THE AULD SCHOOL AT THE PUN
The wheels o’ progress birlin’ roon
Bring changes every day,
The rural haunts as weel as toon
Nou grammal at display.
The scenes oor fathers used tae please
Are nou but second rated,
The waens wha croon their A B C’s
Maun hae them illustrated
An’ clear this day.

Change seems tae some as for their good,
An’ ithers for their ill;
But syne whun richtly understood,
We maistly fit the bill.
Yet sure the auld scenes o’ oor youth
Are swiftly disappearin,
Until the country side in truth
New claes will soon be wearin’
Fou braw this day.

The only thing nou lookin’ strange
Is Jenny Wylie’s burn;
But in this wealthy age o’ change
‘Twull surely get its turn.
Its zig zag twusts an’ awkward bends,
As doon the holm it wimples,
MIcht weel bring honour tae oor friends
In strechtin’ oot its dimples
In line this day.

I hear the auld schule at the pun’
Is nou aboot tae go,
Replacet by yin on wider grun,
An’ better squaret for show;
But, ah! its builders canna move,
Mid their deliberations,
The beaten pad an’ freenly groove
O’ young associations,
Doon there yin day.

The palmy days are lang awa’
Whun Craig keek’t through his specks,
An’ cud tak in frae wig tae wa’
Oor weest pranks an’ acts.
Syntax wus little thoucht o’ then,
But heth we had tae mind it,
For at the very pointer’s en’
He taught us how tae find it,
By nicht or day.

The very tree is stannin’ yet,
An’ growin’ wae the rest,
Whar Robert Kernohan did sit
Astride upon his nest.
‘Twus no’ amang the unner snigs
We had tae reach him biggin’,
But reich within the tapmost twigs
He place’t it wa’ an’ riggen,
Complete that day.

Then whun the maister didna see,
Oor pea guns answer’t weel,
Charge’t frae a pretae cut in three,
Stuck in an auld goose queel.
The smirkin’ lass wha boun the rest
Stood nearly head an’ shouther,
Was sarely plague’t, or mebby bless’t
Wae oor uncertain pouther,
In cracks that day.

Some wur bedeck’t in corduroy,
An’ sakeless o’ a shoe;
But as a rule the barefoot boy
Mid credit aye got through,
As watch him on a Friday nicht
While Craig the marks is scannin’,
He mostly then cam oot a’ richt,
An’ at the head kept stannin’
O’ ’s class that day.

Since then what bitter change has come
Across the line o’ years.
Death finds the quotient o’ his sum,
In spite o’ a’ oor tears.
The useful’ yins wur mostly ta’en,
In middle o’ their summer;
Some like mysel’ that does remain
Are hardly fit for lummer
On ony day.

Some hae succeedit as they should
There’s Maxwell Gault for yin,
A’ J. H. Woods, wha aften stood
Near famous “Iron Shin.”
Like Jammie Buick o’ the Hough,
In mirth they wurna stinted,
But kept the lasses in a lowe
That needna noo be printed
Or sung this day.

Yet in the en’ we’re truly please’t
Tae see the new yin rise,
An’ hope its cogs may aye be grease’t
Wae oil unknown tae lies;
An’ may its teachin’ staff appear
As we at present fin’ it;
A youthfu’ guid frae year tae year,
Without desception in it
On ony day.

Cullybackey Auld Nummer
16th September 1899