LANARK LANIMER DAY
An ancient celebration held within the Royal Burgh of Lanark on the Thursday between the Sixth and Twelfth days of June annually since the year 1140.
 

A Cornet Elect's Poem

There's someone down in Kirkfieldbank,
Honest, faithful and true,
Whom many have grown to know and love,
No Hamilton, it's not you!

'Old Bobs' his name - a fine old horse,
Well known to many here,
And perhaps in these forthcoming lines,
You'll see why he's held so dear.

Lets bide a while at the stable door while they digest their hay,
It's not a sin to listen in - and hear what horses say,
"Tell me Speedie" cries Old Bob "has the news broken yet?
I need to know - it means a lot - have they chosen the Lord Cornet Elect?"

"Aye Old Bob - they've done their job - and chosen someone new,
Some English fart with little heart will soon be riding you.
Oh help my boab he's here right now - my God he is a sight,
A stringy bean is what I've seen - and those legs can't be right."

"But hold on Bob" young Speedie says, "It seems like yesterday -
with legs like trees up to his knees, I speak of Leonard Gray."
"You're right there chum - he's got some bum, a powerful prospect he,
I've often felt when on a hack, T'was he should carry me.

An then there was old Ernie,
boy - he put me to the test,
With reigns held high - it's do or die,
Ernie - the fastest joiner in the West.

There was John 'B' - known to Royalty. Bill Hutton checked my teeth,
and Lex held on with hope and a song - lest he should come to grief.
Nicol, Stephen and my good friend Ian - I've named but just a few,
If I could manage to cope with them, I'll soon look after you.

Oft in my stable in the night beneath the stars and moon,
In sweet repose my thoughts do stray - to that special day in June,
When up the Brae in Lanark Town - in blazing glorious sun,
The crowds they throng the procession route - such splendour, mirth and fun.

Who leads the way - it's Ballantrae - Oh what a handsome sight.
But hold on Bob - there's something strange, Can this then be right?

For Ballantrae is fading fast before my very sight.
It's me - Old Bob who takes his place - I scarce can hold my breath.
With cries and cheers about my ears - Old Bob's the best they say,
And swelled with pride I cannot hide, this is my finest day.

With mornings light - my thoughts I fight - to hold them for a day,
But dreams are dreamed - and once enjoyed must sadly fade away,
But hold back Bob - just think a while, what if the change is complete?
And Ballantrae should rule Brigend, while you patrol the beat.

St Vincent, Hope and Union Street are all in your domain,
The splendid sight of blossom time - you'll never see again,
Through meadow, farm, burn and brae - past bramble thorn and brier,
With fell of crop and Jimmy's cry that sets your heart on fire,
To round the bend and climb the hill where trees and bushes tower,
With nostril wide and mighty stride, this is your finest hour.

And so old Bob - content yourself, in riches you abound,
Your wealth in nature's garden lies,
In the shadow of that old Grey Town.

Kevan Carty