This is a tale o twa Cawther bridges,
Wan made o stane, n wan wi wood,
Wan stands proudly, a test o time,
The others fares no sae guid.
Ah remember well when ah used tae play,
Under that stane bridge on yon Pech Brae,
Paper boats through the tunnels we’d race,
Groggin fae the railings, no ounce o grace.
The roar of the falls, white watter sae bold
Used tae be a big hoose beside, I’m told.
The wee wooden bridge, intae the banks wis set,
So yer feet when crossing, widnae git wet.
A worthy bridge, so where is it noo?
Old and ruined and far fae new.
Ye canny cross, it leaves ye stumped
Yer walk stops there, leavin ye humped
Folks hid enough. Blantyre suffered a loss,
Time tae plan a new way across
A worthy cause cos the bridge is gone,
Timbers in mud, looks like the somme.
Council no helping, as usual no reply,
as Blantyre let’s out its collective sigh,
Who’s fixing it and wull we ever ken,
When kin we aw cross the bridge again?
Paul Veverka 2012