I lived from 1865-1918.
I was from Scotland, and am in the English category.
I was influenced by poets Robert Burns, Robert Louis Stevenson.
Walter Wingate’s name is not as well known as his poetry is, even in his native Scotland but there are many people who will smile with fond recognition at some of his words, especially
You've hurt your finger? Puir wee man!
Your pinkie? Deary me!
Noo, juist you haud it that wey till
I get my specs and see!
Which are taken from what is possibly his best known poem The Sair Finger
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Walter Wingate (1865-1918)
Wingate was born in the village of Dalry in Ayrshire, Scotland on April 15, 1865. His father David was also a noted poet (David Wingate 1828-1892 AKA The Collier Poet) and, on his mother side he is related to Robert Burns (she was Mary Thompson, Burns’ grand daughter)
Wingate’s father had a respect for learning and ensured his son was well educated, first at Hutcheson's Grammar School in Hamilton and then at Glasgow University where he studied fine arts before graduating with a degree in mathematics in 1885 at the age of 20.
Walter had formed a desire to join the Indian Civil Service but, although he passed the academic tests easily, he failed the medical examination due to his poor eyesight. Instead he took up mathematics teaching, gaining a post at St. John's Academy in Hamilton which he held until his death 33 years later.
Walter married Agnes Thom in 1907 and the couple had two children, David and Duncan. Sadly his wife died young in 1916.
Much of Wingate’s poetry is written in the vernacular although he used a variety of accepted poetic styles. His poems reflect his love of nature and his respect for youngsters. He had a good sense of humour and a was a shrewd observer of the ordinary events in life, many of which are subjects for his poems. His work has much in common with that of fellow Scot Robert Louis Stevenson.
Walter Wingate was also a very good artist and left watercolour paintings.
Wingate’s only book of poetry "Poems by Walter Wingate" was published by Gowans and Gray in 1919 the year after he died but he is regularly anthologised and some of his poems have been set to music.
My poetry
You've hurt your finger? Puir wee man!
Your pinkie? Deary me!
18 lines
I used to wonder if I really loved
The old companions that I thought so dear;
28 lines
Dull tenement and muddy street
And sober working day:
23 lines
‘Tis not the silent hill,
Nor the deserted pier;
18 lines
My heart absorbs me more and more;
My world of friendship narrows in.
33 lines
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