The Garngad Heritage
The unpublished work

The Polis

At the beginning of 1959 I was accepted into and joined the City of Glasgow Police.   Big Tommy Bell's charm had persuaded me.   I remember at an interview before I was accepted,  the then Assistant Constable, James Robertson asking me if my father was still in the betting shop in Royston Road.   I was astonished that such a high ranking police officer knew about the betting shop.   I truthfully answered 'no' as Pop was still in mourning after Harry's death.  However, Pop did return to the betting shop after a few months break..   Louis Daly the cobbler was highly chuffed that a Garngad boy had joined the polis.

I reported to the Police College at Whitburn after being issued with full uniform in Glasgow. I remember trying on the trousers the first night there and thinking I was wearing a pair made for  Tommy Bell.   They were so big in the waist and almost came up to my chest.   I had to go into Whitburn and get a lady to open her shop after hours so that I could buy a pair of braces to hold them up.   I was nicknamed 'troosers' for the duration of my training.

I completed my training at Whitburn, returned for some local training at the Police College in Oxford Street in the Gorbals and was posted to the Eastern Division at Tobago Street in Bridgeton.   There are a lot of stories about the police but I will restrict myself to a few.

One night after leaving the house in Royston Road to go on night shift, I reached the corner of Tharsis Street and saw that about 10 yards up the street  the local beat man, Pat Kennedy was having some trouble with some lads that I grew up with.   Pat had apparently arrested one and the others were pulling at him, I assume in an effort to free the person concerned.   Being in full uniform I could not walk by.   I tried to persuade 'the boys' to behave and go home but they would not listen.   Somehow word filtered up Tharsis Street that people were fighting with the polis and that Big Robey's boy (me) was in trouble.  The word reached the ears of one, Willie John Monaghan who was a friend of my father.   Willie John was a big man and no one argued with Willie John.   Willie John came down Tharsis Street to the rescue and I had to avert my gaze as he dealt out summary justice to those interfering with the long arm of the law.  The cavalry arrived in force per 'black maria' and I assisted in the arrests.   I spoke to one of the lads involved a few days later.   He assured me that there were no had feelings.

In 1960, I met the young lady who was to be my wife.   The McLaughlins of Garngad  moved into the multi storey block at 140 Charles Street.  I was married in 1963 and have four daughters.   My wife and I have lived in the south side of the city all our married life.

In the 60's I was escorting a contingent of the Orange Walk along Shettleston Road when a red headed gentleman, brandishing a Celtic scarf above his head, rushed towards the 'Walk' and shouted 'God Bless the Pope'.   The place was deserted, there was no one else in sight.   I grabbed the person concerned.   It was a cousin of mine (a former Garngad man)? Harry McFarlane.   I instructed Harry to depart from the scene with the utmost alacrity or suffer the consequences (or words to that effect).   I think Harry took me too seriously.   He emigrated to the States with his whole family shortly afterwards.  They now live near Boston.

One night in the mid 60's, big Robey and I were invited and went to the debating chamber at Glasgow University.   My young brother Tommy and a school friend were  representing St. Mungo's Academy in the final of the Scottish Schools Debating Championship.  Big Robey was a proud man that night when Tommy and his friend were presented with the winners' trophy.   You should have seen young Tommy.   He would have out talked Churchill in debate that night.

In the late 60's I was patrolling the street in Bridgeton when I received a call to attend the death of a baby.  I made my way to a ground flat house and was allowed in by a young woman.   A baby had died but I was shocked at the condition of the mother.   Her face had been beaten to a pulp and looked as if it had lost a battle several times over with a steam roller.  It was a mass of bruises, she had several broken teeth with a few protruding from her mouth.   She broke down crying heavily  when she saw me.   It was  the girl that I had the crush on all those years before when we were 17.  She had apparently left a husband who had been treating her badly.   I was fuming with anger and I think I near to tears myself when I remembered how beautiful she had been.  

