Taken from the 1972 Bonnet Guild Festival Guide

At any age over fifty, to reminisce is to be senile, so to those who are retired or approaching retiring age, let's be senile, let's go back.

Stewarton has just survived the Great War (not without its due toll of young lives) the steam trains have triumphantly whistled their way north and south over the viaduct, passengers and crew waving congratulations to the parading, flagwaving factory workers, housewives and schoolchildren — it is victory and peace, which was subsequently not to be enjoyed, but endured!

We schoolboys, however, were not interested in the war and its aftermath, when our elders had had their fill of celebrations we would get hick to our street football, our bully chestnuts, playing bools — so many a yunk, leave-o, rin-sheep-rin, kick the can, rounders and French cricket. Do you remember?
 

CHARLIE CHAPLIN
 

Do you remember the lamplighter, the penny gas meter, ba' beds, peevers, wa' headies or hooch the cuddy? Who can forget the cinema epics of those days, such as 'The Perils of Pauline', 'The Adventures of Kathleen', and 'The Hooded Terror'; or the stars like Pearl White, Eddie Polo, Eirno Lincoln (Eirno the Mighty) and of course the evergreen Charlie Chaplin?
The vastly changed social and housing conditions since those days have resulted in many words and terms falling into desuetude. In resurrecting a few of those words, as there is neither time nor space to append a glossary, I would ask the younger readers (and new Stewartonians, for that matter) to question their elders, preferably grandparents.
'The money's on the 'brace'.' 'Free the broth and put it back on the 'swee'.' 'Licht the gas, but watch the mantle.' 'Wash the 'fit-still' and polish the 'fender'. Other words which you hardly ever hear to-day are 'sweeler', 'aus-pan', 'bedpawns'. 'antimacassar', 'fender', 'dresser', and 'jauries'. No doubt, older readers can dig up many more.
 

DOOKIN'
 

Street rivalry in the early twenties was intense. The main protagonists in this internecine warfare were the 'Daurlinton Boys' and the 'Tounen' Boys', who hailed respectively from Dean Street and Lainshaw Street. It was woe betide any Tounender who ventured alone into Daurlinton after school hours. I recall vividly a hair-raising episode when I once 'plunked' the school on a sunny day and went up to 'Andra Sweelzies', (who knows the origin of that name?) for a swim. Dookin' all alone and blissfully disregarding the passage of time, I was inevitably surrounded by the Daurlinton gang on both sides of the burn. A few well-directed stones soon forced me out of the water, and as I dripped nakedly and fearfully out on the east bank, I felt desperately vulnerable and alone. The gang then decided that I would have to light one of them in order to gain my freedom and my clothes. Here was a situation that lan Fleming might have thought up for James Bond, and I still recall the uncertainty and embarrassment of my much bigger opponent as we faced up; after all, how do you go about fighting someone who is completely naked? The ensuing battle proved to be a 'brief encounter', for I realised that my only chance of overcoming my handicap was to catch my adversary by the jersey and roll him down the bank into the burn. Thus it happened that my wet and muddy opponent scrambled out of the water wailing: 'Ma mither'll murder me!' and was soon on his way to a more painful situation than he had just encountered. This was how I won my clothes and safe passage back to the Tounen',
 

CONSTANT CHALLENGE
 

Do you remember when Lainshaw Estate was 'forbidden territory'? Fenced off, dyked off and ditched off from the vulgar village, it was a constant challenge to the Tounen' boys. Each season provided its own spoils: daffodils in the spring, birdnesting in summer, chestnuts and brambles in the autumn and firewood and rabbits in winter. It is fair to say, however, that the 'gemmies' knew most of the game and usually sent us scrambling out of Lainshaw thorn-torn, breathless and empty-handed.

Do you remember when the housewives of the Tounen' turned out in force to painfully pick sma' coal off the railway banking? Were you ever sent out with a pail to gather horse-dung from the street for the tattie patch? When the 'pickings' were scarce it was not uncommon to hopefully follow a horse around the town; unfortunately in my case I invariably, as I am still doing to this day, picked the wrong horse!

Milk-boys and paper-boys of half a century ago earned around two bob per week. and in the case of the former, it was a seven-day week. The milk was delivered in metal cans with long handles and on a frosty morning those cold handles were murder on your hands. It helped greatly, however, if you were late for school and had to take two of the strap on each hand. Instant heat — at a price!
 

RACE TRACK
 

Not so long ago it used to be my contention that there was no such thing as 'the good old days'. Of recent years, however, I have gradually had to change my mind, at least in several respects. Stewarton nowadays, like the rest of the so-called civilised world, is speeding up its living to such an extent that to walk will soon be a crime. Haw you tried crossing the street at traffic peak hours? Where we used to peacefully kick a tanner ba' about is now a roaring race track!

Perhaps it's that senility bit again, but life in the twenties, though hard cash-wise, was not so socially hectic. When I've made my down payment on my new Time Machine and taken delivery, I'll give you a run back, and you'll learn just how easy it was to live without transistors, televisions, fast cars and jet planes. On the other hand, you'll also learn how it was to live with middens, dry closets, ootside washin' hooies, set-in beds, tackety bits, fleas and girnels - but this is where we came in. Ach, Ah'm awa' tae watch the fitba' on the telly!

Even as a boy I followed the horses