A typed copy of the following poem was found in the home of Jessie Downie in October 2014. Jessie is now in her 90s. Her maiden name is Garlick and she is the grand-daughter of the Club’s Founder Member William Garlick.
Club Member Alex Hood met Jessie at Balerno Bowling Club taking with him the framed photographs of the Founder Members of ‘Let it Blaw’ which, obviously, included her grandfather.
Jessie Garlick or Downie – Her Grandfather William Garlick is bottom right in the frame.
Mr William Garlick, Hannahfield
( Believed to be George A. Shiels, Club Bard)
Dear Me ! Burns’ chaps what’s up noo ?
Losh! Is your programme no near fou ?
Ye’ve been at it a’ year round,
Tir’d folk can’t get sleeping sound.
The name o’ Burns mak’s folk clannish
It cheers and mak’s oor sorrows vanish;
The auld men’s as daft’s the young,
In laudin him wha sweetly sung.
We hail this nicht the Garlick chield,
Oor worthy guest frae Hannahfield;
A cherry ane frae nature’s stock,
Weel planted on the whinstane rock.
Lang syne when Isr’el sair had striven,
Wi’ wistfu’ e’e they look’d to heaven,
Tho manna fell in shooers frae skies,
The bhost for Garlick anxious cries.
A Garlick here of ither kind,
Nae leek or reed that’s mov’d by wind,
A buirdly man baith stout and strang,
A heart lad at Toast and Sang.
A founder o’ oor Burns Club,
When held aboon the White Horse Pub;
The rests awa’ – oor friend is weel,
And guid yet for Strathspey or Reel.
The Mountain Chief – he took a notion,
And to the Club did put a motion,
That Founder Garlick get his photo,
Delivered free in every iota.
Noo Barney Club may cock her crest,
And shew the feelings in her breast;
Willie ! tak this token o’ respect,
And on this nicht we’ll oft reflect.
Man ! It’s like you we all declare,
Your brawest room it’s fit to share;
To tak’ you weel M’s haen the nack,
It’s sure to mak’ your granny crack.
If e’er you’re lost in looking back,
Just mind the year the Min’ster spak;
A record year for “LET IT BLAW”,
We’ve croon’d it noo says and a’
You since was keen on plants and seeds,
And at the show did mighty deeds;
For cabbage big and curly greens,
Your prizes mounted up to teens.
And for your blooms you took your share,
Your leeks and tatties made folk stare;
Wi’ sair hard work and steady feedin’
You made your yaird anither Eden.
In many sports you’ve tried to win,
At playing quoits you hit the pin;
Great Walkinshaw was ill to lick,
But faith he’s matched in oor Garlick.
The merry masons claim your name,
Wi’ a’ your wealth o’ local fame;
The King and Craft they are conneckit,
But Man ! you’re just as much respeckit.
Lang may you curl and play the bools,
And blast the rock for men wi’ tools;
Keep gaun to Kirk and soundly sleep,
Your whitened lum – lang may it reek
27th March 1908