“It Shouldn’t Happen In A Lodge”

The lighter hearted side to life in The Lodge

Ten “secret” poems by By Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling~

Copyright of Red Snapper Publications 2011

Title of Poem

1. A Bruising of Egos

2. The Arch and The Apron

3. The Soup Kitchen

4. Colm’s Cuddy

5. The Fridge

6. Unsuitable Candidate

7. To A Tyler

8. Elliptical Cryptic Carpet

9. The Big Fire

10. The Tyler’s Tache

[The Story – Written after a particularly long winded committee meeting where nothing seemed to be decided or solved!!]

A Bruising of Egos~

We were sat round the table with the meeting begun.Dom’nant voices spoke up, although not as one.

And somebody stated that a wrong had been done,By another of our party, upon them, or someone.

~And they quoted the rule that had been contravened,

And the other who’d done it. Quite a farce so it seemed !Then the culprit took umbrage and spouted out quotes,

From an updated, rewritten agenda of notes.~

Well the main point of issue was lost in this blur,Of old rules, laws and statutes. There were those who’d concur,And the question was asked, “Was it wrong ? Was it right ?”

But no answer came forth; it took most of the night. ~

So the bodies assembled then argued defence,So they couldn’t be blamed for what didn’t make sense.

Were the practices Spanish, were books cooked? Who cares ?As more statute and bye-laws lost us all in despair !

~So no lessons were learned coz bruised egos don’t heal,

And the huffed took such umbrage that could not be concealed,So just what was decided at the end of the night ?

Would the learned minute-taker forget how to write?~

Well I left with the others and was asked at the door,By someone, “ What was that about ?” and so I swore,That the answer was four times the length of the hall,Multiplied by the square root, times ten of damn all !

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The Story – while attending one of my first meetings up at The Arch, the strings of my apron loosened and the apron fell to the floor much to the amusement of the rest of the companions.]

The Arch And The Apron~

Twas Wednesday night. The third in March,Whilst in the Chapter Royal Arch.We stood to give the proper sign,

To close the meeting down on time.~

As soon as I was off my seat, My apron fell down round my feet,

Both hands employed in other things,I caught hold of the apron strings.

~And with a movement deft and slick,

I pulled the apron up and quick,I tied the strings my girth around ,

Alas ! In haste ! Twas upside down. ~

So here’s the question on my lips,For when it next falls from my hips.Do I pick it up as I think I should ?Or do I stand there feeling nude ?

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The story – Written for Brother Alan Rudland who makes great soup for the Lodge Harmony. He used to make the soup on a Sunday night as the Lodge rehearsed for Monday’s meeting.]

The Soup Kitchen~

Beyond the West oor kitchen lies,Where tea and sandwiches, booze and pies,

Are rustled up before yer eyes.By brethern deft and handy.

~Now Brother Alan can be found,

On Sunday nights in hallowed ground,Close to the stove, makes quite a sound,

As he brews a broth so dandy.~

The working tools of the “broth” degree,Is chopper, board, pot, knife and see,

Just how he stews so readily,In the kitchen near to hand. He

~Provides the warmth on a cold dark night,To brethern. In mugs of brothed delight,

Keeps out the chills in a tasty bite,Even more than a shot of Brandy.

~So observe the West where the kitchen lies,

From whence the soup materialised,And drink your broth. You can leave the pies,

To Alan ! A chef most handy !

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The Story – members of Lodge Castle Dour were asked several years ago to assist at the Colme’s House Open Day for Cancer research. A lady had brought a large black horse to the Open Day to give horse rides to the public. The same aforementioned lady had to take a comfort stop or some such thing and so asked Alex Waugh and Tony Davidson to mind a large black horse while the owner had to go and powder her nose. She warned that no-one should walk behind the horse. It was a big horse. Jack Henderson was also meant to be helping! Anyway, it all ended up with Alex getting his knee kicked by the horse and Tony getting his toe stamped upon. Although this incident obviously did not take place inside the Lodge, it did involve Brethern of the Lodge and the story was told many times in the Lodge.]