On the morning of 26 February 1968, I was at a street corner in Bridgeton when my Inspector arrived in a police car.   He told me my mother had died during the night.    Imagine me, a uniform policeman, crying on the shoulder of another police officer in broad daylight.    The Inspector took me home and a few minutes after I had stepped into the house, a birthday card came through the letter box for one of my daughters who was 2 that day.   Wee Beenie had sent her last message from the Garngad, and it had arrived in time. 

In the early 70's I was patrolling Alexandra Parade in the early evening.   I was walking east along the Parade and when, as I reached Alexandra Park Street a young man ran up to me and told me that a boy had just been stabbed.    I found the young lad down in Alexandra Park Street and he died in my arms.  Before midnight, two teenagers were arrested.  They later plead guilty to Murder.  Sadly they came from the Garngad.

I was promoted Sergeant in April 1974.   Louis Daly, the cobbler was again chuffed at 'the success' of a boy from the Garngad.   I was posted to Maryhill Division were I served for 6 years, mainly in the Possilpark Area.   It was there that I met Neilly Brown whose mother lived above us in Tharsis Street.    He lived in the area.  

I was patrolling in the Queens Cross area of Maryhill when I had occasion to go into a local betting shop.   My father was working behind the counter.   He had officially retired and was in his late 60's but was employed part time as a settler.   There were another two workers in the shop.  Big Robey was the boy, the other two were over 80.   My father was an expert settler.   I heard someone once say that he had swallowed 'the ready reckoner', the small booklet that computed all the known racing 'odds', singles, doubles and trebles, using an old shilling (1/-) 5p today as a base.   With the onset of decimalisation and betting tax, many settlers had begun using calculators to calculate how much to pay out on winning lines.  Pop, knowing 'the ready reckoner' outside in,  (he even went further, he could compute accumulator bets in his head), used to convert decimal money into old  pounds, shillings and pence (£. S. D.) calculate the amount of a winning bet, convert it back into decimal before another settler could compute that winning bet on a calculator.   Some man.   Occasionally, while I was having a pint with him in the Royston Social Club, some punter would ask him to calculate a winning line prior to them approaching the bookie for his winnings.

I received a further promotion to Inspector in 1979 and served in  'B' Division, partly in Partick but mainly in Clydebank. 

Big Robey died in 1987 of cancer.     In May that year, the date of the local elections,  he went into Lightburn Hospital.   My sister Betty was due to come home and visit us in August but I was informed by one of the hospital doctors, who had confirmed the big 'C' that Pop would not last that long.   Betty came over from the States early.  

I remember speaking to one of the ward sisters and she said there would be no objection to me bringing in some bottled Guinness for Pop.   I gave him a drink one night from a 'screw tap' and as he smacked his lips,  he smiled and said "died in intoxication".

On the night of Tuesday 14 July, I received a phone call at home from the hospital and was informed that Pop probably would not last the night.    Along with my wife Anne, I picked up Tommy, who was looking after Pop's house in Charles Street, Betty who was at Pop's brother Johnny's house and Johnny.   We all went over to Lightburn.   I then went down to Shettleston and picked up the Parish Priest at St. Barnabas's and brought him back up to the hospital.   He administered the last rites.   After the priest had gone and we were all around his bed Pop looked at us individually and said, "There is my brother John; there is my son Tommy; there is my son Robert and Tommy's wife (a wee bit confused, it was my wife) and there is my beloved daughter Betty."   He reserved the term beloved for his only daughter.   Pop lasted three more days, he died on  17th July, Glasgow Fair Friday.   Betty and Tommy were both there when he passed away, I arrived shortly afterwards.   We all had a quiet 'wee greet' on each others shoulders 

In December 1987, I made my first visit to the United States.   I was to be a surprise guest for Betty's 50th. Birthday.   After travelling for 22 hours, I was met on the outside gate of the small airport in Eugene, Oregon by Betty's husband Dan, their son Iain and three family friends, one female, two men all of whom  had connections with the local police force. One was a detective sergeant   The two men were playing 'Scotland the Brave' on the bagpipes.  They know how to welcome you to the States.  Betty got the surprise of her life when I appeared in her house.