dover ; source "the story of Scotland" by Nigel Tranter

Sold for £2,611 2s 10d

Pete McKenna

Peter McKenna, Funeral Homily, 3rd May 2016

February 14, 2018

The time was short for Peter McKenna in his last illness. His life was to be measured not in years or decades but in weeks and days. The diagnosis was swift but the prognosis was not good. Surgery would have removed his leg but would not have saved his life. The doctors fell back on their medical oath, do no harm. The time that remained was to make him comfortable.  Far from being a sad time, it was as if the sun had come out after the rain. There was much joy and happiness around that bedside, jokes were cracked (sometimes black ones), funny stories and funny time recounted in family life, a host of visitors and family visited which comforted Peter and did him much good. It was a time of God’s healing balm for the future, to soothe the pain of what was to come, to heal the broken hearts and cast down spirits.

 

Peter’s life came to an end over a short space of time. He was fortified by the sacraments which I had given him and the holy Eucharist – he was immensely comforted by these things, knowing fully the danger that he had come to. His eyes and his gaze was not looking back but looking forward to the end of his life and the oceans of time and the joy of heaven which lay ahead.

 

Today the words of the Gospel come to us as great comfort. The Lord tells his apostles that he is not leaving them behind, he is not going to forget them. They will be with him too. They will have a share in the joy of the Father’s home. Those thoughts fill our minds as the words are addressed to us: he will not forget us, he will not leave us behind. His desire is that all, all share in the fathers happiness of the redeemed world of his son. He loves us, he knows the number of the hairs on our head, he loves us and does not want anyone to be lost. No one is to be left behind and no one is to be forgotten.  These words do us much good as we listen to them, the lift us from our present sadness and allow us to look into the horizon.

 

Many people here knew Peter much better than I did. At the time I met him, even despite being unwell, he was full of good humour and in good spirits. That appears to be the way that he always was.

 

Peter was aged 76 years when he died. He almost never made it at all, he was 2 Ibs and 3oz and slept, he said, for the first few weeks in a drawer – it could have been a small drawer given his size. He stayed in his aunt Hannah’s house with his mum and dad, the family later stayed in the Lightburn road. He had a number of brothers and sisters – James John Katherine Patricia and Edward. His mother was Elizabeth and Peter – his father a miner and his mother a housewife who liked the Bingo). He attended St Bride’s school and developed a love for music that was stay with him all his life. Singing and playing the guitar, entertained others especially the family. In his early days he belonged to a number of bands, but most notably to the Savoy Stompers – needleas to say, with a name like that, they never quite made it.  The family and especially his wife loved to hear him sing. 

 

He met his future wife Anne at a local dance in Cambuslang and offered to give her a run home, thinking that he had a car she agreed, only to find that when he said run home, he literally meant a run home, without the car, on foot. They were to be married at St Columbkilles’s in 1961 on 12th August. They lived in a number of places until they were able to make their way back to Halfway and eventually to Newton, they had 4 children Karen Pauline Stephen and Anne. Anne had a number of miscarriages along the way that remained a sadness for them both. In time also he was to live to see 12 grandchildren born and 7 great grandchildren. He loved the company of children, he liked to tease them and could tell them great whopping lies without blushing. He was clever and smart - but as is the way of these things never got the chance to develop these talents, he had beautiful handwriting and read assiduously and write poems and songs. He delighted in others getting ahead in education. He loved to talk, debate, sing and laugh. In latter times he was a taxi driver, a job he liked very much for he could talk and regale people with jokes and funny stories – they couldn’t get away from him they were locked into the car nailed to the seat. 

 

He was a great family man and liked the company of family members all his life. He had a long and happy marriage to Anne – reaching to 55 years. He was delighted to see new family born and it was always a great blessing. He had a very fruitful life and a whole host of interests, embracing new technology and new things with great relish. He had a great appetite for life.

 

Today we are thinking of the sadness of life when it ends, but should we not also be thinking today of the joy of life. The joy that life can bring to the person who receives it and to the many people who have come in contact. The gift of life from God brings innumerable possibilities, innumerable graces, innumerable meetings, innumerable contacts, innumerable friendships, innumerable situations to do good. It is a rich blessing poured into our hands that flows over, spills over, cannot quite be held. 

 

Think Peter got this about life, it was a gift, a grace from on high, given to him.

 

In the end we have to give it back to the one who has given it to us. He is interested what we have done with it. And like any father he wants us to multiply the gifts given rather than hide them away. As he comes to him at the end of this life, Peter has much to show for his time here on earth, he does not return to him empty handed.

