Bowmen of Winston
Founded November 2014 by John (Master) and Eiann ('Bastard' --including 'Turdy'-- 'Cogsworth', and others following such words as 'great steaming', 'fat', 'slimy', and 'piece of'.)
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Now:
It has New Limits
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From early August 2016 to early October 2019
Another part of The Cuillin Perverse: a bastard's tale
(An adventure which has taken longer than expected)
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So, which one is the Old Man?
Still here
It was Master's birthday recently. It is always at this time of the year, on the same date, now that I think about it. But I didn't think about it when I should have. Still, I have made a little poem for Master, in the hope that he might forget that I forgot, and to please him! Here it is:
Cuillin Perverse
October 2019
By nae lagan step
Wi' falt'rin' heart
Shall we succeed.
From Bheinn to Gillean;
In dreams,
In deed.If ray nan gale
An' ridge O' Tooth -
an - Gap prevail,
And make us small
Or make us quail,
O'er gabbro stone
Wi' chimmen knees
An Stacs an' pinniclees
We'll climb.
O'er chute
And blacken ridge --
'We'll take our time.'
Little men are we,
And grey.
Beset with toil,
Sligachan men are we
But for the ruined path
Am Basteir soil.(And yet...
The Ridge's Cuillin lingers:
By devious crack
And tricksy path;
While Banach Dich,
Stiff across the Skye,
Gives us the finger!)
But daunted not are we
By finger, tooth or pinniclee.
'tis hope, 'tis resolute desire,
Shall win our day.
Our dance is true.
And yes,
Our dance is slow.
But we'll bealach
Upon the Spring,
Beyond the snow.
Beautiful mountains few,
Lest ye forget,
To this we're not averse.
We are not there yet;
Take heed:
Perverse is what we do.
By Turdy Bastard, almost on the 62nd anniversary of Master's hatching.
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