For everyone with an interest in the town, people and parish of Shotts


If anyone would like to edit this IO would be appreciative,



There are twin lads that I ken weel,
Whas likeness wad deceive the deil,
If they should dress frae heid to hee In equal claes,
For sicna guise would ne’er reveal The twin McLays.


Nae doot they’re awfu’ like each ither;
When ye get them baith thegither
Ye canna tell the ane frae t’ither
Though hours you’d gaze;

You’d simply say, “Will like his brither In every phase.”
But “which ane’s Will?” ye’re sure to ask,
To answer that wad be a task,
For their identity’s a mask

To you an’ me;

An’ when you speer they simply bask In mirth and glee.


And when the Great War’s deadly cloud
Crept ower the warl, a burial shroud
Wha voiced patriotism loud
And did their bit?

The twin McLays! Nae doot quite proud
They were sae fit.
In Flander’s field they showed their mettle,
The fiery Hun they helped to settle,

Their eager charge—nae steamin’ kettle- Telt in the fray,

‘Gainst sic a foe they felt in fettle, And won the day.
The foemen’s bullets laid them low,
Yet sigh o’ pain they wadna show,
Their hearts wi’ gladness were aglow
For victory won;
That day they dealt a mighty blow Against the Hun.

And when the cruel war was o’er,
And things appearin’ as before,
The twin McLays came back once more
To hame o’ rest;

Their limbs were torn, maimed and sore—
They’d gi’en their best.
An; noo to tell the ane frae t’ither,
You’d hardly need to be their brither,
Ye dinna need to look an; swither,
Nor questions beg;
Will’s hand, a glove is there to cover—
Bandaged Rab’s leg.

And yet we’re glad misfortune’s fate
Hasna owerta’en them wi’ it’s bait,
And let us hope, at nae fair date,
They will recover;
Welcome the day we canna state
Will frae his brither.


Alfred Sealey Shotts.

Ref. Hamilton Advertiser. 17/5/1924, Page 2.

Wilma Bolton 2005.


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