|
|
|
HOGMANY AT THE GARNGAD HIBS
Now
ROYSTON SOCIAL CLUB
1972 and all that
Just to be sitting there that night of New Year's Eve 1972, was to be privileged, being born and raised in this poorer district of Glasgow which we knew as
Garngad. Sure Kings and Lords have had their fill, but the lads from the Garngad had had experiences which could never be relived, with characters who could never be replaced, in streets, houses, shops and surroundings that only memory could reincarnate. To put you in the picture that company of ten men, sitting there in the
'Hibs' were never ever likely to become familiar with the new name of the Club, 'Royston Social Club'. Certainly all around them were the younger element of members, and also quite a sprinkling of what Garngad people termed as strangers even although some of the strangers thought that they should now have Garngad Citizenship, by bragging that they were now 40 years in the district; and to these unfortunates the name 'Royston Social Club' was acceptable.
Big Neilly McGlennon looked around at the tables at his nine old friends in the old Garngad band, with the regard which would not have been out of place on a Don in the Mafioso brethren in another part of the world. There was no doubt those same instincts were there; and with all the rest of the lads, they had without intentions, formed the impressions in the minds of all the strangers and others that this was a select group.
Amongst the group were such people as Mick Farrel, Tommy McLaughlin known to his friends as
Toodles, Andy McLean, Bernie McAlaney, young John Gormley, Henry McCallum, Pat O'Neill, Jimmy Campbell, John Johnston and yours truly the writer, Ronnie McDonald, with Charlie McInally sitting at the side of the Bar - all of whom were trying to take in as much of the scenery and the company as their minds would allow.
"O!K! lads" said McGlennon, "the company's a bit big tonight, there's a full team eleven counting Charlie, so it's got to be a Walter
Mitty, so what about a kitty of a fiver each to kick off with". All agreed and the Big Lum
(Neilly's old nickname) shouted to Mary the waitress, "eleven pints" and off Mary waltzed to the bar, to bring back the desired refreshments. As they settled down to the drink, one could sense nostalgia creeping in, and the conversation was gradually heading back to days gone by, and the enchantment of the 'Old
Hibs' as we knew it; had certainly got more than a foothold in the opening patter. Sure enough in a matter of ten minutes the discussion was now all about days of our youth, and even as far back as school days, school pals and school teachers. These men of middle fifties were now back to their school classes and how clever they used to be.
"Aye there's not many of us left" said Toodles looking at Big Neilly, "I just wonder how Big Johnny Boyle is getting on, have any of you heard anything about him recently". "Oh, I think he's doing
O!K! still down in London yet" said Farrell. "He's certainly was some football player". "He wisnae good enough for Villiers Street team" quipped
McCallion, "same as big Ronnie and Mick and Jimmy there". "Away ye go ya
bampot" said Mick "your Villiers Street team kicked us off the park, or started greeting at the referee any time you did beat us. Greeting face Reynolds and Big Etty claiming the referee when we were the best team."
To get us off this touchy subject, Big Neilly suddenly remarked to McCallion , "Wait a minute Henry, were you in Fat Gaffney's class at school or were you in the old
N.Q. "From then on the argument ensued as to who was the best scholar; and 'those' who did not qualify all kinds of excuses were given, such as missing exams by reason of the fact that the boots were in the mending; but the main feature was that in spite of the fact that these men were now much better off than the early thirties, the poor old days, no-one tried to hide the facts, nor pretend that such things as the school board boots and clothes were not worn by them, these men of Garngad had no false pride.
