Once upon a time two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict.It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch.
Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.
One morning there was a knock on John’s door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter’s toolbox. “I’m looking for a few days work” he said. “Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there I could help with? Could I help you?”
“Yes,” said the older brother. “I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That’s my neighbor, in fact, it’s my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I’ll go him one better. See that pile of lumber by the barn?
I want you to build me a fence - - an 8-foot fence — so I won’t need to see his place or his face anymore.” The carpenter said, “I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post hole digger and I’ll be able to do a job that pleases you.”
The older brother had to go to town, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day. The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, nailing, and hammering. About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job. The farmer’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped. There was no fence there at all.
It was a bridge — a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work handrails and all — and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand outstretched.
“You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I’ve said and done.”
The two brothers stood at each end of the bridge, and then they met in the middle, taking each other’s hand. They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. “No, wait! Stay a few days. I’ve a lot of other projects for you,” said the older brother. “I’d love to stay on,” the carpenter said, “but, I have many more bridges to build.”
McEwan's was first brewed in Scotland over 150 years ago and its modern day owner, Jygsaw, Brands, hopes to make the most of its association with Scotland to win over Scots drinkers.Marketing director John Edwards said: "The Scots are famous all over the world for their unique dialect and this advert celebrates their amazing ability to communicate using just one word! McEwan’s has a rich Scottish heritage so we want this advert to reach the hearts and minds of Scots across the land.”
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I got this poem in an email from my brother in law yesterday and it appealed to me - it sort of has a connection with the foregoing advert though in a different way .... I haven't a clue whether or not many folk outside of Scotland will understand it .... as it's written in 'auld Glaswegian' you see from a different age ...
There are even some of the words that Rob had to explain. It is the way most folk spoke where I was brought up (at least until I was about 10 year old. OMG ! am I showing my age hehe... I hope some folk will remember and get enjoyment out of the remembering !
Where’s the cludgie , that cosy wee cell ,
The string frae the cistern , I remember it well ,
Where I sat wi’ a candle and studied the mags ,
A win fur the ‘Gers , defeat fur the Jags .
Where is the tramcar that once did a ton
Doon the Great Western Rd on the auld Yoker run ...
The conductress aye knew how to deal wi’ the nyaff ,
“If yer gaun , weal get oan , if yer no’, jist get aff “.
I think o’ the days o’ my tenement hame ,
We’ve got fancy hooses noo , but they’re no’ the same ..
I’ll swap you gisunders , flyovers and jams ,
For a tanner return on the old Partick trams .
Gone is the Glasgow that I used to know ,
Big Wullie , wee Shooie , the steamie , the Co.,
The stupid wee bauchle , the glaikit big dreep ,
The baw’s on the slates , an’ yer gas at a peep .
Where is the Glasgow where I used to stay ,
With white Wally closes done up with white clay ,
Where ye knew every neighbour from first floor to third
And to keep your door shut was considered absurd .
Where are the weans that once played in the street ,
Wi’ a jorrie , a peerie , a gird wi’ a cleek .
Can they still cadge a hurl , or drap aff a dyke ,
Play haunch-cuddy-haunch . Kick-the-can an’ the like ..
Where is the wee shop where a’ used tae buy
A quarter o’ tatties , a tuppenny pie ,
A bag o’ broke biscuits , a wee sodie scone ,
And the wummin aye asked ye “How’s yer maw gettin’ on ?”
Where’s the tally’s that I knew so well ,
The wee corner shoppie where they used to sell
Hot pies , a McCallum , ice cream in a poke ,
Ye Kent they were tally’s the minute they spoke .
On a cauld winter’s night when we sat roon the fire ,
Each telt a story , not one was a liar ..
Then in the morning , no lang efter dawn .
Ye got handed a parcel and sent tae the pawn .
Those days were so rosy , but money was tight ,
The wages hauf feenished by Seterday night .
But still we came through it and weathered the ruts ,
The reason is simple our parents had guts
I haven't a clue where the poem came from but if anyone else does please let me know so that I can give them the credit !!?
Love and Peace from the land of the Tartan, Kate xxx.