The scene this morning in Newtownards.
'Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!'
Sunday, 20 December 2009
A Happy 'White' Christmas!
The scene this morning in Newtownards.
'Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!'
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
For The Soldiers.
The leviathan of the sky does land
In England’s green and pleasant land.
Its cargo more precious than gold
The body of a hero, bold.
Once the giant’s engines stopped
The cargo ramp is gently dropped
Carried by six on shoulders true
The hero is saluted by the crew.
The coffin draped in Union Jack
Is slowly carried out the back.
Out of the dark and into light
Slowly down the ramp and to the right.
The six approach the hearse all black
And place the hero gently in the back.
The six then turn and march away
Their duty has been done this day.
Politicians usually have much to say
No sign of them near here this day.
They hide away and out of danger,
Much easier if the hero is a stranger.
The hearse with its precious load
Moves slowly out on to the road.
The floral tributes line the route
While comrades snap a smart salute.
At the edge of a Wiltshire town
The cortege slows its pace right down.
The streets are packed, many deep,
Some throw flowers, most just weep.
The crowd have come to say farewell,
The church bell rings a low death knell.
Regimental standards are lowered down
As the hero passed through the town.
The cortege stops and silence reigns
The townsfolk feel the family’s pain.
The nations’ flag lowered to half mast
Our brave hero is home at last.
By Staff Sergeant Andrew McFarlane who is currently serving with the TA at Camp Bastion
In England’s green and pleasant land.
Its cargo more precious than gold
The body of a hero, bold.
Once the giant’s engines stopped
The cargo ramp is gently dropped
Carried by six on shoulders true
The hero is saluted by the crew.
The coffin draped in Union Jack
Is slowly carried out the back.
Out of the dark and into light
Slowly down the ramp and to the right.
The six approach the hearse all black
And place the hero gently in the back.
The six then turn and march away
Their duty has been done this day.
Politicians usually have much to say
No sign of them near here this day.
They hide away and out of danger,
Much easier if the hero is a stranger.
The hearse with its precious load
Moves slowly out on to the road.
The floral tributes line the route
While comrades snap a smart salute.
At the edge of a Wiltshire town
The cortege slows its pace right down.
The streets are packed, many deep,
Some throw flowers, most just weep.
The crowd have come to say farewell,
The church bell rings a low death knell.
Regimental standards are lowered down
As the hero passed through the town.
The cortege stops and silence reigns
The townsfolk feel the family’s pain.
The nations’ flag lowered to half mast
Our brave hero is home at last.
By Staff Sergeant Andrew McFarlane who is currently serving with the TA at Camp Bastion
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Carol Has Landed!
My sister Carol just in from Australia not even time to get her coat off with Mum Jamison
Friday, 7 August 2009
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
The Old Soldier.
Henry Allingham, world's oldest man and first world war veteran who has died aged 113
JUST A COMMON SOLDIER
(A Soldier Died Today)
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt
(A Soldier Died Today)
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And tho' sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.
It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And tho' sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.
It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.
Dowm Memory Lane ... again and again and again.
My Brother
Harry Scott Jamison
Died 13th March 2004.
School Photo
Me at the back
Harry, Brian and Tracy.
MountStewart
( our wee place )
Left to Right
Aunt Molly, Tracy, Mum, Brian, Dad, Me and Stanley Greer ( School Friend and Greenwell Street Neighbour)
School Photo Tracy , Me and Harry.
Gone Fishing
Bob Girvan (Game Keeper at Clandeyboy Estate) and David McKim
Left to Right
Me , Harry, Stanley Greer, Brian and Tracy.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Dowm Memory Lane ... Again
Yes thats me in the middle with my brothers David (left) and Norman (right).
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
DEREK 'mad' BEATTIE
Just discovered a website set up by my cousin Derek Beattie. When I was growing up he was always refered to as 'Mad' Beattie. Some old pictures of Newtownards on his site.
http://derek-beattie.110mb.com/index.htm
http://derek-beattie.110mb.com/index.htm
Monday, 13 July 2009
Two New Members for Greenwell Street Orange Lodge.
Liz and Angus with our Jim, Twelfth Parade, Newtownards.
