This year you made connections with new people. In the first half of the year you connected with 1226 pupils at Chibwata Primary School, Dowa, Central Malawi, who eat in a school kitchen you paid Mary’s Meals to build. This is it:
Two months ago you connected with the 1292 pupils at Kholoni Primary School, Mchinji, Central Malawi, who also eat at a school kitchen you paid Mary’s Meals to build. Here it is:
There is now around 4000 kids attending schools in Malawi with kitchens you paid for. Not only are they being fed, they are being educated in greater numbers than ever – enrolment is up around 30% after the kitchens go up. This gives them better life chances. Some will graduate from subsistence living to a life with opportunities.
Villages with better education facilities become more productive and wealthier, as do districts and countries. Across Mary’s Meals 1m plus daily meals, this will provide a significant lift to the drive away from absolute poverty for decades to come.
These are big numbers but the detail is always more revealing. Magners offer us a pair of premium seat tickets for most home games. When we run these competitions dozens of you click to donate to Mary’s Meals, putting food in the larders of school kitchens.
Then there are the regular donations to the Celtic FC Foundation. Celtic work with those who have fallen through the cracks in the UK, Ireland and the developing world. They feed the homeless in Glasgow, make facilities available to kids with autism, and generally go around like a green and white caped crusader. You have always responded to the call.
I get to see lots of this in action, there are small causes too numerous to mention, helped more often than not from people who don’t want you to know what they’ve done. There have been 100 stories in 2015 which will never be written, but will live as private anecdotes, or as kitchens in Africa, or winter clothing for refugees in Serbia. Celtic fans have been doing this for 128 years, each act is a commemoration of what started it all back in 1887.
I’ve met hundreds of CQN’ers but yet to meet one I didn’t like. Even the raging lunatics online (you know who you are!) are actually very decent people when you get them away from the keyboard. On behalf of the thousands you’ve helped this year, thank you very much. I’m sure Brother Walfrid would be very proud of you.
Have a great Christmas, you deserve it.
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Merry Christmas Timland from a hun free mountain valley.
ACGR~Corky
Great to see you on.
HH
A happy and peaceful Christmas to all CQNers from a dull and wet E. Devon.
Hail! Hail!
Merry Christmas to all, especially the Mr Potters ;)
Just popped in to wish everybody a Happy and Peaceful Christmas folks. Have a great day!
Welcome back ACGR!
HH
CRC
Buon Natale Tutti .
Auguri..
Clear blue sky / 18 degrees – way down south.
Merry Christmas to all on CQN
Jimbo67
Merry Christmas to all.
Borrowed from Don’t Let it be Forgot;
A stranger in a strange land
‘Mon in’ smiled Raz at Paddy Devlin, ‘we don’t bite ye know.’ Paddy smiled feeling a lot less brave than he looked. It was the first time he’d ever been in a Muslim home in his life. He and Raz had met at High school and had become good friends via their mutual love of playing football. Despite being from an Asian background, Raz was pure Glasgow in his speech and mannerisms. Paddy liked his self-deprecating humour and the fact he was just a decent guy. He also admired the way he destroyed any idiots who spouted racist nonsense, not with his fists but with his razor sharp wit. He hadn’t been in his house in the many months they had hung about together partly because Raz lived a couple of miles away in Govanhill and partly because the opportunity never arose. The first thing he noticed as he crossed the threshold was the smell of cooking and unfamiliar spices hanging in the air. ‘Come and meet my Mum,’ said Raz walking up the long hall. He turned into the living room which was surprisingly like Paddy’s own with its TV and 3 piece suite. A slender woman dressed in brightly coloured south Asian clothes smiled at them, ‘Ah Raza you’ve brought a friend. Come, sit and I’ll bring you some food.’ Raz nodded towards a small wooden table which had four chairs around it and Paddy sat. A loose pack of cards was on the table and Paddy noticed that the back of each card was embossed with an image of a black marble building. Raz noticed him looking at the cards and as he tidied them said, ‘That’s the Kaabah, in Mecca, the most holy place in Islam. I’m going on hajj one day and I’ll see it for myself.’ Paddy thought for a second, ‘So it’s a bit like St Peter’s or Lourdes is for our lot?’ Raz shrugged before nodding, ‘Aye, I suppose it is in some ways but in other ways it’s really unique.’
