The Garngad Heritage
The unpublished work

1940

In the late 40's, I was still at St. Roch's I remember my father sending me with a 'bookies' line to put on a bet for him with my uncle Tommy (Bunty) who was the local bookie.    Bunty's pitch that day  was in a close, up the half landing stair on a 'high back'  between Villiers Street and Turner Street.   I had handed over my father's line and was about to go down the stair when I heard the shout 'Polis'.   I was grabbed by the scruff of the neck, pulled into the first  house on the landing 1 up and placed on a chair at a table that had been set for dinner (lunch) for about 8 people.   Bunty and some of the punters sat round the table and we were blessing ourselves and saying 'Grace' as the Polis entered the house.   The Bookies  runner was out the back window and across the high back with the betting slips. I was a bit naive, I didn't know what was really happening but I joined in saying 'Grace' and began eating.   Bunty was heavily into prayer that day.

My mother would go regularly to the 'Steamie' and sometimes, not often, because it was not a macho thing for a boy to do, I would help her.  Wee Beenie would carry the clothes and other things that had to be washed in a bundle, usually wrapped in a large sheet, on her back,   holding the closed bundle at neck level with both hands.   I sometimes carried the bundle but it was a bit embarrassing, me being a boy and that.    I was fascinated at the 'steamie' watching how the clothes were washed in the big machines, then spun in a drier which was closed,  by a skilled drier man in rubber overalls which when operated, juddered furiously then, after this process, clothes were aired and finally dried in a large drier, (It reminded me of a coffin standing on end) pulled from a wall,  which had about eight bars on which my mother hung the washed clothes.  

We of course had our adventurous trips, a walk to Alexandra Parade at Cumbernauld Road to catch the yellow tram coming from Riddrie to go to 'the shows' at Glasgow Green; -  the tram car to Glasgow Cross then catching the 64 tram coming from Auchenshuggle to Dalmuir West then a 2 mile walk along the canal to the beach at Bowling; - the walk to and climbing the 'salt waste', a plateau hillock with a stagnant pool of salt, sulphur (or so I was told) and 'other things' at the bottom, now the sight where the Sighthilll multi-storey blocks are; -  and one of our favourites, out to Hogganfield (Huggy)Loch for the row boats.   One of our reasons for going out to Huggy was the big rhubarb field at the far end of Royston Road where it met Cumbernauld Road.   The rhubarb was delicious and tasted great when dipped in  sugar.   However our free source of rhubarb stopped one day when, after several of us had acquired a small amount each, we were spotted by the polis, passing in a vehicle.  We all dived into a ditch beside the field, shaking like leaves on a tree, hoping that the polis hadn't seen us but to no avail.   We were caught.  After questioning, the polis, who found out everything about us, in particular that we were all Catholics, decided not to 'give us the jail'.   Instead they extracted promises, under penalty of the devil and the 'bad fire' awaiting us, that we would go to confession the following Saturday morning and confess our sins at St. Roch's.  We were all so terrified that we carried out our promise, and queued up to confess that Saturday morning, fearing the wrath of God if we didn't.   We emerged from Church after confession, little angels with smiles on our faces.

When there was a shortage of coal,  (no central heating then) I used to go out to the Gasworks at the top of Germiston and carry a ½ hundredweight of charcoal on my back all the way to Tharsis Street.   Some people could afford the luxury of a barra or a boagie but I had neither.  Going down hill from Germiston and along 'the road' wasn't too hard, the worse bit was carrying the char up Tharsis Street.   I was certainly relieved when I emptied the bag into the coal bunker in the kitchen.  Later on, a coal yard opened up in Garnock Street opposite the 'steamie'.    I preferred carrying the bag of char to carrying the washing to the 'steamie', it was more of a male thing.

My lasting memory of St. Roch's was of my last teacher Agnes (Aggie) Brogan.   She was a virago of a woman with a short temper, who, if you crossed her and got the belt, she would virtually jump three feet in the air and bring the belt down four feet.   I did play in the school football team along with John Kelly, who was in my class and who later played for Celtic.   I remember playing on Glenconnnor Park, behind the school and my father promising me a half a crown if I scored a hat-trick.   Big Robey had a little less money in his pocket after that game.   He paid up although he swore that one of the goals I scored was offside.

I came home from school one day in June of 1948 and heard a baby crying in the living  room.  My brother Harry showed me into the living room.   My mother was holding a baby in her arms.   Harry said, "That's your wee brother".   Tommy was born that day in the house.    I was still naive at 12.   I didn't know my mother was pregnant.   She was built in such a way that bumps did not show.  I didn't know were babies came from then.   I know now.

Like most young boys, I had an interest in and read some of the popular 'comics' of the day.   The 'Beano' and 'Dandy' I browsed through periodically (when someone else bought them).  My favourites however were the 'Adventure', 'Hotspur', 'Wizard' and 'Rover'.   I was an avid fan of 'The Wolf of Kabul', 'I flew with Braddock', 'The Wonder Man' and many more.   'Lord Snooty and his Pals' and 'Pansy Potter' were not for me.   Interestingly! although the Sunday Post appeared in the house every week and I read all about 'The Broons' and, despite many a visit to Glebe Street opposite the Royal Infirmary, I never saw any of that family.  The innocence of childhood? 