Rev Alan Dunlop
Mrs Irene Dunlop, Rev Alan Dunlop and Roy McMillan at a Gospel Mission conducted by Pastor Harvey Shaw and Mr Martin Thompson in a garage at a farm in Derrytrasnagh with Lough Neagh in the background.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Happy Harry
On Wednesday 13th of May 2009 a Service of Thanksgiving was held in the Elim Church, Newtownards, for the life of Henry~Ford (Harry) Marshall. I grew up on the legendary stories of this man who was affectionately known as Happy Harry. What a character he was and in many ways his death and passing marks the end of an era in Greenwell Street. Happy Harry was a saved man and is now with the Lord! Hallelujah!
Monday, 16 March 2009
Remembered.
HARRY.
Always Remembered!
Died Saturday 13th March 2004
Buried St Patricks Day 17th March 2004.
Monday, 16 February 2009
Down Memory Lane.
From left to right ... Harry, Brian, Me and Tracy. Possibly taken at the back of our old house at 131 Greenwell Street.
Saturday, 14 February 2009
Neighborhood Bully
Well, the neighborhood bully, he's just one man,
His enemies say he's on their land.
They got him outnumbered about a million to one,
He got no place to escape to, no place to run.
He's the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully just lives to survive,
He's criticized and condemned for being alive.
He's not supposed to fight back, he's supposed to have thick skin,
He's supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in.
He's the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully been driven out of every land,
He's wandered the earth an exiled man.
Seen his family scattered, his people hounded and torn,
He's always on trial for just being born.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Well, he knocked out a lynch mob, he was criticized,
Old women condemned him, said he should apologize.
Then he destroyed a bomb factory, nobody was glad.
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Well, the chances are against it and the odds are slim
That he'll live by the rules that the world makes for him,
'Cause there's a noose at his neck and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out to every maniac.
He's the neighborhood bully.
He got no allies to really speak of.
What he gets he must pay for, he don't get it out of love.
He buys obsolete weapons and he won't be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood to fight by his side.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Well, he's surrounded by pacifists who all want peace,
They pray for it nightly that the bloodshed must cease.
Now, they wouldn't hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep.
They lay and they wait for this bully to fall asleep.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Every empire that's enslaved him is gone,
Egypt and Rome, even the great Babylon.
He's made a garden of paradise in the desert sand,
In bed with nobody, under no one's command.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Now his holiest books have been trampled upon,
No contract he signed was worth what it was written on.
He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth,
Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health.
He's the neighborhood bully.
What's anybody indebted to him for?
Nothin', they say.
He just likes to cause war.
Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed,
They wait for this bully like a dog waits to feed.
He's the neighborhood bully.
What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers?
Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill,
Running out the clock, time standing still,
Neighborhood bully.
Bob Dylan, born Robert Allen Zimmerman May 24 1941 in Duluth, Minnesota in the USA.
Well, the neighborhood bully, he's just one man,
His enemies say he's on their land.
They got him outnumbered about a million to one,
He got no place to escape to, no place to run.
He's the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully just lives to survive,
He's criticized and condemned for being alive.
He's not supposed to fight back, he's supposed to have thick skin,
He's supposed to lay down and die when his door is kicked in.
He's the neighborhood bully.
The neighborhood bully been driven out of every land,
He's wandered the earth an exiled man.
Seen his family scattered, his people hounded and torn,
He's always on trial for just being born.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Well, he knocked out a lynch mob, he was criticized,
Old women condemned him, said he should apologize.
Then he destroyed a bomb factory, nobody was glad.
The bombs were meant for him.
He was supposed to feel bad.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Well, the chances are against it and the odds are slim
That he'll live by the rules that the world makes for him,
'Cause there's a noose at his neck and a gun at his back
And a license to kill him is given out to every maniac.
He's the neighborhood bully.
He got no allies to really speak of.
What he gets he must pay for, he don't get it out of love.
He buys obsolete weapons and he won't be denied
But no one sends flesh and blood to fight by his side.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Well, he's surrounded by pacifists who all want peace,
They pray for it nightly that the bloodshed must cease.
Now, they wouldn't hurt a fly.
To hurt one they would weep.
They lay and they wait for this bully to fall asleep.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Every empire that's enslaved him is gone,
Egypt and Rome, even the great Babylon.
He's made a garden of paradise in the desert sand,
In bed with nobody, under no one's command.