The conversation drifted from school days to Boys Guild and juvenile football teams and during the banter the question was jokingly raised as to whom was general choice as being the best footballer to come from our beloved district - 'Garngad's No. 1 Footballer'. It was here that varied opinions and values were expressed and
Toodles, Pat O'Neill and Andy McLean voted for Jimmy McGrory, whilst McCallion, Mick Farrell and Bernie McAlaney all plumped for Malky McDonald: Jimmy Campbell and yours truly Ronnie McDonald voted for the great Willie Blair of St. Roch's and Johnny Johnston and John Gormley took no part by quipping that they are too young to be sure. But in the end we all agreed that the one and only Jimmy McGrory must be the greatest. In declaring this I have to mention that Fatty McCaig and Johnny Connor, Tommy Etherson and Joe Baillie were all mentioned in the discussion along with wee Johnny McFadden; however record goal scorer James McGrory won by popular approval.
Having exhausted this subject, the old boys of the Village of Garngad, to quote old Rosie
Etherson, started on another historical topic and now it was the turn of the Village Belles of the late thirties and early forties to be mentioned and criticised and quoted, and so will try to be a gentleman at this stage of my little story and say it would be wiser and prudent not to mention any names, and as this story is mainly of interest to people on the wrong side of 50 years of age, I am sure that my contemporaries would probably know and have guessed who the Village Chorus Girls were in those days; much as everyone would like to know who was with whom, and what happened to all the juicy bits. Then quite unexpectedly someone in this very clannish group, came up with the question when a voice was heard, asking how Garngad got its name in the first place? Big Neilly replied to this with a look of disdain on his face, the audacity of anyone of the team, to ask such a question; by saying there must be a newcomer in the
troup, surely everyone must know the answer, and he tried to figure out who had voiced the poser; anymore of these daft questions and we'll have to give someone an offer that they cannot refuse.
Surely you all know that Garngad is an old abbreviation used by our forefathers when they shorted 'Garden of God' to
Garngad. The old Irish people who came over here at the time of the potato famine, settled predominately in two districts of Glasgow's two 'G's'. One was
Gorbals, and the other was Garngad and Garngad was the Garden of God to them. "Who asked this question anyway" he queried, and when no one owned up the Big Lum suggested that it must have come from the mouth of one of the strangers who had tried to squeeze into the company with a stupid remark.
Anyway the Garden of God satisfied everyone's curiosity and this gave way to the conversation regarding 'Old
Garngad' and its geography of place names, its industries and the social life of the people 40 to 50 years ago. Even further back as the clan members began to relate stories that their parents and even grandparents had told them.
The old nicknames of the dear departed began to pour out and great competition prevailed between one and all as names nearly forgotten were resurrected. Visions of old Gladdy Wright, Hockey Kane, The Tin Man, Noble Dan, Big Joe Dixon, Bummer Campbell, Punter
McLetchie, Honey Farrel, Sweater, Stiffy Kirk, Cheeky McCaig - all these names gained immortality and we could have gone on all night with an inexhaustible supply of characters worthy of memory.
Certainly nostalgia had taken its grip on the Garngad old team, and places with names like Sim's land, The Bowling Alley, the Shitey Lobby, Paddy's mountain, and the house at the foot of it where the Toal's stayed and then the Castle and the Soldier's Row. So the spirits being in the bellies of this old crowd and they were all
rarin' to go.
What about the Old Mungo declared McCallion and the year that all the Juvenile Cups came up the
Garngad; won by St. Mungo's, Townhead Hibs, Bellvue Hearts and the Garngad Churches team won the Churches Cup. That was the year of the Cups. Yes the Garngad 'Mafia' were in good form this memorable night and the subjects of discussion were being
analysed, x-rayed, dissected and reassembled with the authority of surgeons one and all.
Round about these men were lads who would have given their right arm to be included as part of such a combination; and truly sometimes one had to question oneself by wondering what qualifications men needed to be a Garngad man, what was this potential difference between being a Garngad man or just a good lad. Even wives in argument would annoy their spouses by a sudden outburst to them "But you are not a Garngad man" and left the poor guy wondering what the hell a
'Garngad man had' that they hadn't. What was their mysterious deficiency? As Bernie McAlaney would say, "No bad people came from the Garngad - some were just better than others".
