Wednesday 14 April 2021

Campsie, a Hamlet and a Parish of S Stirlingshire. (F.H. Groome, Ordance Gazetteer of Scotland, 1882-84)


The following is lifted from Vision of Britain's website. It was written by F.H. Groome in the 1882-84 Ordnance Gazetteer of Scotland. 

The original was presented as one long paragraph, but I have attempted to make it more legible by splitting it into headed sections and paragraphs. I needed it for my own research, but though it might be useful to publish it here, should anybody else need to try to make sense of it.

Campsie, a hamlet and a parish of S Stirlingshire.

The Parish

The old Clachan or hamlet lies in the mouth of Campsie or Kirkton Glen, 5 furlongs N by W of Campsie Glen station, and 1½ mile NW of Lennoxtown; commands a strikingly picturesque view around and up Campsie or Kirkton Glen; consists chiefly of straggling cottages, interspersed with gardens, trees, and hedgerows; and contains an inn, the manse, and the belfry and burying-ground of the old parish church, with ancient font and sepulchral slab.

Here lie buried the martyr William Boick, who suffered at Glasgow in 1683; the Campsie minister John Collins, murdered by the Laird of Belglass on his way from a presbytery meeting in 1648; John Bell of Antermony; that quaint original, the geographer James Bell (1769 -1833); the Campsie poet William Muir, over whose grave a handsome monument was erected in 1857; and, last but not least, Norman Macleod, D-D. (1812-72)

The ancient parish was larger than the present, being curtailed in 1649 by the annexation of one portion to Kilsyth, and of another to Baldernock. Till then it extended about 11 miles from E to W, from Garrel Glen to Craigmaddie Muir. 

Fringed to the S by a morass which flanked the course of the river Kelvin and was impassable in winter, it was bounded on the W by a line extending from the lofty eminence of Earls Seat to Cadder House; and it formed a very sequestered district, the eastern division of the ancient thanedom of Lennox.

It escaped the turmoil and disasters from war and public commotions which afflicted most parts of the kingdom; and it retained old customs longer than most other districts, being marked not a little by its old-world manners. The powers of a feudal baron were exercised in it so late as 1639, when Lord Kilsyth hanged one of his servants on Gallow Hill in the barony of Bencloich; and down to 1744 black mail was paid by its farmers to Macgregor of Glengyle for protection against the Highland caterans.

The present parish, besides Campsie hamlet, contains the town of Lennoxtown, and the villages of Milton of Campsie, Birdstone, Torrance, and Balgrochan, the three last lying respectively 1¼ mile N, 2¾ miles W, and 3 miles W by N, of Kirkintilloch; and it is traversed, past Birdstone and Milton, to Lennoxtown, by the Campsie branch of the North British railway, and from Lennoxtown, west-north-westward, by the Blane Valley railway. 

The parish is bounded N by Killearn and Fintry, E by Fintry and Kilsyth, S by Kirkintilloch in Dumbartonshire and Cadder in Lanarkshire, SW by Baldernock, and W by Strathblane. 

Its length, from N to S, varies between 3½ and 6½ miles; its greatest breadth, from E to W, is 5⅜ miles; and its area is 17,976¾ acres, of which 105¼ are water.


The Campsie Fells

The watershed of the Campsie Fells forms almost all the northern, and the river Kelvin - here a small sluggish stream - traces most of the southern, boundary.

Part of the Campsie Fells, cut into sections by deep romantic ravines and glens, constitutes the northern district, summits here from E to W being Brown Hill (1297 feet), Lairs (1652), *Holehead (1801), Inner Black Hill (1572), *Hart Hill (1697), *Earls Seat (1894), and *Dumbreck (1664), of which those marked with asterisks culminate on the northern or western border.

The South Brae, an eastern prolongation of the Kilpatrick Hills, with a culminating altitude of 758 feet above sea-level, constitutes the western part of the southern district; and the Strath of Campsie, not more than ½ mile broad in the extreme W, but gradually expanding till it becomes lost in the great strath of the Forth and Clyde Canal toward the E and the SE, constitutes all the remaining district. 

