Provost Malcolm Rennie, Treasurer Bertha Sandie, Clr. John Augustine Ogilvy
East Linton Town Council, Elected Councillors and Officers
1975
Baillie Jimmy Kerr, Clir. George Rutherford, Clr. Donald McDermid
Officers
Dean of Guild Jock Reid, ClIr. Tom Stewart, Clr. Arthur Greenan, Town Clerk Douglas Barlas
Burgh Surveyor Jimmie Gibson, Depute Town Clerk, Andrew Steel, Burgh Treasurer, Davy Wilson
As the wind whistled round old Peerie's well,
Gathered men o' the town with tall tales to tell.
To deliver their message so good and so grand,
In the hope they would get a good clap of the hand.
'Sir Douglas, the Town Clerk, had an air of repose,
Smelling the pong that wafts up his nose.
These folk! they complain about things big and wee,
As the Tyne floats raw sewage all the way to the sea.
Young Andry Steel, from the Land o' the Merse,
A brilliant scholar in law and in verse.
To direct the Council and make them repent,
He's writing a booklet called 'Linton's Lament'.
Wee Jimmie Gibson's an expert in drains,
He gars Myra's wrath every day that it rains.
Down Walker Terrace she shops in her boat,
Blames him for drowning her hens and her goat.
Davy Wilson, a man o' great will and great wit,
He's biting his tongue to stop having a fit.
The Chamberlain kens no truth do they tell,
He kens in his heart they'd see Linton in hell.
Provost Rennie, he rises with grace for to speak,
He answers complaints about Bob Black's bad reek.
To rebuild the chimneys, and new heating he'll try,
To save old Bob frae warming-the cold winter sky.
Treasurer Sandie guards our tight poke of money,
She fechts with the folk like bees at Matt's honey.
Besotted by Barlas, she's done lots for the town,
By hoarding our cash, she kept our rates down.
Baillie Kerr will have none of their nonsense, cries he,
If they'd sweated toiled for auld Linton like me.
I made sure that the graves I've dug for them often,
Gives them shelter and rest in their cosy wee coffin.
Old Jock Reid, the Dean of the Guild,
New-fangled houses he wanted to build.
A cadger of drink from stranger or friend,
His tales always got him free drink in the end.
A Copper of old with hat black and white,
Directing the traffic was Ruff's sheer delight.
But Geordie, co-opted, with the help of his pals,
Hounds, without mercy, the young girls and guys.
Sunshine, he answers the fair maiden's prayer,
I'm the Laird of the Park, I hear him declare.
A stalwart of Linton, in life's truest sense,
His greatest feat was to sit on the fence.
Gentleman John, lays forth with great spirit,
Producing the facts with the guile of a ferret.
He laughs and he lilts wi' gesticulation,
Creating Abbeyfield House won him our admiration.
Donald Mc Dermid, as sleek as a crow,
With the wavy white hair of a tanned gigolo.
A member to be, of the local elite,
The truth of it is, he's plain Pyrex Pete.
Young Greenan, he thinks he's a man of some fate,
Waving his arms like the Tyne in full spate.
Wants paint tae clean-up McCall Gardens face,
And return it of old, to an elegant place.
The tale of our town is of roaring success,
The Council are folk of unbridled kindness.
Soon they will gather, and with Minutes be dealt,
And by the Town Clerk, to do as they are telt!