Blackness, Sheer Blackness
I hear the terrifying crumple of the bombs.
Muffled shouts saying "Help! Help!"
My little sister crying and Mum biting her finger nails.
Gran weeping over a box of old photos of Granda.
I see worried people.
Blackness, sheer blackness.
My Gran crying for my Granda.
Rain dripping down the corrugated iron.
It sounds like guns.

by Jenna Scott P6 Rothes Primary School

Shelter!
I feel the terror of other,
Brushing against me.
I look around and see people,
Huddled, sheltering from the panic outside.
It makes me think of Dad,
And the other soldiers,
Dying while saving our country.

by Tanya Christie P7 Rothes Primary School

When I Sit in our Air raid Shelter
When I sit in our air raid shelter
All I can see is blackness
Some time later ...............................
I see my big brothers and sisters,
Looking just like me worried and weary
But mostly sleepy.
Outside I hear whining bombs,
Screams and yells.
I feel vibrations all over, from the bombs dropping.
I feel the dampness of the ground
I taste the dust from all around,
But most important of all
Is that we're still here.
God Bless us all.

by Leigh Fenton P6 Rothes Primary School

Recollections of Rothes
Ah nivver read ma "Northern Scot" bit the tear-drops blin' ma e'en
Fin ah reca' some weel-kent face or some familiar scene:
An' noo, jist as ah yist tae dae, ah scan the pages doon
Tae see if there is ocht aboot some Rothes quine or loon!
Sometimes there is an' whiles there's nae, bit places that ah ken
Like Fochabers, Craigellachie, Inchberry an' Mulben
Bring mem'ries croodin' back tae me across the miles - an' years -
O' happy, carefree, childhood days, wi' cauldriffe frosty days
Hoo we sledged doon the Domin's brae on boords or aul' tin trays,
An', fin the pond wis bearin', hoo we'd skate an', oh! the fun
Fan some fule gype, on sic' thin ice, gae'n ower far oot, fell in.
We followed "Leerie" on his roonds wi' lamps tae fill an' trim
An' watched him as he lichted them on nichts sae dark an' grim,
But fan the meen shud hae been fu' (though it wis oot o' sicht)
His orders were, "There's fu' meen noo, ye'll no need lichts the nicht!"
Kids frae Cockinch (the High Street end o' Rothes) wud cam' doon
Tae play fitba' against "Henbog" - ye shud hae heard the soon'.
It's ringin' in ma lugs e'en noo - "Cockinchers" lick them saft!!"
Bit we "Henboggers" droont them oot, wi' "Och! Cockinch ye're daft!!"
Fan Simmer cam' we ca'ed wur gurds or played run - sheepie - run,
Fivies, bools, an' hoppin' - beds or skipped wi' muckle fun;
An' syne we'd work - ga'ed tae the wud, got coal by the line-side,
Picked brummles, rasps, an' blaeberries - tattie howkin' tae we tried.
We'd walk the road tae Dandaleith ilk Sunday efterneen
Dresst up tae kill wi' floo'ery hats an' Sunday claes an' sheen:
Some wag wud say, "Is it tae swing upon the gates ye're gae'en?"
For fine he kent - an' sae did we - at Dandaleith there's nane.
Fan, for wur picnic, we ga'ed doon tae Lossie by the sea
Wi' bagpipes skirlin', flags held high, we marched ilk side the street
An' shouted ower - though words were droont, wi' a' wur clettering feet.
Tae ma' aul' haunts wi' tearfu' e'en in dreams ah oft return-
The Burnie bank, the Castle Hill, the Gibbet an' Speyburn-
An' though ah'm noo twelve thoosan' miles - an' mair - across the sea,
Ma hert's still up the Doonie 'neath a muckle rodden tree.

Mrs. Mary Hill (nee Stewart)

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