Pat O'Neill from Capani's close decided to mention about where the old Pickle works was sited just across the road from his house, and Jimmy Campbell mentioned that Donoghue's Stables were facing old Bright Street was brought back to perspective and the jigsaw of the old landmarks though now disappeared, was gradually being pieced together in the memories of us all. Old Rosemount Street on the Hill - the Copper Works, the Brickfield - the Madhouse - the coofeeders at the top of Gourlay Place and Old Middleton. All such places never known to the younger generations, but important to us as milestones we had travelled past in our journey through life in our
Garngad. Blochairn Steel Works, the Brick Works and Braby's with memories of wee Sammy Noble lurking about; and Ronnie McDonald the factor, as well as Old Katie Haggerty's Rag Store and Helen McCotter's Coal Rea and Old Jimmy Taylor the Coalman also, to the never to be forgotten McBrearty's - Who is last? - Well I'll follow you.
Having run through such a programme unrehearsed inviting such a variety of appropriate remarks and opinions, from the time of schooldays and beyond, we were now emerging on the present, with such buildings as High Flats in the place of the tenements of Turner Street, Villiers Street, Bright Street, Cobden Street and it was in this context that some of the 'Mafia' began to tell about old escapades, that they once got up to and wee Jay and
Morray, who were much younger than us were spoken of, by Johnny Johnston and young John Gormley in a light hearted manner as being
gallus-cases in different ways. Sure enough someone remarked the Pubs and Pawns used to get a wee turnover now and again and this kept the tongues wagging in the old days as well as being the cause of one or two good parties and sing-songs whenever the deed had taken place. Yes we had a good laugh then and the square-go was a lot more common than the use of weapons, and with time flashing by the effects of the bevy was beginning to take toll of our resistances as drink after drink was being ordered with rapidity.
To mention some names now at this stage would be nothing short of lunacy; so yours truly will try to be discreet as I try to relate through a foggy memory, the events that followed as the hands of the clock moved forward to the bewitching hour of midnight when the old year of 1972 would depart and give place to the new 1973.
What about a last fling said one of the leading members of the clan, just for old times sake and the hell of it, how about doing a wee turn for ourselves and getting a few hundred pounds. I think we could be doing with it the easy way.
We all turned to look at one another and the 'Spirit of Adventure' seemed to manifest itself in our middle ages; the challenged appeared to be one that no Garngad man could refuse especially the way it was put to us 'just for the hell of it'. "Well" said one of the lads, "there's ten or eleven of us here and if it's a fair chance I'll take it". "I'll take it as well" said another, "So will I" said the next guy an gradually we found that there were no dissenters, no-one would be shamed by abstaining, and the thought of possible exclusion from such a group of worthies was the criterion of everyone declaring themselves in agreement. The next question was - What is the proposition? What's the job? and this was answered by the member who had suggested it.
"Well it's like this lads" he said, "I know for a fact that on this particular night, the wee Boss-man in here will be drunk and all the money for carry-outs and the drawings for the last three days are here in his office and it must amount to at least ,000. The idea would be for us to draw lots to have 3 of us stay behind when the Club closes, we'll give them the decoy and cover by mixing it at the door, drawing attention, whilst they hide themselves upstairs at the stage side-rooms. So we'll have to draw to see who are the 3 to stay behind, and we'll come back later in a couple of hours time in case anything comes unstuck."
All agreed we drew lots and sure as hell, I knew Big Ronnie's name was amongst the 3 to stay behind. So, along with the two others I crept upstairs and got myself planked under some old curtains in one side room, whilst the other two went to the other side. After lying curled up silently beneath the curtains for about an hour, I decided that it was time to move over and join the other two of the gang. Reaching the other side, I found to my horror that the two boys had bailed out and I was now left to do the business on my own; and the truth of what Bernie McAlaney had said then came back to me; some Garngad men are better than others and sure enough, I was going to have to prove it, by removing the loot from the hands of this small time 'Boss' and 'Club Runner'.
