WENDY LAINSHAWSAURUS

By Kenneth Phillips

In Lainshaw Woods there lives a beast

Aye on the lukoot for a feast.

Though no recorded as eating humans,

Her diet aft is Howie’s rumens.

Her origins are quite obscure

But she’s unique ye can be sure.

The local folk believe it’s trendy

Tae gie tae her the name o’ Wendy.

 

Men diverting the Hangman’s Sheugh

Were used tae work baith hard and rough

But drapt their tools and ran wi’ fricht

When twa red een came intae sicht.

Some say the monster hid in there

And made itself a quarter lair

When Lainshaw Camp got Crusader tanks

Driven aboot by crazy Yanks.

 

Tales tauld by aulder sages

Relate back tae the Middle Ages

And capture o’ the infant beast

By Crusading Knights in the Middle East.

Brocht back as a pet tae Lainshaw Castle,

Groomin and feedin became a hassle,

Which servant laddies came tae hate

And ane daurk nicht let it escape.

Archaeologists hae an explanation

For which they got a commendation.

Their science name is Lainshawsaurus

Wi’ facts enough tae arouse us.

Ane wrote a PhD Thesis

Wi’ big impressive words tae tease us

A fossil buried ten million years

Survived alane and live appears.

 

A mason wi’ the name o’ Laurie

Opened up the Cocklebie Quarry

He sweated hard for the stane he heukt

Tae build ten arches o’ the Viaduct.

Tae cut and dress a building block

He split wide open a limestane rock

And egg-shaped in the fossilled stane

Slept a bundle o’ skin and bane.

 

The mason tried a gentle poke

And heard a faint and feeble croak.

Something alive became quite clear

When little by little it began tae stir.

A reptile body, tail and jaws

Four legs equipped wi’ tiny claws

On liftin up its hairy heid

The mason fed it bits o’ breid.

 

He held it ticht and had tae grapple

When feedin watter doon its thrapple.

Wrestlin, it displayed a wing

Which he thocht tae tie wi’ string.

Relaxin first, it scratched and loupit,

Caught unawares the man wais coupit,

Fell doon hard and could but gasp

As it slid loose frae oot his grasp.

 

Flappin its wings in the heat o’ the sun

 The little cratur began tae run

Slow at first doon a rough incline

Tae join up wi’ the Railway line.

The workers there could only stare

Wi’ wonder at a sicht sae rare

A man and a cratur in a race

Then a’ joined up intae the chase.

 

Reachin at last the Viaduct

The cratur made a stop and lukt

The mason tried a final pluck

But it turned quick and made a duck.

In the bridge there wis a gap

Too wide tae jump it gied a flap

And fluttered cryin wi’ a clatter

Faur doon intae the Annick Watter.

 

Nuthin wis heard for years and years

But Howie kept missin a ewe or steer.

Wendy wis weel, alive, tae blame

And so it wis she got her fame.

 

Stewarton High Schule, a place o’ learnin,

The teachers a’ were quite discernin.

Harry Milford talked fitba’ tactics

While Jimmy Auld taught mathematics.

Mrs. Cochrane in gowns o’ satin

Telt classic tales in in ancient Latin.

Wendy in tunnels beneath the flair

Listened tae a’ and yearned for mair

 

She liket best the HORSA huts

And lay up in the attic struts.

Keekin through the plaister ceilins,

It gave tae her sich fulfillin feelins.

Seein questions on the board,

Kennin the answers, she nearly roared

But silent in her hidin place

She left each nicht withoot a trace.

 

When the new Academy wis built

Wendy, surprised, wis almost killt.

The lessons had a’ been abolished

And HORSA huts at ance demolished.

The schule became the Lainshaw Primary

Wi’ wee-er toilets and modern Dinary

Miss MacKinnon wis Heid Teacher

A smile came tae her, second nature.

 

The infant class is fu’ o’ fun

They add up numbers, one plus one

And Wendy listens underneath

Tae pleasant Mrs Plenderleith.

At Lainshaw Gates, each morn at nine

She lies in wait, aye on time.

The janny rings the startin bell

And Wendy thinks the schule is swell.

 

Jim O’Neill, who built the Walk

Is convinced she gies a squawk

Afore she starts her mournfu’ moanin

Each e’en at dusk just at the gloamin.

So weans, watch oot! Dinna go alane

Doon through the Woods, there’s nocht tae gain

Specially when the burn’s in spate

If you fa’ in,  ’twill be too late.

In summer days, the watter’s cool

But don’t gang in the deepest pool

Splash aboot but take great care

Hungry Wendy might be there.

Wendy disnae prough too faur

Tae get her diet “Dinasaur”.

A’ aboot there’s plenty pickins

And for reserve there’s Howie’s chickens.

 

Anglers in the River Annick

At times in fear hiv felt pure panic

A scaly body wi’ dorsal fin

Swallows their troot and makes them rin.

Mony a cat and dug let loose

Fails tae return tae its owner’s hoose.

Speugs and stuckies in the trees

Ar’nae safe amang the leaves.

 

Deer and squirrels micht be quick

But wily Wendy takes her pick

On the groun or in the sky

She can catch the fly magpie.

 

Harry’s famed for breedin pidgeons

Experts agree he had some guid yins

But sad tae say, in their last race

They disappeared withoot a trace.