This has been on my 'to-do' list for ages but access is difficult as it is smack bang in the middle of private land.
This was erected by the local farmers in 1839 to thank the local landlord for not collecting rent on their fields after a bad harvest that year.
Here's a poem written for the Landlord.(source unknown)
The Panmure Testimonial
('Live and Let Live')
No folly this of man's construction,
To vaunt laird's deeds on his instruction;
Memorial 'tis of gratitude,
To caring earl, whose latitude
Encompassed tenants' dues unpaid,
As harvest crops in field decayed.
Though soil may yield, harsh seasons cruel
Unequal make man's earthly duel
'gainst Nature's powerful elements
that blessings bring and harassments.
Sun can warm yet cause a drought.
Refreshing rain may help seeds sprout.
But when dark thunderclouds do lower,
The bursting floods reveal their power.
Soil and seed or swelling grain
Are washed away or battered lain,
A wasted crop! Such futile toil!
On wonders why they till the soil.
The wind, is't friend or fiendish foe?
Hay gently drying, yet, a blow
From eastern airt in Springtime calm
Will wither leaves and blossom harm.
And what of hail and sleet and snow?
Of those, the last allows to grow
The tender shoots of winter wheat
Beneath its insulating sheet.
Today, these ills we circumvent,
Appealing to the Government.
But in those days of yesteryear,
Doom and disaster bred chill fear
Of gnawing hunger and eviction.
"Fear not!" the laird said with conviction.
"Your woes and ills I understand.
Your homes will stay upon my land.
And till the future harvest's sure,
Count on the bounty of Panmure."
'Live and Let Live', we raise our glass
to him whose caring few surpass.
Love'n'peace.
SP.
This was erected by the local farmers in 1839 to thank the local landlord for not collecting rent on their fields after a bad harvest that year.
Here's a poem written for the Landlord.(source unknown)
The Panmure Testimonial
('Live and Let Live')
No folly this of man's construction,
To vaunt laird's deeds on his instruction;
Memorial 'tis of gratitude,
To caring earl, whose latitude
Encompassed tenants' dues unpaid,
As harvest crops in field decayed.
Though soil may yield, harsh seasons cruel
Unequal make man's earthly duel
'gainst Nature's powerful elements
that blessings bring and harassments.
Sun can warm yet cause a drought.
Refreshing rain may help seeds sprout.
But when dark thunderclouds do lower,
The bursting floods reveal their power.
Soil and seed or swelling grain
Are washed away or battered lain,
A wasted crop! Such futile toil!
On wonders why they till the soil.
The wind, is't friend or fiendish foe?
Hay gently drying, yet, a blow
From eastern airt in Springtime calm
Will wither leaves and blossom harm.
And what of hail and sleet and snow?
Of those, the last allows to grow
The tender shoots of winter wheat
Beneath its insulating sheet.
Today, these ills we circumvent,
Appealing to the Government.
But in those days of yesteryear,
Doom and disaster bred chill fear
Of gnawing hunger and eviction.
"Fear not!" the laird said with conviction.
"Your woes and ills I understand.
Your homes will stay upon my land.
And till the future harvest's sure,
Count on the bounty of Panmure."
'Live and Let Live', we raise our glass
to him whose caring few surpass.
Love'n'peace.
SP.
