Shotts History Group [ http://www.shottshistorygroup.co.uk ]

Know ye the land where the dark herbless whinstone In hillocks, not hills, rears its desolate head? Where poverty chains down the nose to the grindstone, Till the heart and the soul are as heavy as lead? Where the crops never ripen, the roses cannot blow, And the sunshine of summer scarce melteth the snow? Cannot bless with his beams; w