We twa hae rin aboot the braes
And pu’ed the gowans fine,
In “Auld Lang Syne” so Rabbie says.
That floor’s name’s jist like mine.
.
Ah wonder how that cam aboot –
How Mc Gowans cam tae be.
So I went back and rooted oot
Oor ancient family tree.
.
Wha stertit oot oor family name-
That first son o’ “Big Daisy”?
Ah fund oot in ma granny’s hame,
Tho’ her memory wis hazy.
.
The tale took place in Glasca Toon
Lang syne twa thoosan’ years.
Noo wheest .Be quiet and cuddle doon
And please – lend me yer ears.
.
“Big Daisy wis a “chucker oot.”
She worked in the Locarno.
The toughest fechter there aboot –
A female Marciano.
.
Bella Houston, Mary Hill
Are well kent Glesca dames.
Big Daisy’s not, but I still
Feel she should hae greater fame.
.
Boadicea, Joan of Arc
Led armies intae war.
Big Daisy ( jist like Cutty Sark)
Wis feared baith near and faur.
.
She dwelt near whaur the Rangers play.
Her face wis blue wi’ woad.
Her offspring tae the present day
Are blue nosed yet Bi’ Goad.
.
Ae nicht when she wis in her cups-
(They were fifty double D!)
A scout cam in tae wauk her up.
He bade her come and see.
.
Sez he “Oor sentries shot the craw.
There’s fleets o’ Roman galleys,
Unloadin’ at the Broomilaw.
We‘re ower run wi “Tallies.”
.
She ran there – eager fur the frae.
Some men fell in ahint.
She’d hud twa ither fechts that day.
Her knuckles were a’ skint.
.
Wi curlers stickin’ oot her hair,
She made a fearfu’ sight
Her baffies wur her only pair.
She’d ladders in her tights.
.
“Noo wha’s in charge?” She roared aloud.
“He must be daft or barmy,
Tae think that ony foreign crowd
Could beat the “Tartan Army.”
.
“I represent the power of Rome.
We have conquered far and wide.
And now we’ll make ourselves at home,
In this dump beside the Clyde.”
.
“Dump? Dump? – Are youse insane?
Ye must hae loast yer marbles.
This land is oors and oors alane-
Frae Maryhill tae Gorbals!”
.
“Ye really mean tae tell me –
Yez huv cam tae rape and pillage,
Unless we bow an’ bend the knee.
An’ haun yez ower wur village?”
.
“The Pax Romana is devine-
Bespoke Armani claes-
And pizza pies and Tuscan wine –
Spaghetti Bolognaise.
.
Italian talents are immense.
We have singers like Caruso.
The “Gers” have got a crap defence.
We’ll sell you Amoruso.”
.
“We dinnae want Armani breeks
That cover up wur knees.
Oor kilts are a’ the claes we seek.
We like tae feel the breeze.
.
An’ we don’t want yer fancy scoff,
Or your Chianti wine.
We much prefer a nip or hauf
An’ Irn Bru’s jist fine!
.
Ye may weel say we’re artisans
We want nae silks or satins.
So ye can stuff yer Parmesan
An’ tak awa yer Latin.”
.
“Rome will treat you like a maw.
She’ll bring you education
And keep you safe with Roman Law –
Protect you from inflation.”
.
“Yer politics we jist abhor.
Awa an’ toss yer caber!
We’ve heard the same auld lees afore-
Frae Tories an’ frae Labour!”
.
The leader’s name she could not tell.
His men just called him Dux.
She roared “Ye’d best defend yersel.
Come oan pit up yer jukes.”
.
By single combat we’ll decide
Which of us wins the day.
If ye can win – then yez can bide.
You lose — Ye sail away.”
.
She threw her glove in the leader’s face.
The combat was decided.
The Roman troops cried out “Disgrace!”
(She’d left her fist inside it.)
.
She juked beneath his swings wi’ speed.
She avoided murderous blows.
She straightened up and her big heid,
Destroyed his Roman nose.
.
His courage was not faulted
Although his nose wiz gory.
He’d been viciously assaulted,
Like Lot’s wife in the story.
.
His chauvinist illusion
On which the weaker sex is,
He lost in the confusion
When she punched his solar plexus.
.
The tears streamed doon his ruined face.
They soaked his winter woollies.
She waded in wi’ fierce grimace
An’ kicked him in the goolies.
.
That wiz the final “Coup de Gras.”
He wiz right oot the gemme.
The Picts cried oot a loud hurrah
Fur that maist “Fatal Femme.”
.
The referee wiz coontin’ now
V111,… 1X,…. X.
The Roman champ was beat and how-
Felled by the “weaker sex.”
.
The Romans groaned wi’ deep dismay.
The Picts wur goin’ crazy.
Their champion had won the day.
The victor was ……. Big Daisy!
.
The Picts caused Roman heids tae dance.
The Romans lost their courage.
They knew they did nae stand a chance
Wi’ guys weel fed on porridge.
.
Defeat for Rome frae guys in kilts
Wis sair. ( They’d lost but few scraps.)
The Picts roared oot some rude insults,
Then peltit them wi’ screwtaps
.
They fled, that host of Roman men.
They sailed back tae the Tiber.
An’ swore they’d no go back again,
Tae get “Kicked right up the Khyber.”
.
Their captive leader took the huff.
The Picts first geid him laldy.
But he was made o’ sterner stuff.
A hero wiz Capaldi.
.
In time, he quite forgot his men,
His hame far ower the watter.
He settled doon in Rutherglen
An’ learn’t the “Glesca Patter.”
.
He played in goal for many years
Wi’ skills learn’t in San Siro.
The saves he made drew Pictish cheers
He wis a local hero!
.
He helped Third Lanark win the cup.
A long held cherished dream.
Then took his pals back tae his shop,
Fur chips an’ “Icacream.”
.
He left his marks where ere he stayed.
Jist look an’ ye can see ‘em
Oor cinemas hae Roman names displayed –
La Scala . Colliseum.
.
Big Daisy hud a whean o’ weans
When she hung up her gloves.
Her gene pool and her name remains
In the city which she loved.
.
Ah’ve noo explained oor family tree.
The Mc Gowans’ ancient glory.
Tho’ Goldilocks had only three —
There’s forebears in oor story.
Andy Mc Gowan
22nd January 2022