Colm’s Cuddy~

When Alec, Tony and Jack did roam, One Sunday noon not far from home.They ventured to the house of Colm,Thus causing me to write this poem.

~No stall to man like years before,

Their job was oh, so greater more.To hold a horse for rides galore,For kids that day. A tale so sore.

~Now Alec, Jack and even Tony.Expected just a Shetland pony.

To hell with expectations phony,Twas a stallion large, though rather bonny.

~So Jack departed in a flash.

He left his pals in a panicked dash.He would’nae hold a horse for cash,He said, “I’m off ! I need a slash !”

So Tony and poor Alec held,This horse so large. Twas not a geld.It stood on Tony’s foot then felled,

Poor Alec. How the struck man yelled. ~

The horse had kicked poor Alec’s thigh.It neighed triumphant to the sky.

As Jack just laughed whilst standing by.“Dear Boy !” he yelled, “That horse is fly !”

~So Alec hobbled, Tony hopped,

And Jack with laughter completely flopped.Both volunteers unfairly cropped,The pony rides were duly stopped,

~And so our tale is at an end.

And Alec’s thigh is on the mend.And to his foot, Tony’s wife did tend,

The horse is now a pot of glue !!!

“The Great Big Scary Horse”

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The Story - Dedicated to the Lodge fridge that has on more than one occasion yielded up strange spores and growths.]

The Fridge~

In the Lodge Halls last night,Went to look for a bite,

In the fridge I just might,Find that snack to delight.

~So I opened the door,

For some beer, ice and more,Then I saw what I swore,

I had not seen before.~

At the back to the right,Was a tub, just in sight.

Didn’t look quite airtight.Brought it out to the light.

~When I opened the top,

I took fright ! Let it drop !There were spores on the slop,

And a green mouldy crop.~

How long had it been,In the fridge, there unseen,

Till the contents went green,And its smell turned obscene.

~So in future beware,

Of rear-fridge tupperwear !That’s been two years in there,

And remove it with care !!!

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The Story – Bro Ken Jeffs once told me about a candidate that wished to join the Masonic Lodge as he was also in the Orange Lodge. He did not get in and he obviously had all the wrongconceptions about freemasonry. Sadly this often happens and the following poem is an exaggerated description of such a person.]

Unsuitable Candidate~

They say that I was blackballed,At the ballot that they had.

They wouldn’t let me join them,And that really hurt me bad .

~I’m good at keeping secrets,

And my hand shakes are real flash.My trousers are at half-mast,And I like to sing the sash.

~They wouldn’t give me a reason,

But remained tight-lipped and silent.I’m not a shady character,

And you couldn’t call me violent.~

An incident with a local sheep,Is the only one of note.

So they’ve probably thought, “Well let’s play safe,He might just ride our goat !”.

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The Story – While I was sitting in as inside guard at a Lodge meeting, Brother Jack Henderson was on the outside of the door as acting Tyler. I wrote the following poem and passed it under the door to him during the meeting. He was also responsible for heating up the pies and making the tea for the harmony. I have to add that the pies turned out fine!]

To a Tyler ~

Hi there Tyler, Outside Guard !I’m here inside the door.

And though I’m writing bard to bard,I write with something more....

~A wish sincere that all those pies,

Are cooking to perfection.A sight quite grand to a brother’s eyes,

I trust they’ll pass inspection !!~

So from the inside of the door,From brother “Inside Guard”,

A message wheeched across the floor,From one Masonic Bard.

~These pies, I trust, are doing fine,

With hunger my gut churns.May they not succumb by Grand design,

To a third degree of burns.

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The Story - This poem is for Bro. John B. Henderson who had pioneered the method of circular perambulation upon the Lodge floor while taking the candidate round the wardens.]

The Elliptical Cryptic Carpet~

Well most Lodges have a carpet, They’re rectangular in shape,

With four corners and four edges. Now these facts we can’t escape.

~And all brethern square the carpet,

While parading on the floor.For degree-work, North East Corner,Tools and secrets, and much more.

