To avoid confusion, let me explain:
- There was a Plaque for both wars inside Glengarnock Church (demolished) and details can be found here on the Imperial War Museum´s site and it resides now in the Auld Kirk of Kilbirnie along with another plaque for their own Kilbirnie parishoners.
- A memorial for WW1 was a plaque attached to a building at the steel works. I have seen it as a boy and I recall that it was on the back of one of the steel works offices. I do not know if that contained names of the second war also. The Colvilles staff magazines in the early 1920s contained a pull out glossy souvenir about those employees who died during the first world war. Details are below.
- A new Plaque was unveiled at Glengarnock Primary School for WWII only but that school has since been demolished – it may have been transferred to the replacement secondary school at Glengarnock. The outdated Imperial war museum entry is here for that one.
- A separate war memorial exists in Kilbirnie at the park gate covering both wars for people who lived in Kilbirnie. The Imperial war museum reference is here.
Details of unveilings for (2) and (4) and are below:
Here is the roll of Honour from the staff magazine about Glengarnock with the Steel works Employee names on there:
This book has a lot of detailed information about the Auld Kirk in Kilbirnie, River Garnock, Place, Fairs, as well as the history of prominent families and findings of the area,. Barclays, Crawfurds, Cunninghame, etc History of the kirk etc including names of early people serving there.
This book has also very detailed sections about Parishes: Dundonald, Dunlop, Fenwick, Galston, Girvan, Irvine, Kilbirnie, West Kilbride, Kilmarnock, Kilmaurs, Kilwinning, Kirkmichael, Kirkoswald, Largs, Loudoun, Mauchline, Maybole, Monktoun, Muirkirk, Ochiltree, Riccarton, St Quivox, Sorn, Stair, Stevenston, Stewarton, Straiton, Symington, Torbolton.
Oh draw near, Great Love Divine, and sooth my waiting mind.
Whiting Bay and Holy Isle, surely all are thine, within my heart appears the long forgotten saints.
Passing holy hours, like a tired monk I wait to find you in the maze of liturgies and pathways.
My naked head does burn, like earthly passions turn, to a higher calling, to vistas set eternal.
With a yearning voice so strong, I turn to what I long, to find my peace in thee.
May the mountains of the isles teach me humility of heart, to see beyond the peaks of shortcomngs to higher views of Love.
The sweeping vistas of Love, higher than the highest peak, swirling winds appear.
The joy of meeting departed ones, to commune again on the shores of thine Isles, I wait, I come.
The Mossend Mine
While walking near the Mossend mine
I chanced upon a flower
I stopped and stared at beauty spent
and passed away the hour
Her leaves were yellow daffodils
where bees would pass the time
watching men go underground
While entering the mine
Her stem did sway with summer breeze
she slumbered on the brink
like a burdened miner walks
whilst thirsting for a drink
Suddenly a voice I heard
transported back in time
young men with blackened faces walked
deep inside that mine
Awaking, flowers, buttercups
Blessed me on my way
Whilst haunting thoughts of distant past
I carried through my day
So if a flower does call you back
to places, lands of yore,
dwell not in the realm of dreams
take only what is yours
Perhaps your flower is yet to come
in mountain, thoughts or clime
ne’er mind the times of centuries old
now is your only time
At Sunset. Dalry Cemetery.
O gracious peace and silence, where voices lose their power.
The setting sun brings darkness to the last awaiting hours,
With Lords and paupers stilled, together till the light
Where ‘er they are in consciousness, God speed to them tonight.
By Biggarts’ son or Uncle John. Youth and age does lie,
For the wall between the old and new, lies strong in earthly eyes.
But somewhere else upon the shores, Dalry does rise again,
where no walls or tombs pervade, religion, class or kin,
And as our thoughts rise higher, away from bricks and stone.
That new Dalry will one by one come to take us home.
There at the crossings full of folk who long ago were ken’t.
Again the tears of union declares the time well spent.
If kilbirnie was a harp with strings
I’d surely sweep a strain,
An everlasting melody
Which no man could restrain
I’d write a song of thanksgiving
Of peace and love and cheer
To bless the town with all its woes
Bring pleasure to their ears
I’d play the song on knoxville road
And at the Walker Hall
I’d play it at the Labour club
While drunkards take their fall
I’d play the harp so silently
For those who hate the sound
To aid them out of hopelessness
To turn their lives around
I’d sweep a strain of sad refrain
At steel works passing by
I’d touch upon a melody
And older folks would cry
I’d play it softly at the match
While folks would cheer their team
And move along the park so long
To watch the Garnock stream
I’d play the harp across the tracks
As cyclists speed me by
I’d play and wait at graveyard’s gates
For mourners with their sighs
I’d play it at the Garnock’s heart
Right up at Jacob’s Well,
where no one goes to see it flow
Or care to even tell
I’d play a tune right at the school
The Children would be pleased
I’d pass the harp to little ones
To hold upon their knees
So to the town with all my sounds
And everlasting strains
I leave the harp right at the cross
For others who remain
To strain their sounds of happiness
And hope for all the town
To watch it grow with sadness no!
As an everlasting crown.