Three principal burns, and upwards of a dozen smaller ones, coming down from the Fells, form Glazert Water, which runs across the low country to the Kelvin, at a point nearly opposite to Kirkintilloch. 

The chief glens are famous for their picturesqueness, presenting at points a striking miniature resemblance to the Trossachs, their bottoms strewn with fallen blocks, their precipitous sides shaggy with wood or shelved with artificial terrace-paths.  They are, too, one of the best haunts for naturalists within easy reach of Glasgow; so that, altogether, they form a powerful attraction to every class from the great metropolis of the West. 

Kirkton Glen, striking northward and north-eastward from Campsie hamlet, is the one most commonly frequented; but Fin Glen, north-westward from the same, is little inferior in most attractions, and for at least its length of way, its volume of water, and its cascades, is superior. 

The Strath of Campsie, for about 1½ mile from the western boundary, is a dark dingle or little else than a glen, traversed by the Pow Burn, between the Campsie Fells and the South Brae; and, along the southern border adjacent to the Kelvin, is flat alluvial ground, continuous with the Balmore Haughs; but elsewhere is so undulating that scarcely a stretch of 200 yards of level road can be found upon it. 


Geology

The rocks are chiefly trap and carboniferous; and they have junctions, superpositions, and contents highly interesting to geologists. 

The trap rocks, in some parts, are quasi-columnar; in others, include a profusion of hornblende and felspar crystals; in others, are a soft friable greenstone, of marly appearance, with large quantity of mealy zeolite and calc-spar; in others, contain foliated zeolite, prehnite, and compact gypsum; in others, overlie the carboniferous strata or form dykes intersecting these strata, and frequently tilting them out of their original position. 

The carboniferous rocks comprise sandstone, limestone, coal, argillaceous ironstone, aluminous clay slate, and some other members. 

The nature and collocation of the rocks, together with the contour of their surface, the fall of streams, and the relative position of their territory, prepared the parish for mining and manufacturing operations. 


Industry

Coal and a very excellent limestone are extensively worked. Alum, copperas, Prussian blue, prussiate of potash, and some kindred substances are manufactured in large chemical works in the southern vicinity of Lennoxtown. 

Bleachfields are at Haugh-Head and Glenmill; a bleachfield and calico-printing works are at Kincaid; a printfield, for linen and calico-printing, is at Lillyburn; an extensive printfield, for almost every description of cloth and calico-printing, is at Lennoxtown; and a distillery was formerly at Milton. 


Pedology

Soils are remarkably various in constitution and quality. 

A deep but arable moss forms small patches near the Kelvin, and a rich alluvium most of the low flat ground along its course; beds of gravel and sand, sometimes of great thickness, lie on the undulations and hillocks of the strath; a light gravelly loam occupies small tracts in the middle of the strath, and a larger tract in the SE; whilst the Fells are skirted by a light clay on a tilly subsoil, with many boulders in both itself and the subsoil. 

Nearly all the strath and most of the South Brae are under the plough; and most of the Fells are finely pastoral. 


Politics

Norman Macleod was sent for a twelvemonth to the parish school, his father being minister from 1825 to 1835, and in his Memoir (1876) is a striking description of this:

half-agricultural, half-manufacturing Lowland district, in which the extremes of political feeling between stiffest Toryism and hottest Radicalism were running high. The parish was large and thickly peopled, and its natural features were in a manner symbolical of its social characteristics. The long line of the Fell, its green sides dotted with old thorns, rises into mountain solitude, from a valley whose wooded haughs are blurred with the smoke of manufacturing villages. The contrast is sharply presented. Sheep-walks, lonely as the Cheviots, look down on unsightly mounds of chemical refuse, and on clusters of smoking chimneys; and streams which a mile away are clear as morning, are dyed black as ink before they have escaped from print-work and bleaching-green. The Manse was on the borderland of mountain and plain, for it was placed at the opening of Campsie Glen, famous for its picturesque series of thundering waterfalls and rocky pools. Behind the Manse lay the clachan and the old parish church, now in ruin.