I left St. Roch's before I was 12, went to St. Mungo's Academy in Parson Street for a few months, to St. Kentigern's (St. Mungo Annex)  in Duke Street for 1 year, then back to the Academy for 2 years before leaving at 15.   I played football for the Academy 5th. Eleven but after injuring a knee doing extra PT after school hours my footballing days were over.   I however, at one time,  was the reputed 'wee heedie' champion (no records were ever kept)  of the Academy.  'Wee heedies'? The art of heading a ball,  (tennis size?) against a wall as many times as possible without the ball touching the ground, while standing, about two feet away,  usually with palms of hands almost flat against the wall

After I left school, I got a job as an apprentice tailor's cutter in a factory, I think it was 57 Ingram Street.   They made a lot of army uniforms.   I remember having a crush on a girl who came to work there.  She was a very beautiful looking girl.  She came from Balornock.  We were both 17 at the time.   I took her out a number of times (late 1953). However, she stopped going out with me apparently because I was too quiet.   I was to meet her in harrowing circumstances some (about 15)  years later.

I started going to the dancing, 'the jiggin' about this time, Barrowland,  the Locarno, The Dennistoun Palais and later on, when  the New Savoy cinema was converted into a dancehall, the Majestic.   I met my future wife at the Majestic.

The family moved from 33 Tharsis Street to 264 Royston Road.  It was a new housing scheme built on the old 'copper work' site

I went into the army (Black Watch) to do my National Service in August 1954.   I reported to Queen's Barracks in Perth.   Most of the recruits were from the Tayside area and I found it very difficult to understand what they were saying when they spoke.  They had some difficulty with my Glasgow accent but we somehow communicated.

After my initial 3 months training, I was posted to Kenya during the Mau Mau campaign, was 6 months in Kenya, came back to Scotland for 9 months then was posted to Berlin for my last 6 moths.   While in Kenya, just before I came home, I passed another soldier on 3 consecutive days on my way to as he was coming from breakfast.   His face looked familiar although we both tended to turn our heads away from each other.   On the third day I said to him "Rab King" as he said "Robert McLaughlin".   Rab lived in Roystonhill and the back of his house was directly opposite the back of my old home at 33 Tharsis Street.   We sailed home from Kenya in a troop ship, sailed right up the Clyde and docked in Govan.   All the troops who lived in Glasgow were allowed off the ship on leave the day we docked. I can't remember how Rab King and I got home to the Garngad that day but I remember being at the corner of Tharsis Street and inviting him up to the house in Royston Road.   We were both dressed in army uniform, wearing kilts carrying kit-bags and as black as the ace of spades. I think I heard someone referring to the two darkies in kilts.   Pop (big Robey) poured a liberal dram of whisky for the two of us.   The remainder of my army career was a bit unadventurous.   Some officer had read over my record, saw that I had been an apprentice tailor's cutter, recommended and I was posted to the regiment,s tailors shop.   I was now deputy regimental tailor.   I left the army in August 1956 just at the time of the Suez Canal crisis.

My father, by this time I was calling him Pop, (he was no longer Ma Da) had replaced Bunty as the local Bookmaker in the Turner Street area.   He had shop premises in Royston Road next to 'The Commando' pub (formerly Middleton's).   Betting was still illegal  and Pop always told us if we were applying for a job and the father's occupation was asked for to put down clerk.   He was actually a commission agent's clerk at that time (fancy name for a bookie?) working for Andy Roberts.  

I returned to work in the factory I was working in before National Service for about 1 year.   The firm went bankrupt, I moved upstairs for a few months, then on to Shieldhall and from there, to a clothing factory in Bridgeton.   The clothing industry was not in a good state then.

I remember one night, Pop bringing up the polis on the beat, Tommy Bell, after finishing his back shift for a drink.   Tommy encouraged me to think of the Police as a possible career.   Tommy Bell was a big man over 6 feet tall and about 3 o'clock in the morning,  after his over indulgent  session with Pop,  Betty & I managed to get him down the stair into a taxi.  

My brother Harry died in October 1958.   He had not enjoyed good health, had to go up to Ruchill Hospital for an annual check but on that occasion, he did not come home.   When Pop told us that Harry had gone, the whole family, except me burst into a state of uncontrollable tears.   I was the big man, I did not want the family to see me crying.  I walked out of the house, down to Hughes's Pub at the corner of Tharsis Street where I worked at weekends, went into the Family Department and spoke to John Fitzpatrick (Harry's friend) who was the charge hand in the pub.   John poured me a large whisky.   It was then that I too burst into tears.    I could not let the family see my crying.  Pop gave up his job as a bookie at that time.  Appparently Harry had not approved of the job he was doing and this was Pop's way of showing some respect.

I remember when I got weekend job in the pub that I was shown how to pour a 'half' of whisky.  There were no optic measures then.   Whisky was poured from the bottle into a small quarter gill measure, upended into the whisky glass then brought back to its original position in one quick motion.   Some of the whisky apparently clung  to the side of the measure and  fell to the bottom.   One night I remember Owen Melley ordering a 'half and a half', a half pint of beer and a half of whisky.   I poured Owen's half pint then his half of whisky as shown, in front of him at the bar.   Owen with a glint in his eye said, "Now put the rest of the whisky in the glass".  It was amazing the amount of whisky that remained in the measure.