On the 11th June 2011 at approx. 3:10am, Mossmorran suffered an ‘incident’ which woke up half the town, as well as several neighbouring towns. The explosion later referred to as an ‘incident’, scared us half to death! Insiring me to write a dark, comic, Doric poem, entitled; ‘Dawn Chorus O Mossmorran‘. The Mossmorran ethylenecracker plant is located on the outskirts of Lochgelly and Cowdenbeath, Fife.
Dawn Chorus O’ Mossmorran
The joys o the early morning call o Mossmorrans flare gaun wild,
Ah woke up fie ma sleep, ma world had gone on fire.
The roar went up at half past three,
A michty roar, the hoose did shake,
An in ma wee bed, ah really did quake.
The flame wis fierce, it lit the sky,
Ma sleep wis ower, the flame wis dire.
The noise reverberates aroond the hoose,
Like a jet plane landing apon ma roof.
The roaring flame hits the hoose,
Waves o shock an pressure,
Ah dinnae ken whit they’re called,
Only that they hurt ma heid.
I’ve tried tae phone tae mak complaints,
Only they’re aieways oot, it’s a neat wee trick ah think,
That ye cannie get onybidy hame.
They say the area does a profit,
An richt enough we got new buckets.
So cheers tae oor next door neighbour,
Oor very own petrochemical cracker plant,
Noo there’s a mooth-fie fer ye.
Reports o illnesses abound,
Ignored by those who own the land,
‘Cos there’s a profit tae be made.
Naebody wants tae hear, its no sae easy livin here,
Wi a cracker plant roarin in yer ear.
We noo an then hae some debate,
But the powers that be just shut the gate.
Residents o Lochgelly tak cheer,
A solution wis found or so ah hear.
They’re noo growin’ a row o trees,
Tae cut down sound an’save yer ears.
So block yer lugs an there’s aie guid news,
They’ll quiten doon as the day dawns forth.
They didnae like to show throughoot the day,
Whit us poor folk hae tae endure.
Aw’ the MPs an’ the cooncillors who gien assent.
Planted it on oor doorstep ‘cos they’re no fie this local land.
Aw’ lyin’ in their beds still cosy an asleep,
Ah hope they spare a thought,
Fer us poor Lochgellians,
Awoken fie oor sleep.
Who gien permission fer this giant,
An lined their pockets wi’ their lyin,
An didnae gie a thought tae the children o the land.
Us wee local folk feart tae speak,
Wee Davies sittin’ at Goliaths feet.