About the club
We twa have paidl’d in the burn
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid have roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.
― Robert Burns
CCXV Paisley Burns Club (1805-2021) A Lockdown Tonic As Janwar’s winds blaw snell an’ keen So, let the oldest club convene Nae sherry sweet tae open the scene Tae oor Burns tribute Touch o’ a button lichts the screen Nae supper on mute But din an’ clatter in oor
2020 Immortal Memory
Immortal Memory 2019
CCXV Paisley Burns Club (1805 – 2020) A decade gone in just a wink Wae scarcely time tae sit an’ think Politics taks us tae the brink New Brexit dawning While hopes fur peace start tae sink Missiles an’ bombing At oor Burns Club, we ride the storm Tak
Ellisland, 13 December 1789 One dark, dank December night When ills of life had laid him low Burns picked up his nib to write Of human spirit’s ebb and flow A bard scarce able to lift his head His mind amok with ‘nervous disease’ Black thoughts of solace among
The October Meeting for 2020 was a video which was sent to all members. Click the picture to view.
Tannahill Cottage is featured in the Renfrewshire Doors Open 2020 Virtual Tours and can be located at the Renfrewshire Doors Open website. A PowerPoint of the Cottage can be downloaded by clicking the photo of the cottage above and then the link to Tannahill Cottage. Tannahill Cottage 2020 version3
Due to the impact of the Coronavirus pandemic the normal functioning of Paisley Burns Club has been adversely affected. Monthly meetings and other activities will resume once it is safe to do so.
The Culture of Encounter Calls that our culture Embraces encounters And sparks connections With our fellow man But we put up walls Close off the borders Build up the barriers When in the same boat And big guns then boast Mine is the biggest And breenge to the brink
As the Club Bard is this year’s President, the 2017 Club Greeting was written by our previous Bard, Tom Gibson. Greeting – As Aye! Janwar’ winds whaizle ower the Braes, Sheughs brimfu’ wi’ rain an’ wi’ snaw Whitters o’ strunt we’ll quaff in praise O’ yon Robin, wha’s lang
La plume est plus forte que l’epee The Tree o’ Liberty Had shed its precious fruit Before November’s callous blast Silenced Bataclan’s boards And cast the City of Lights Into sorrowful shadow With ‘Je Suis Charlie’ Ready scorched in its bark A wicked storm Shook its proud roots And
“We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, Frae morning sun till dine, But seas between us braid have roar’d, sin auld lang syne.”