Raz’s mother appeared with a large plate of samosas and two glasses of what looked like cola. ‘I’m Raza’s mother’ she smiled, her kind brown eyes putting Paddy at ease, ‘nice to meet you.’ Paddy replied, ‘Nice to meet you too Mrs Hanif. I love your clothes by the way.’ He instantly regretted saying such a thing unsure if it would cause offence but he relaxed a little when she smiled at him, ‘Thank you, I usually wear western clothes but traditional clothes are so comfortable.’ She left the boys with their snack before turning and saying to Raz, ‘Don’t forget to go say hello to your grandfather before you go out again, Raza.’ Raz nodded, ‘I will mum.’ Paddy paused as he reached for a samosa when he noticed Raz had his eyes closed. “Bismilallah,” he said quietly before opening his eyes and reaching for the food. ‘You pray before eating, Raz?’ Paddy asked. Raz nodded, ‘don’t you?’ Paddy shrugged, ‘sometimes, well, always in school. They make us do it there though.’
The two teenagers ate their fill before Raz led Paddy from the living room along the hall to his grandfather’s room. He knocked the door respectfully and spoke in a language Paddy couldn’t understand but knew originated somewhere in Pakistan or India. A quiet voice from within the room responded and Raz entered and approached the ancient looking man sitting in a big chair by the window, “Daada! As salamu alaikum wa rahmatullah wa barakatuhu” Paddy glanced around the room a little self-consciously as Raz embraced his grandfather. He wasn’t in the habit of hugging his grumpy old gramps and thought it a little sad that Scottish kids seemed to lose those sorts of demonstrations of affection as the years passed. As he looked around, he noticed an X shaped book stand on the floor upon which sat an open Koran. On the fireplace stood three old fashioned picture frames each containing a black and white image. The first showed a man wearing cricket clothing and smoking a cigarette. The second showed a family group in some place much more tropical looking than Glasgow. The last picture took Paddy by complete surprise; it was incongruously enough an image of Jock Stein the former Celtic manager looking sharp in a dark suit.
Raz called Paddy over to meet his grandad, ‘He doesn’t speak much English Paddy but I can translate for him.’ Paddy reached out and shook the old man’s hand noticing the many lines on his ancient yet kindly face. His grey beard was well trimmed and his bright eyes seemed full of life. The old man regarded Paddy for a second as if sizing him up before speaking a long sentence. ‘He asked if you liked his pictures?’ Paddy nodded, ‘aye, very nice.’ The old man spoke again as Raz translated, ‘The first one is of Fazal Mahmood, who, according to grandpa, was the greatest player ever to pick up a cricket bat.’ Raz then added, ‘He’s obviously never seen Imran Khan. The centre picture is of his family on the day he left Pakistan for Scotland.’ Before the old man could go on, Paddy pointed and asked, ‘What about the picture of Jock Stein?’ The old man smiled and pointed towards a chair. Paddy sat as Raz perched on the arm of his grandfather’s worn old armchair and translated for him as he spoke…
‘When I came to Scotland in the year 1966 I knew no one. The flight from Pakistan to London was the first and only time I have been on a plane. A long train journey from London followed and I arrived at Central station one dark winter’s night as the snow was drifting down. I had the address of a cousin who would put me up until I started work and got on my feet. It was written on a piece of paper. I asked several people how to get there and they pushed past me without reply.’ The old man paused as if recreating the scene in his mind. ‘I walked the dark, cold streets with my suitcase, a stranger in a strange land. I recall four young men shouting at me for no reason at all. They seemed so angry, so full of rage. I thought they would assault me but a car stopped and a man got out. He told them to leave me alone and his manner ensured they did not argue with him. They disappeared into the darkness like jackals when they see the shepherd’s gun. The man read my piece of paper and nodded. He opened his car door and ushered me in before driving me across the city to my cousin’s house. I spoke so little English that we could barely talk on the journey. He helped me with my case and led me to the close of that tenement building which is now long demolished. When I had gained entry to my cousin’s house I looked out of the window just in time to see him drive away. I thought no more of the man until a week or so later when an envelope arrived for me in the post. In it was a signed photograph of the man who had helped me. He also enclosed a note which my cousin read for me, wishing me well in my new life in Scotland. I must have left the paper with the address in his car. My cousin said the man was quite famous in Scotland but for me he was just a good man who crossed my path and I honour him still by keeping his photograph in my home.’
