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Folda
Folda maps
Historic maps of Folda and the local area, hand-drawn by Ordnance Survey and Samuel Lewis. View all Folda maps
Folda photos
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Folda area books
Displaying 1 of 0 books about Folda and the local area. View all books for this area
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Memories of Folda
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Perthshire memories
Memories
As a boy i would wander
through fields and in water,
go fishing, make swings
was happy with things:
Would roam with the dog
slip on Algae green log,
smell rain on the grass
polish Grans brass:
Climb dykes, collect conkers
leap Cargills, I was bonkers,
make carties with prams
watch Salmon jump Dams:
I summer pick berries
six weeks in black wellies,
up dreels of soft fruit
to give your mum loot:
In autumn lift Tatties
no chance of being fatties,
with your back bent all day
just want home i would prey:
These days have sped by
where's time gone I sigh!
From Rattray to Blair
a town i recognise nae mare:
Ballintium Farm, Tullymeg, Ballinluig
I went to school at Guay Primary School - 1948. Teacher Miss Coombes. In my class were John Macdonald of Raer Lodge, my brother Iain Stanton of Ballintuim Farm, cousins Helen, Sheila, Muriel Findlay of Ballintuim Cottage. Picked spuds in a freezing October. Ferrcin hans sair back, big snows start in late October. I remember taking wee John Macdonals home every night up the the Raer Lodge. Got ma tomato soup - nae toast. Coming back in the dark following our uphill footsteps through the snow to Ballintuim Farm and seeing the lights doon beside the Tay. Nobody ever knew I was away. Norrie Stanton.
Where my Old Folks Settled
My people were tinkers of the road. Power, Riley, Macarthur, O'Connor, Macallister and a few I have no knowledge of. Generations had mended tin, woven baskets, bunched broom and heather, one to sweep the floor the other to scour pots. In 1847 some left Ireland during the famine, with a vast knowledge of forestry and horses. They met and married with Perthshire and Argyllshire tinkers. Black Spout woods (Edradour) in Pitlochry offered everything they needed to winter settle - a steady supply of fresh water from the burn, firewood for cooking and warmth but most important this place was no man's land. There were no neighbours. The sanctified earth of this wooded area was a blessed Pictish burial ground. Tinkers all over Ireland and Scotland returned annually from their summer wandering to places like this; Weem near Aberfeldy, Fortingall, Dull, Fearnam, Comrie, Muthill and Crieff were a few spots where no hand to touch them. So it was no surprise that my lineage gathered at the Black Spout which... Read more
Evacuation
I was 6 years old in 1941 and a native of Glasgow. During the worst of the German bombing at that time, my mother, brother and I moved to Auchnahyle Farm, which was farmed by my father's uncle and aunts, Bob, Mag and Jess Jamieson. My father remained in Glasgow as he was in a reserved occupation.
I went to Pitlochry Primary School and made friends. We wandered the Black Spout woods together and fished the burns for trout. We clambered over the ruins of the Black Castle. At that time they were much more substantial than they are now.
After some months we returned to Glasgow. I missed the country life. Despite being a city boy my love was for the countryside. I have now lived in south Perthshire for more than 30 years, so the dreams of that six year old boy have come to pass.
Rob
How Sweet it Was
“I’ll have a very large J&B on the rocks,” the distinguished gentleman gave me his order. “And easy on the rocks,” he added. I hurried off to the bar and returned with the glass of Scotch. Dana Andrews looked up and smiled. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Alastair,” I replied.
“Do I detect a Scottish accent?”
“You do sir,” I replied. “I’m from Perthshire.”
He sprang to his feet, pulled the tweed jacket from his shoulders and extended the inverted collar across the table toward me. “Look at this” he said, “I bought it 24 years ago and it’s as good as new.” In the flickering candlelight of the restaurant, I peered at the label. It read: “Fraser’s of Perth” and instantly I felt that glow of patriotic pride, familiar to exiled Scots. It’s a long road from the purple mountains of Scotland to California, but in 1966, that’s where I found myself — alone and feeling a wee... Read more
My First Fond Memory
I would like to say my first memories of Waterloo was we lived in one of my grandmother's houses, it was called as I remember The Big White House. It was a very large house, I think it actually had 2 houses as we lived in the bottom house and my auntie and uncle lived in the top house, anyway there was plenty of space to play in as it had quite a large area of land with it. I lived there with my mother Jane, dad John (Jeck ) Stewart and my sister Catriona (Pansy) and my sister Martha (Biggy) and me Jane (Peppy). We loved the wide variety of open space to play and roam about, up the back of the house there was a field and we used to cross the field and go to the woods which was called Gelly Woods, there we would go and play and get tadpoles. Down the road from the house towards Bankfoot there was a big green field where... Read more
Evacuees
I attended school headed by Dominie Colvin and indeed ended up living there along with two other evacuees, having previously lived at East Crachie with the Ogilvie family. I learnt, among other things, to make snares and nets to catch rabbits. How to drive a tractor on the farm and other farm work. At the school we put on a school play, which was also put on in Forfar. At 10 years old it was a good war away from the city. In the winter our daily 1/3 pint of milk frequently got frozen, an early version of frozen lollies. We often walked to Forfar to go to the cinema and see Flash Gordon on Saturday, usually followed by chips in the High Street. I later worked for Dave Drummond at Backmuir farm Carmylie having taken a liking to the countryside. At that time the summers seemed endless and the weather fine. We often played in the stream/burn that runs in the hollow to the south below Crachie. The name... Read more
