SHEILA Templeton, who won this year's McCash Scots Poetry Competition with a powerful reflection on her grandfather, a First World War veteran, treated the theme of the 1914 Christmas truce in an earlier prizewinning poem.

NAE ANSWER

It didnae feel richt tae waak by,

tae leave it gleamin in the loam.

I kent it wis his. The hand

wis anither maitter aa thegither.

Gowsty starfish fingers beached

on glaur like aa the rest. But aat ring,

it wis his. The eagle, raised prood.

Jist a bittie chip aff ae wing. Scratted

ma hand, thon nicht, faan stars exploded

in frosty peace. An we daured look up.

Kicked a cloutie ba ower mune hard grun.

I gied him a Woodbine an lichted it. Danke.

'Danke.' That's fit he said. I unnersteed.

Shook hands. An wissed each ither

a Gweed Eel. His ring felt wachty, barked

ma knuckle, drew bleed. Faan I jumped back,

he laached oot loud, pynted oot i roch bit.

I think he said his mither gave it him.

He marked oot 17 in the grun atween us

and smiled at me under oor stars.

I knelt aside his puir syped een

an couldnae leuk, as I squeezed it free.

It didnae seem richt.