Paddy listened to the story in silence. ‘That’s amazing,’ he said, ‘Jock helping your grandad all those years ago.’ Raz nodded, ‘That’s why I have a soft spot for Celtic, that and them being started by immigrants. A lot of your fans get it, they know what it’s like being the outsider.’ Paddy nodded, ‘I’ve got an idea. You brought me intae your home today, I’m taking you to mine.’ Raz looked mystified, ‘But I’ve been in your house?’ Paddy smiled, ‘Nah, I’ve got two homes. Let me explain….’
The following weekend Raz and Paddy walked up the Celtic Way in bright sunshine. Celtic were taking on Aberdeen and the crowds milling around the stadium were in expectant mood. They stood in front of the statue of Jock Stein, ‘That’s the guy who helped yer grandad back in the day,’ said Paddy. Raz looked carefully at the statue, ‘He looks strong, not arrogant just a strong person.’ Paddy nodded, ‘He’s an ex miner, arrogant folk wouldn’t last long down a pit’.’ Raz approached the statue and reaching into his jacket pocket took out a small flower which he placed on the plinth, saying quietly, ‘That’s from an old man you helped a long time ago.’ Paddy watched in silence before saying, ‘Now let’s go look at my second home.’ They entered turnstiles at the Jock Stein stand and made their way to their seats behind the goal. So this is your second home is it, Paddy?’ Raz said looking around him at the impressive emerald arena. Paddy looked at his friend, ‘It is indeed. Who knows, if you enjoy the game today you might come back again. Ye might even end up a Tim.’ Raz laughed as a roar announced the teams were coming out, ‘insha Allah, Paddy, insha Allah.’ Paddy regarded him, ‘I’ll take that as a yes shall I?’
Merry Christmas folks.
Best present.
A T shirt
“When you pull on that jersey you’re playing for more than a football club. You’re playing for a people and a cause.”
Tommy Burns.
Merry Christmas CQN. HH
ACGR and CORKCELT: Welcome back!! Don’t forget the old Latin.’Nil illegitimi carborundum’. Get back on here posting as before. Cmon the Hoops.!
A VERY MERRY XMAS TO ALL ON CQN……..JINGLE BELLS …..!!!!!!!!
COSYCORNERBHOY
Get him telt!
Merry Christmas,just on the blower to your better half.
Merry Christmas to al in Timdom!
Wish you all whatever you would wish for yourselves, have a great day!
Hail Hail!
RobinBhoy
Kitalba
Thanks for posting that. I have an Asian friend from Partick and a very similar story in his house in Dowanhill Street in the 80s. His grandad was a big Celtic man fae Bangladesh who spoke little English.
Happy Christmas to you and yours.
HH CQN!
Wishing everyone who logs on to CQN all the very best wishes for the Holiday Season and for the coming year.
CRC and Jobo – great work for wee Shay.
P67…thank you for this place.
Travellerbhoy….good luck and thinking of y’all!
Richie…ye oot there somewhere?
Weefra…welcome back.
BMCUWP….keep on doing it mate!
Exiled Tim…love yer posts, need to hook up for a chat.
ACGR – werrafeckurye?
TD67 – call it like it is
Adelheid…priceless, always
TBB – see above
Neganon…good comments on how things are right now
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Y’all have a great holiday!
Houston is Green and White!!
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PS…still wrapping pressies…..any ideas on how to gift wrap 50 lb of live crawfish would be very welcome!
Awrabestfurnoo,
TC45
Adelheid = Auldheid!
Paul67: Merry Christmas and thank you for a wonderful bhlog.
Nollaig faoi shéan agus faoi mhaise daoibh go léir.
Great to see some old faces back this morning.
Enjoy your day with loved ones.
Kitalba
Excellent. Thanks for that.