Lennox Castle is the principal mansion, others being Antermony, Auchinreoch, Balquharrage, Carlston, Craigbarnet, Glorat, Hayston, and Kincaid; and 7 proprietors hold each an annual value of £500 and upwards, 18 of between £100 and £500,24 of from £50 to £100, and 61 of from £20 to £50- Campsie is in the presbytery of Glasgow and synod of Glasgow and Ayr; the living is worth £497. 

Its parish, Free, U.P., and Roman Catholic churches, are noticed under Lennoxtown, as likewise are three of its schools, besides which Craighead, Rowantreefauld, and Torrance public schools, with respective accommodation for 138,183, and 160 children, had (1880) an average attendance of 118,180, and 82, and grants of £93,11s. 6d., £132,10s. 6d., and £69,8s.


Valuation (1881) £30,820, of which £2986 was for railways.
Pop. (1801) 2906, (1831) 5109, (1851) 6918, (1861) 6483, (1871) 6739, (1881) 5873.
Ord. Sur., shs. 30,31,1866-67. 


Friday 30 May 2014

Oatmeal Soup

At some point in the 90s, my wife and I were visiting my grandparents. They lived in a lovely old flat right down on the waterfront at Kinghorn. You can see it on any photo of Kinghorn bay, like this one, lovingly stolen at random from the internet. Their flat was on the first floor, right hand side of the big sandstone building smack bang in the middle of the picture.

Anyway, on this particular day, Gran served us some soup for lunch. It was so good that we asked her to pass on the recipe. At some point, I must have typed it into the computer, because I found it tucked away in a rarely visited directory on my hard drive (yes I keep backups, and yes, they get restored every time I upgrade the computer. I have lots of files dating back to the 90's, most of which will probably never be opened again).

I don't know where she got the recipe - the Sunday Post most likely or maybe Woman's Own - but I've never come across it elsewhere, not even in those Scottish recipe books like "The Scottish Kitchen". The closest I can find is The Fife Diet, but their version uses turnips.

Anyway, it's mostly veg, certainly suitable for vegetarians. The health benefits of oats are well documented. and if you miss out the swirl of cream and use skimmed milk, it's pretty low in calories as well

Oatmeal Soup

Ingredients
60g Rolled Oats
2 Medium Onions (chopped)
1 Large carrot (grated)
60g melted butter
600ml Vegetable Stock
600ml milk
Parsley
Salt
Pepper
Cream

Method
Melt the butter in a heavy bottomed pan. Add the onion and carrot. Sauté for 6 minutes. Add the oats, cook for 4 minutes, stirring until the oats stick. Add the stock, cover and cook on a low heat for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Add the parsley, milk and seasoning, bring to the boil and serve with a swirl of cream.

Saturday 26 April 2014

Two Tribes Lyrics

Many, many years ago, somebody somewhere has transcribed the lyrics to Two Tribes by Frankie Goes To Hollywood and has, for reasons best known to themselves, included the line "Sock it to me biscuits, man". This has now proliferated across the net and has become the accepted lyrics.

As we are covering it with our 80's band, and as "Sock it to me biscuits, man" is obviously nonsense, I have re-transcribed the lyrics directly from the single. I'm posting them here. These are, I think, the most correct version on the the net.

Incidentally, "Sock it to me biscuits, man" becomes "Let's step into this good night" - a reference to Dylan Thomas' poem, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", which was also the source of the title of Frankie's later single, Rage Hard.

Two Tribes
7" Single Mix
Words and Music by Peter Gill, Holly Johnson and Mark O'Toole

The air attack warning sounds like.
This is the sound.
When you hear the air attack warning, you and your family must take cover

Ow, ow, ow
Ow, ow
Let’s go
Oh
When two tribes go to war a point is all that you can score 
Score no more, score no more
When two tribes go to war a point is all that you can score
Workin' for the black gas

Cowboy number one, a born again poor man's son
Poor man's son
On the air America, I modelled shirts by Van Heusen
Workin' for the black gas
Yeah

Hear me more
When two tribes go to war a point is all that you can score
Score no more, score no more
When two tribes go to war a point is all that you can score
Workin' for the black gas

Switch off your shield
Switch off and feel
I'm workin' on lovin', yeah-eah-eah

Givin' you back the good times
I'm shippin' out, out
I'm workin' for the black gas

Tell the world that you're winning
Love and life, love and life

Listen to the voice sayin' follow me
Listen to the voice sayin' follow me
Oh

When two tribes go to war a point is all that you can score
When two tribes go to war a point is all that you can score


We've got two tribes
We got the bomb, we got the bomb
Yeah, yeah-eah, let’s step into this good night

Are we living in a land 
Where sex and horror are the new gods?
Yeah-eah
Ow, ow, ow (When two tribes go to war)
A point is all that you can score

Tuesday 1 January 2013

Dog Owners Should Be Licensed

It's New Year's Day today.

