Here’s a great poem by Helen Connor. Titled, “I remember the Blantir“, its likely modern and was shared here recently.
A remember the Blantir, where a yist tae bide,
Cloases wi stairs up, where weans used tae hide,
Coal cellars oot the back, aw in a row,
The midden at the end, where yer telt, no tae go!
An there wis the washhouse, the pride aw the place,
We weans played in the biler, oan hoat summer days,
The park across the road, wis once foo o coos,
Noo it’s goat gairdens, hooses and doos.
Wance ther wur shoaps, aw alang the Main Street,
Noo thats jist Asda, it wid make ye greet,
An ther wis the park, we saw bilt oot o ashes,
Wis wance a great place, fur the boys an the lassies.
We went tae the co gala, an we follied the brawn,
Oor tinnies taped up and our tickets in haunds.
In Summer, the Cawther, or doon the Clyde Braes,
Ye jist wore yer sannies, an wore yer auld claes.
Noo thers no much ye can do in Blantire at aw,
Thers no even the Dookit, or Broadway picture hawl
Thers nae Parish Buildings, an nae Kelly’s Corner,
Auchinraith Roads ther, but Buggy Building nae longer.
Nae Nessies School, the Co or Hills Pawn,
Jist like Blantir Gazette, they’re aw gawn.
Naw Blantirs no Blantir, its no the same noo.
Bit ahve goat ma dreams, an mibbie ye hiv too!
Am Still here in Blantir , an although its no the same,
Nae matter where ah go, its tae Blantir ah come hame.