To all CQNers, especially my “graveyard comrades” who certainly know their History.
Nollaig Shona.
Billy Reid/Billy Kelly csc
Ps
ACGR/Corkie
Haste ye back
HH
Have Willie Wallace and family on Skype at the moment and he’s asked me to post his best Christmas wishes to Paul, BRTH and everyone on Celtic Quick News.
We’re having a wee chat about Celtic and Willie said that it’s more important than ever to support the team.
Merry Christmas!
Thecelt45
Met a ghuy from Houston Boobby Lennox Club when I was on Honeymoon in NY watching Bhoys in Jack Dempseys. Met him a week later at same venue. Gave me a cracking tee and bb cap. Great ghuy…Joe. Surprising thing about the above is that I’m still married….you’re going where????
HH
Merry Christmas from a damp East Lothian, did I really drink all that gin last night!!
Merry Christmas to Paul67 and all the bampots on here from a dark, unseaonal-like Toronto. NMSMCA
Kit, enjoyed the wee story.
So it’s another day of marketing hype, PR spin, overindulgence, spending what you can’t afford and historical inaccuracy …
It’s either Christmas Day, or simply the 25th day of December … or any day in Sevconia .
Off to the Roseburn Bar to wind up Jambos, followed by my favourite Indian meal and a bottle of good champagne.
Hail Hail fellow Tims, however you see pass the day.
Thecelt45
Still around. Hope you’re keeping well and have a nice festive season! HH
Gearoid1998 on 25th December 2015 11:53 am
HH Gearoid1998 – We have two CSC Clubs in Houston.
Know Joe well from BLCSC.
If you are back in this region, give me a shout. P67 has may addy.
Have a great time over the holidays,
TC45
Happy Christmas to all ( flouncers included)
Tip for a horse tomorrow at limerick 315
Eiri Na Casca. …anyone who understands the irish language and supports celtic would have to back it with 2016 rapidly approaching ( even old D4 West brit revisionists like myself)
That last bit is a joke, I am not really that bad. …Ahem
Do you like my new spectacles ….. ?
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CXESv5hWsAAMXnL?format=pjpg&name=large
Richie #TeamOscarForever on 25th December 2015 12:00 pm
HH mate!! Doing good and looking forward to the holidays..
Gonna pull the pin on my visits to the garden spots of the world early next year. Maybe one more trip to my favorite WA place – Accra, Ghana.
Best wishes for the coming year mon am!
TC45
HH
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CXEEtBhWcAA1Pdq?format=pjpg&name=large
For those who are in love
There’s a song that’s warm and tender.
For those who are oppressed
In song you can protest.
So liberate your minds
And give your soul expression.
Open up your hearts,
I’ll sing for you this song.
Let the people sing their stories and their songs
And the music of their native land
Their lullabies and battlecries and songs of hope and joy
So join us hand in hand
All across this ancient land
Throughout the test of time
It was music that kept their spirits free
Those songs of yours and of mine
It was back in ancient times,
The bard would tell his stories
Of the heroes, of the villain,
Of the chieftains in the glen.
Through Elizabethian time
And Cromwellian war and fury
Put our pipers to the sword,
Killed our harpers and our bards.
Let the people sing their stories and their songs
And the music of their native land
Their lullabies and battlecries and songs of hope and joy
So join us hand in hand
All across this ancient land
Throughout the test of time
It was music that kept their spirits free
Those songs of yours and of mine
HH
Your music lives forever
In its valleys, in its mountains,
In its hills and in its glens.
Our music did survive
Through famine and oppression.
To the generations gone,
I’ll sing for you this song.
Guardian Angel?
via Glasgow Necropolis
You know we do……….HH The Green Brigade
https://youtu.be/-NMWJMHtfck
HH
BSR…….Nice one.
Posted a wee pic of Willie Wallace enjoying his Christmas with his wife Olive. It’s on CQN and also the CQNMagazine page on Faxebook.
Greeting the 1916 internees’ return….Xmas 1916
https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CXEQ3kuUsAAFpDa?format=png&name=large
TAL …..merry Christmas pal!
Happy Christmas to Paul, David and all CQNrs
Hail Hail