We were round at my Mother-in-law's last night for The Bells, and I had a drink or two, as is customary at Hogmanay. Being a responsible soul, and because I enjoy the right to drive and don't want to have it removed, we left the car and made our way home by an alternative method (i.e. my teetotal sister-in-law). All well and good, but today that meant that we had to find our way back to my Mother-In-Law's to retrieve the car.

Almondell Country Park, today
Now we live in Livingston (Scotland, not that place outside New York), and my MIL is in East Calder. It's a rather pleasant walk of about 5 miles or so along the River Almond to get to her's, ideal for blowing off the cobwebs on New Year's Day.

But the walk was blighted by dogs. Now let me be absolutely honest here: I'm not a dog lover. When I was around 3 years old, I was bitten by one, and I have had a fear of them ever since. That was 41 years ago, and I still can't shake the fear, no matter how much I tell myself that they won't hurt me. I don't like the little (and not so little) bastards, and I cannot reasonably see why anyone in their right mind would want to share their house with one. Still some people do, I guess, and as it's their house, it's their prerogative.

He's Just Being Friendly

But that does not mean that when I am out walking, I want to have dogs running up to me. Even if I wasn't scared of them, I still wouldn't want it.

"He's just being friendly," the owners shout jovially. I don't care - I don't want to be friends with your mutt. Keep it under control, and let me enjoy my walk in peace. I'm not a sheep, and I didn't come out of my house with the expectation that some dog suffering under that misapprehension was going to try to round me up. But perhaps I should expect it, because it seems to happen whenever I go out walking.

I don't want your dog to do this to me.
What makes you think that I do?.
It's not the dog's fault. They aren't the cleverest of animals, and it's just doing what dogs do. It's the owners. They love their dog, and expect everybody else to love it too. Have these self-centred idiots never heard of leashes? Or is a leash too good for their dog, who enjoys a run-around much more than their owner does? Does it not occur to them at all that their dog is being a nuisance, and a pest?

Perhaps worse than that is when a dog runs up and stands up on it's hind legs leaning against me. I have no idea what the dog expects me to do in this situation. It probably does not expect me to shout at the owner that if they do not remove their lovable pooch immediately, then their lovable pooch will get a kicking. I should point out that this usually does the trick, and I have never had to kick a dog yet. To be honest, it's not the dog that deserves the kicking, it's the owner. Yet again, the dog is just doing what dogs do.

"He's just being friendly," the owner will say, with completely unjustified indignation. Well, that's nice - so you won't mind a friendly kick in the face, in the same way as I don't mind your friendly dog jumping up on me, and covering my nice clean coat with muddy paw marks.

Don't Worry - He Won't Hurt You

Don't let your manky mutt stand in front of me and do this.
It will get kicked.
What's worse again is the dog that just stands right in front of me, barking. It's never a friendly bark - there's always a vicious undertone that says "Take one step closer, and I will have your testicles for lunch". Even the owners can't justify this as "just being friendly," although some will try, as they run up and grab the dog's collar, and grin with a slightly embarrassed air.

"Don't worry - he won't hurt you," is the usual phrase when their dog does this. Well, he's got a funny way of showing it is all I can say. I don't see it as my responsibility, as a non-dog owner, to recognise whether this is friendly bark, or a warning bark, or an I'm-going-to-eat-your-children bark. I just don't want the sod to bark at me.