Yes, I was going to be the big Hero by dispossessing the wee Boss of his ,000 by striking a blow for the old team and nostalgia, and ,000 divided by ten wasn't too bad and maybe just for the 'hell of it' we might even give it back, just to prove that 'There were no bad guys' from our beloved district. Creeping quietly up to the office I arrived at an open door and was amazed to see the wee man with two committee men and the watchman all lying sleeping with drinks beside them and snoring like well contented weans. Sure enough the brief case was there and looking inside it, I could see the notes stuffed in there as if it had been filled in a hurry. There's got to be at least ,000 there I thought to myself as I began to make for the stairs and weave my way down in the darkness. Just as I reached the bottom landing, I heard the stir of voices coming from behind me on the stairs; and I was forced to take cover in a cubicle in the gents toilet. Sitting down on the lavvy pan, trousers down and a carry out bag in hand. "Tell big
Neilly, Ronnies O!K!, he's drunk and been missing for the last hour back". "Better get him a taxi, he can't take his drink like the rest of us. He's let the old Garngad team down again".
So there you are lads, it was only a dream, no robbery, no depredation, I'm still a member of the Royston Social Club. As the man says you can't win them all BUT THERE'S NO HARM IN DREAMING.
HIBS STORY 72
by Ronnie McDonald
Now that the little tale of a 'Garngad Dream in the Hibs' is told, I feel obliged to say that there were dozens of stalwart characters that this dreamer did not mention and with respect we cannot forget; names like Punter Kennedy, Old Jimmy
Farrel, Rosie Romeo and Big Willie John. Wee Garvey and of course our celebrated man of verse and tricks Mickey McLaughlin who is immortal by his memorial verses of 'Johnny Thomson'. Also we had characters from the Garngad Hill Like Tuckey Burns and Sammy McKenzie the boxer and with these few added names I'll apologise by saying cheerio to old Stiffy Kirk and change the subject by telling a wee story told to be by wee Pat McInally may he rest.
About the old wummin frae Cobden Street who in the 1930's use to frequent Sam Cameron's pub at the bottom of Bright Street for her glass of wine which cost at that time in old money 1pence (new money value pence). Sittting down in a wee alcove facing the bar, she shouted for service of one glass of wine from old Jimmy McInally who was alone serving.
On receiving her wine from McInally she handed him an empty beer bottle - (its value one penny) and a halfpenny, for payment - total value 1pennies, then as he walked back to the bar, she shouted him back and tapped him for a Woodbine, thereafter she asked him for a light and Jimmy was not too happy about the business. Taking a sip of wine and a draw at the fag, she shouted to Jimmy, "I see you're just in the pub yourself. Where's old Sam yer boss. He's not here?" "Oh he's away to the Riviera for his holidays" said McInally with a sarcastic drawl. "Aye well might he be!" says the old lady (not to be beaten) "with the money he's making
off me and the likes of me". (At this point there was no comment from old Jimmy in this no win situation).
To finish here's a little verse to think about:-
Oh Garngad, where did you go?
When they choosed to change your name
You left, the change was so severe
Our lives were not the same.
Our Garngad we knew was proud
Our principles were high,
Poor but honest was our claim,
Facts no-one can deny,
But the characters of our days gone by,
Can be forgotten then,
If someone doesn't write the script
So the world may know of them.
A Garngad story told in full,
Would be a mammoth task,
More like a saga one might say,
And just too much to ask.
The streets and roads that once we knew,
Gives our memories a thrill,
No one forgets Our Legend had
James McGrory from the hill.
The goals he scored the games he played,
Will never be forgotten,
He went to Celtic from St. Roch's,
Once run by Father Lawton.
Yes Garngad your stocks been great,
With the people blending well,
So let your history be handed down,
Where 'Royston' people dwell.
And maybe when the young folk learn,
of your 'magic' and your 'fame',
Establishment will be made to call,
'Royston', 'Garngad' again
by Ronnie McDonald
|
|
|