 

It was a life filled with smiles, laughter, jokes and songs. Is that not a great thing to behold.

 Written by Father Paul Morton. St Brides Church Cambuslang 

Mary Evans

February 14, 2018
By Pete McKenna The effect of the death of her son John in a mining accident in 1942 deeply affected my maternal grandmother Mary Campbell (ms Evans) until her own death in 1949. As a child, I remember evenings sitting by the fireside with her in her small bedroom and watch as she scooped flesh with a tea spoon, from a red apple, and eat with relish. When she wasn’t seated by the fire she would sit by the south westerly facing window and appear to stare into space, entranced by some unfathomable attraction. As I grew older I discovered that what she saw was the same as what anyone would have seen when they looked out of that window. A few houses and a coal-bing that was getting bigger every day. But she “saw” more. MARY EVANS She would gaze from her upstairs window, A far-away look in her eyes And watch as the hutches were tipped of their waste, As the bing edged nearer the sky And often she’d sigh at the thought of her John, Or smile at the things he had done As she watched while the bing reached nearer the sky, And thought of the loss of her son His brothers were there in the mine that day And witnessed what happened to John The older one cried, the younger denied, The waste of a mother’s young son And she watches as hutches are hauled from the mine, And tipped at the top of the bing As the eye in her mind sees John standing there, At the top of the hill like a king Don’t worry he’s saying, there’s nothing to fear There’s no need for worry or pain My life wasn’t wasted, you know where I am We’ll soon be together again.

Pete McKenna

The Invitation

February 14, 2018
Written by our dad several years ago Pauline Stephen and Ann October 29, 2014

Memories, locked in the hard-drive of our minds, can be inadvertently activated by many “triggers”. How many times do we recall past pleasant memories when we hear an old song, see an old movie or enjoy the fragrance of a Rose ? Our day can be brightened by such happy memories. The very same triggers can activate the negative aspects in our memory hard-drive and it is important to exercise caution in the temptation to dwell on past hurts and disappointments. Whilst ruminating on happy memories can be an uplifting and enjoyable experience, the practise of allowing the negative past to monopolise your mind is an insidious, destructive and spirit wrecking exercise. These “triggers” are merely subtle “invitations” to re-visit the past, and like all invitations, your response, whether to accept or decline, requires your consideration.


The Invitation When yesterday threatens the peace of today And invites you to visit the past, The pain it may bring can be hard to endure But with help the pain will not last Ask your God for His help to resist going back To memories that torment your mind And ask Him to give you the strength that you lack And the Courage that you hope to find There is one other thing to add to your plea And this you can honestly say
Please help me Dear God to be Grateful For the life that I now have today Pete McKenna

Night

February 14, 2018
Night

by Pete McKenna


Last night I slept well, Warmly and in comfort, In a bed fit for a king Last night he slept in a city lane, Huddled and cold, In a box left as refuse My slumber was disturbed briefly, By the noise Of the central heating boiler His sleep was disturbed constantly By the noise Of rats foraging for food around him The rhythmic patter of the rain, On the double glazed windows Gently restored me to sleep The thud of rain On his cardboard sanctuary Drummed home his reality The excitement of morning Was a welcome preamble to my day, Filled with promise and certainty His day began as yesterday’s had, And tomorrow’s would With hopelessness and the tedium of survival Perhaps for me a glass of wine, As a social lubricant During a light lunch For him, at best, a super lager, To salve the ache of nothingness As he rummages a litter bin for a discarded kebab To sleep, perchance to dream , To dream perchance to sleep.

All About Our Mum

February 14, 2018

  I wrote this on your behalf a few years ago and it really is true !   She loved me before I saw the light of day And through the long early nights of my young life, Through teething and colic she weaned me With a smile, she watched me crawl and then stumble my first steps, She hugged me and said I was her wee gem She pointed me in the right direction from which I deviated at times Try again she would urge, you’ll grow from it I was special she’d tell me, when I felt so un-special But love does not come from words alone, Love is a decision she said Where did she get all this love to give away? Was it really from Jesus who led her through her own wilderness When she did not know that there were two sets of footprints? There is no doubt in her mind that as He stood at the door He gave it a wee push because He knew that she needed Him She’s not a saint. She’s just a sinner who tries to do what Jesus would do Her mission is to pass on the message that was given to her To those still stumbling through their own wilderness, That mission begins in the confines of the family and extends outwards To any who care to discover what love is  


Pete McKenna May 1st 2003  

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