Two engaging verses, one jolly, one elegiac, by the late Walter Soutar, electrician and art collector, who died of pancreatic cancer in 2014.

Vividly conjuring up scenes of his West of Scotland youth, they are in the collection of his poems called Memories, edited by his widow Ann. All the proceeds of the book are being donated to researchers at the Beatson Institute, Science Park, Glasgow. (For copies, £10 each, contact Ann.Soutar@btinternet.com)

SCHOOL TEAM

Nobody cheered when we appeared,

in borrowed boots and baggy pants,

in jerseys stolen from elephants,

we took the field, in league or shield,

in any weather, wrapped in determination,

seeking glory, and a medal presentation,

sweat poured, voices roared,

teachers excitedly calling, little skill I recall,

as twenty fanatics, threatened one ball.

I was a defender, a famous toe-ender,

tackling hard, clearing lines,

policing wingers, unlucky to be mine.

Now it’s gone, I never won anything

except friends,

remembering faithfully, a few goals

and wish, I’d been a centre.

THE CLYDE

In distant days of childhood

I lived, and often played beside the artery

carrying Glasgow’s blood,

a glorious, busy, noisy River Clyde,

where Titan tugs pulled their worth,

forcing majestic ships to glide,

muddling banks, heading west,

passing shipyards either side

with welders, shipwrights stealing glances,

remembering known ships, with quiet pride,

the wash licked each riverbank,

I stood in awe of the sacred Clyde,

in the cusp greeting old age,

our river without a pulse, the Clyde died.