~But while Brother Jack was Deacon,

And a senior one of might .He would put you through your paces,

As the candidate that night.~

He would cut off all the corners,Whilst he moved at quite a rate,

And it made for quick degree work,And a dizzy candidate.

~Thus the corners of our carpet,

Were redundant and quite stark,Never more the North East Corner.Now the North East Curve or Arc.

~But we found Jack’s methods quicker,

So we changed our ritual to,Comply with circ’lar floor-work. ‘Twas the brotherly thing to do.

So we got a brand new carpet,To put down within our Hall,

It was oval – No damned corners,Over which to trip or fall.

~With no angles at the edges,

Hardly what you’d call masonic.Only one round edge and centre,

This new rug, in truth, was chronic.~

Now our deacons tend to spiral,While they lead the candidate.

Whizzing past the Junior Warden,Whizzing past at quite a rate.

~Coz they’ve lost all sense of bearing.

Where’s the North, West, South or East?There’s no edges giving order,On the carpet. But at least….

~We’re the only Lodge that has one.

Though Provincial aren’t fans! Our Elliptic Cryptic Carpet’s,

Not in ‘cordance with their plans.~

As the Master kept being bypassed,(Finding East proved quite a fiddle),

We took up his seat and altar,And we placed it in the middle.

~When we get a deputation,

They beseech us (less than smug),“How’d we enter on the Lodge floor?

How’d we step onto your rug?”

“There’s no corners to step onto,or step off!” They will implore.

“Like a never ending circuitwinding round upon your floor!”

~We’re unique in Castle Dour,

Though our carpet may be daft,We’re the first Lodge to employ one.

(And we’ve also got a raft).

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

An artist’s impression of the “Elliptic Cryptic Carpet”.

[The Story – Bros Davy Payne, Alex Waugh, John Thompson and myself were clearing up the garden and built the biggest bonfire you can imagine. We spontaneously turned into pyromaniacs, burning all the rubbish and getting primal.]

The Big Fire~

We went to do the gardening, and clean the rubbish out!“But look at all those cuttings”, I yelled with rising doubt.Well Alex grabbed the petrol, and John he grabbed a stick,

And me, I struck the matches, that surely did the trick.~

The fire, it soon was blazing, the flames were shooting high!We threw all types of stuff on. The cuttings, wet or dry!

And Davy Payne kept cutting, more branches to the ground,He scythed his way through nettles and through the thistledown!

~“Oh great, more stuff for burning!”, the heat was now intense!

And in our enthusiasm, we nearly burnt the fence!When Davy left before nine, to watch a TV show,

Myself, and John and Alex, continued the fire-show!~

We stood around with beer cans and watched the flames till dark.Amazed at this inferno, that came from one wee spark.

A satisfying evening, amidst the flames and smoke,Well worth the scalds and singed hair. To think I nearly choked!

~We doused the fire with water. And other fluids too!Made sure we’d left no embers to set the fire anew!

We’d smoked out half the village. Although we did’nae ken!I loved our Great Big Fire, we must do that again!

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling

[The story – When Bro Willie Schops was the tyler, he could not get the lid of the kettle to put tea bags into as the wee knob had broken off the lid. He therefore blew down the spout, scalding his mouth and gaining a blood blister beneath his tache. Don’t try this at home.]

The Tyler’s Tache~

We have a kettle.Made out o’ metal.

The lid’s a real tight fit.The Tyler toiled,The kettle boiled.

He’d chuck tea bags in it!~

For a Tyler past,The lid stuck fast,

So, in a burst of doubt.He thought he would,

In fact, he could.Blow air right down the spout!

~The kettle lid,

Flew up, it did!But Tyler burnt his mooth.

At least we got,A steaming pot,

Of tea. But here’s the truth.

The tyler’s tache,Singed in a flash,

A blister now beneath.Was seen by all,Within the hall,

It hung right o’er his teeth.~

He had to tell,The story, well,

coz everyone was asking.“What happened in there,

Yer tache looks rare,There’s a blister that it’s masking!”

~So do not blow,Hot kettles. No!

Use your sensibility.Pour the kettle out,Fae out the spout,Into a pot for tea!

Bro. Kenneth N. Stirling