Broomhill Reminscence Group (Daisy Dey)

Fin I wis a littlin growin up in Inverurie, we used tae ging doon tae the banks o the Urie tae hae picnics. Ma mither wad gie me a flask o tea tae sup, an a byled egg sandwich tae ett. There wis ay midgies roon the Urie in the summer, an lots o nettles. Bit if ye wis stung ye rubbit yer legs or airms wi a docken leaf tae takk awa the nip. The quines jist gid wydin in the Urie, nae dookin, only the loons gied in dookin, because they'd strip doon tae their pants. The quines didna dee that, we tuckit wir pinafore intae the fit o wir navy bloomers an wyded through the watter.We'd a pooch in wir navy bloomers tae haud wir hankies, ye ken. Sometimes we'd catch bandies in jam jars, an some folk rowed boats on the Urie.

We niver weariet playin aside the watter. We played at hoosies, an shoppies, an doctors an nurses, an wir mithers wid gie us auld chippit plates an cups tae makk it mair interestin
Strange things hae happened at Inverurie. If ye ging inno the graveyard there, richt ahin the gate, there's a gravesteen, an aa that's on it it is this...
This is Mary Eerie Orie Elphinstone.
The wye o't wis this. Mary Elphinstone wis the wife o a local meenister. And fin she wis haein her first baby, she'd a bad time o it an aabody thocht that she'd deed.

Weel, they beeriet her. Bit fin her man wis staunin ower the grave, he heard souns comin up frae aneth the grun. He'd got a richt fleg at thon! Onywye, he caused the coffin tae be liftit, an sure enough Mary Elphinstone wis still livin! Noo, aabody in Inverurie kens aboot thon, bit I dinna ken fan it happened, jist that the peer wummman wis beeriet alive.

She deed a good lang time efter thon, an wis beeriet in the same grave.

There war some rare characters in Inverurie fin I wis growin up there. Een wis caad Feel John. He wisna bonnie. He bedd wi his mither, an eesed tae follae aa the parades. Anither rareity wis caad Rotten Geordie. Rotten Geordie wauked aroon follaein the scaffies. They gid him a shovel tae pick up the dog's dirt, an a penny or twa fur pye. He'd a grey mowser, Rotten Geordie. We caad him Rotten Geordie because he shook his neive at us an cried 'Yer aa rotten'.
Then, there wis the Fire maister. Fin he'd naethin tae dee he gied the bairns fire drill. He took oot a skytin thing, an said 'Fizz', makkin on he wis pittin oot a fire.

Folk took an interest in een anither fin I wis wee. I mynd a chiel caad Jock Bain comin hame frae the 1914-1918 war. He bedd aside us. Fin he come hame on leave, the weemin took the widden stretchers they used tae dry the claes, an tied flags an ribbons an flooers roon it like a triumphal arch, an Jock hid tae wauk aneth it tae get intae his hoose. An we gied him conversation lozenges as weel, sweeties wi writin aa through them.He wisna killt in the war, Jock, sae that story's got a happy endin!