Poetry & Gabriel in Scotland - Chapter 4: Glasgow Here We Come

Chapter 4 – Glasgow Here We Come

As Poetry and Gabriel walked through the streets of Glasgow—mind you, keeping an eye out for any dogcatchers—they discussed Lassie’s story again.  

“Do you think she made it?” Gabriel asked, for the little boy hadn’t gotten to the end of the story yet.

“I’m sure she must have.  Otherwise it would be too sad a tale to tell!”

“I guess you’re right.”

“You know Gabriel, it’s much like your story.  I’m so grateful you made the journey to find me.  It’s been wonderful having you back with me, my friend.”

Gabriel blushed.  “I’m so very glad, too.”

Suddenly Poetry stopped in her tracks.  “I feel danger.”  Sure enough.  Dogcatcher.  “Run,” Poetry meowed.  And they were off—running down alleys and up streets until they felt it was safe to stop and catch their breath.  When they peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear they weren’t prepared for what they saw.  Oh, no!  Not again!” Poetry cried.  They saw old-timey cars and people dressed in strange clothes.  Just then a collie dog ran past. 

"Lassie" 2005

It was being pursued by dogcatchers.  Gabriel exclaimed, “Do you think that was Lassie?!”

“It must be.  I think our run sent us back in time again.  Let’s follow to see if we can help.”  But it was too late.  Lassie was in a net.  Just then a very nice lady approached the officers and offered to take Lassie.

“No M’am, can’t do that.  You’ll have to come to the Pound and put in a request.”  

So Lassie was led away in the truck.  It sped away so fast Poetry realized they wouldn’t be able to follow.

“Let’s follow the lady.  She’ll lead us to the Pound,” Gabriel suggested.  But by the time the lady went to the Pound after work, Lassie had already escaped.  They suddenly realized how late it was and that they’d better get back to the car.  But wait!  They first had to get back to their time period!  “I wonder if the Fairy Godmother will hear me before dark?” Gabriel wondered aloud.

“It’s worth a try,” Poetry offered.  So Gabriel closed his eyes and made his wish.  Nothing.  “Maybe if we run while you make the wish.”

“With my eyes closed?” Gabriel asked with angst.

“I’ll run alongside.  You only have to close your eyes while you make the wish.”

So they tried that.  No luck.  “Hmmm, I wonder,” Gabriel said, “if maybe we should run backwards?  What do you think?”

“I’ll try anything!” Poetry exclaimed.  Thankfully, it worked.  When he opened his eyes there was the Mr. of the House standing with his hands on his hips shaking his head.

“So that’s why my car door wasn’t closed!  What are we going to do with you two?!”

Poetry meowed her regrets and they filed into the back seat settling to look out the window this time as they headed home.  Once home they got another scolding from the Mrs. of the House and sent upstairs.  Poetry went to the boys’ room and dragged down the Lassie book.  The little boy got the hint and started reading the story aloud again.  Poetry and Gabriel were pleased to hear that Lassie, indeed, made it back home.  And even better, the Duke gave the father the job as keeper of the dogs and a place to live on the property so the boy and Lassie were once again reunited.

Rightfully so, the little adventurers were confined to the house for the next week.  They used the time to rest up, play with the boys, and even watch the television.  It was there they got the idea for their next adventure.  Oh yes, boys and girls, these two weren’t going to change their ways with a little scolding or grounding.  But this adventure would stay in Edinburgh and surely they wouldn’t get into trouble here! 

Not! 

Poetry being a poet herself was drawn to a television program about Robert Burns, the National Poet of Scotland who lived from 1759 to 1796.  It was his poem about a mouse, written in 1785, which caught her attention.  Mr. Burns had written it after ruining a field mouse’s nest while plowing a field on a November day .  This is a “translation” into modern English and is more easily understood today:

TO A MOUSE

Oh, tiny timorous forlorn beast,

Oh why the panic in your breast?

You need not dart away in haste


To some corn-rick


I'd never run and chase thee,


With murdering stick.



I'm truly sorry man's dominion


Has broken nature's social union,


And justifies that ill opinion


Which makes thee startle


At me, thy poor earth-born companion,


And fellow mortal.



I do not doubt you have to thieve;


What then? Poor beastie you must live;


One ear of corn that's scarcely missed


Is small enough:


I'll share with you all this year's grist,


Without rebuff.



Thy wee bit housie too in ruin,


Its fragile walls the winds have strewn,


And you've nothing new to build a new one,


Of grasses green;


And bleak December winds ensuing,


Both cold and keen.



You saw the fields laid bare and waste,


And weary winter coming fast,


And cosy there beneath the blast,


Thou thought to dwell,


Till crash; the cruel ploughman crushed


Thy little cell.



Your wee bit heap of leaves and stubble,


Had cost thee many a weary nibble.


Now you're turned out for all thy trouble


Of house and home


To bear the winter's sleety drizzle,


And hoar frost cold.



But, mousie, thou art not alane,


In proving foresight may be in vain,


The best laid schemes of mice and men,


Go oft astray,


And leave us nought but grief and pain,


To rend our day.



Still thou art blessed, compared with me!


The present only touches thee,


But, oh, I backward cast my eye


On prospects drear,


And forward, though I cannot see,


I guess and fear.


It is said that John Steinbeck took the title of his book “Of Mice and Men” from this poem.  Robert Burns is also famous for his many songs, one of which is Auld Lang Syne which is sung all over the world on New Year’s Eve.

It was in 1786 that he borrowed a pony and set out for Edinburgh where he would secure subscription bills for the first edition of his poem, “Poems Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect.”  He stayed at Baxter’s Close in a house that has since been demolished.  Deacon Brodies Tavern stands in its place now.  His printer’s office was in Anchor Close.  Poetry knew where these places were, as well as the monument built in his memory, so that’s where they would head as soon as they were set free.


©CathyGilleylenSchultz

Chapter 5:  Here We Come Again Edinburgh