Last but not least is the the dog that goes one step too far, and jumps up, snarling and biting. This is what happened today on our nice relaxing blowing-off-the-cobweb's walk along the banks of the Almond. A young rottweiller launched itself repeatedly at us as we were walking along, trying to take chunks out of my arm. Fortunately, I was wearing a thick winter coat, and it didn't do any damage. The owner shouted at the dog, and tried to grab the animal's collar, but it kept dodging out of his reach, and going for us again. I shouted at the dog to get away, but that just seemed to make it more excitable. The owner did eventually catch it, but if he knew his dog was going to be like that, it should not have been off the leash in the first place.

Now, I don't want to tar all dog owners with the same brush, because most of them are responsible. But there is an arrogance about certain owners - an assumption that their dog should be allowed to do whatever the hell it likes. Over in Dunfermline, there is a huge and beautiful park called The Glen. There used to be loads of peacocks in The Glen, but all but one have been killed by dogs that are off the leash. This is despite the signs at the park gates saying that all dogs must be kept on leashes. Why do owners assume that their dog should be an exception to that rule? Is it arrogance, or is it idiocy? It doesn't matter how friendly Fido is: a dog, on seeing a creature like a peacock, will awaken some ancient instinct in what passes for it's brain, and revert to wolf.

It's Only A Bit Of Shit

A dog. Doing what dogs do.
And I'm not even going to start on the owners who furtively look around to see if anyone is looking before "forgetting" to pick up and dispose of the steaming turd their friendly tyke has left lying at the side of the path.  Or in one case, slap bang in the middle of my front garden.

"It's only a bit of shit," said the owner, when I stormed out of my house and confronted her about it. When I pointed out it was a bit of shit that was in the middle of my lawn, she just turned and walked away, as if I was the one being unreasonable. I should have picked up said piece of shit and hurled it at the back of her perfectly coiffured head, the arrogant cow.

Dog Owners Should Be Licensed

In short, dogs can't help being dogs. It's not their fault they were born that way, and I hold no grudge against them for it. But I hold the owners entirely responsible for their dog's behaviour. 

The current law is that in order to own a dog, the owner should hold a license. Fair enough - that is there to make sure that the owner looks after the dog's welfare, feeds it as and when required, treats it nicely and so on and so forth. It does not mean that they automatically know how to take responsibility for a dog.

There should be training. Dog owners should be required to attend dog owner classes before they are allowed to hold a license, and thus own a dog. They should be made recognise when their dog is being a nuisance, and to not allow their dog to get itself into that situation. They should be made to recognise that rules about keeping dogs on leashes are there for very good reasons, not to just to stop Rover from getting a bit of exercise in a wide open space. They should be required to pass tests in the responsibilities of dog owners - both for the welfare of the dog, and the social responsibilities of keeping a dog. And it should be paid for out of their own pockets, rather than at the expense of the tax-payer. 

They should be made to register doggy DNA on a national doggy DNA register, so that any dog faeces found lying on a path can be linked back to the dog it came from. Or dog saliva on a coat, come to that. And who is going to pay for all this? It should be paid for out of the pockets of any dog owner found breaking the law. They should pay to register the DNA, and fined massively to cover the costs if they are found to be breaking the law. It's not about Big Brother - it's about social responsibility. It's about not letting dog owners get away with the assumption that "my dog wouldn't do that," because deep down, given the right situation, they know that their dog would.

A dog without proper training is just a wolf with ideas above it's station, in much the same way that a car driven by someone without adequate training might as well be a murder weapon. It's about time we recognised that.

Saturday 29 December 2012

First Page of a New Blog

OK - first try out of a new blog.

Not sure what I'm planning on writing about - anything and everything, probably. Reviews, opinion pieces, rants, and so on.

For now, a bit about me:

I'm knocking on a bit - mid-forties, balding, going grey, getting fat. I'm an IT professional, with a love for music: listening, creating, playing. More about that as I go on, I guess. I do a lot of recording, and run a small business creating and selling kids music. It's beer money mostly - there's no real profit in MP3s, because their selling price is so low. I also have a fascination with the history of The Beatles, and I'll probably stick a few items up about that - or perhaps just a new dedicated blog, we'll see.

So: Why "Informal Angel"? It was a song I wrote some years back. The title came from a book called "A Long Way Down" by Nick Hornby. Well worth a read.

Anyway - got to go and get the kids from their pals, so signing off for now.