He's the neighborhood bully.
Now his holiest books have been trampled upon,
No contract he signed was worth what it was written on.
He took the crumbs of the world and he turned it into wealth,
Took sickness and disease and he turned it into health.
He's the neighborhood bully.
What's anybody indebted to him for?
Nothin', they say.
He just likes to cause war.
Pride and prejudice and superstition indeed,
They wait for this bully like a dog waits to feed.
He's the neighborhood bully.
What has he done to wear so many scars?
Does he change the course of rivers?
Does he pollute the moon and stars?
Neighborhood bully, standing on the hill,
Running out the clock, time standing still,
Neighborhood bully.
Bob Dylan, born Robert Allen Zimmerman May 24 1941 in Duluth, Minnesota in the USA.
Friday, 6 February 2009
Thursday, 5 February 2009
The hair on the back of my neck.
The Romanian Quartett who sang in our church Wednesday 3rd December 2008. Amazing voices that filled our meeting house with sound and made the hair stand up on the back of my neck!
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
GOD is not Mocked!
Before ...
This message — except the “probably” — has been approved by Richard Dawkins,
scientist and author of “The God Delusion.”
... After ...
Thousands of people have been unable to travel in London as snow disrupted the city's transport network.
Only limited bus routes were running in central London and Tube lines, including the suspended Circle line, coped with the effects of the weather.
London Mayor Boris Johnson suspended the city's congestion charge for the day and said authorities had done "pretty well" under the circumstances.
Mr Johnson said: "I think we've done pretty well in what are absolutely extraordinary circumstances.
"There's no doubt about it, this is the right kind of snow, it's just the wrong kind of quantities.
"My message to the heavens is: 'You've put on a fantastic display of snow power but that is probably quite enough'."
Psalm 147 v,s 15 - 18
"He sendeth forth his commandment upon earth: his word runneth very swiftly.
He giveth snow like wool:he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
He casteth forth his ice like morsels: who can stand before his cold?
He sendeth out his word, and meltelt them: he causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow."
PRAISE YE THE LORD!
This message — except the “probably” — has been approved by Richard Dawkins,
scientist and author of “The God Delusion.”
... After ...
Thousands of people have been unable to travel in London as snow disrupted the city's transport network.
Only limited bus routes were running in central London and Tube lines, including the suspended Circle line, coped with the effects of the weather.
London Mayor Boris Johnson suspended the city's congestion charge for the day and said authorities had done "pretty well" under the circumstances.
Mr Johnson said: "I think we've done pretty well in what are absolutely extraordinary circumstances.
"There's no doubt about it, this is the right kind of snow, it's just the wrong kind of quantities.
"My message to the heavens is: 'You've put on a fantastic display of snow power but that is probably quite enough'."
Psalm 147 v,s 15 - 18
"He sendeth forth his commandment upon earth: his word runneth very swiftly.
He giveth snow like wool:he scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
He casteth forth his ice like morsels: who can stand before his cold?
He sendeth out his word, and meltelt them: he causeth his wind to blow, and the waters flow."
PRAISE YE THE LORD!
Thursday, 29 January 2009
Down memory lane ... again!
From Left to Right;
Aunt Molly, John Scott, our David, my Mothers Uncle Samuel Shaw and Maggie Stevenson.
Thursday, 1 January 2009
HAPPY NEW YEAR
His Unfailing Presence
Another year I enter Its history unknown;
Oh, how my feet would tremble To tread its paths alone!
But I have heard a whisper, I know I shall be blest;
"My presence shall go with thee, And I will give thee rest."
What will the New Year bring me? I may not, must not know;
Will it be love and rapture, Or loneliness and woe?
Hush! Hush! I hear His whisper; I surely shall be blest;
"My presence shall go with thee, And I will give thee rest."
--Unknown Author
Another year I enter Its history unknown;
Oh, how my feet would tremble To tread its paths alone!
But I have heard a whisper, I know I shall be blest;
"My presence shall go with thee, And I will give thee rest."
What will the New Year bring me? I may not, must not know;
Will it be love and rapture, Or loneliness and woe?
Hush! Hush! I hear His whisper; I surely shall be blest;
"My presence shall go with thee, And I will give thee rest."
--Unknown Author
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