Walking back to happidays
It’s been many years since I’ve been there but today I’vedecided to take a trip down memory lane and visit Govan.
It’s nine o’clock,and I’m leaving the leafy suburbs where I live. Except for a few people goingfor newspapers and the postman doing his rounds, the place is dead. I take thebus to town, walk to Buchanan Street and get on the subway. An hour afterleaving home I arrive at Copland Rd subway station. (Now named Ibrox ) .
My heart begins to thump as I climb the stairs to streetlevel. As I emerge from the darkened station in to bright sunlight my heartbegins to thump with excitement; I’m going home. Outside the station I stop andlook all around me.
I smile; Copland Road had never looked nicer. On Saturdays,when I was a child my parents used to take me to town. We’d go by subway. Aftera visit to the Poly (Lewis’s) or Arnot Simpson’s or Woolworths, or maybe themall, we’d return home. I used to hate when we got off at Copland Rd; it seemedsuch a long walk to our house. But now, looking down it, it didn’t seem long atall.
Woodville Street is to my left. I heave a wistfulsigh. I’m remembering the Scottish Machine Tool Company that used to be there.When I was a teenager I used to phone a young apprentice draughtsmen who wasserving his time there. He was my first sweetheart!
But I have to get on; I have a lot of ground to cover. Istart walking down Copland Rd. To my right is Copland Quadrant. I rememberFrank Haffey who had lived there. He had been a great footballer and later wenton to play for Celtic. When we wereboth still at school, he at St Gerrards, me, at Govan High, a pal of his hadtold me that Frank had fancied me. Handsome as he was I had to ignore this; thereason being he was a Catholic!
But then, that was the early fifties!
Summertown Rd is now on my left. I stop and rememberhow, when I was young I used to run up this road then turn the corner in toClynder.St. Here were the corporation baths and here I learned to swim. I’dhave a wooden thrupenny, clutched in my hand. Either my mother or father wouldhave given me the money. When my father was giving it to me he’d make a game ofit. He’d hold out his two upturned clenched hands. In these fingers, callusedand scarred by working at a foundry, was the hidden three-penny piece. I’d haveto prise each finger up to find it!
I walk again but only for about one hundred yards. This isit!
It’s hard to believe that once I had lived here in atenement. That I had shouted up to the window for a ‘piece’ that I had playedin streets, closes and backcourts, jumped dykes, roller skated, rang folks’door bells, and took part in back court concerts. And lastly, winched in thedraughty back close!
Looking around me, I’m totally disorientated; the area istotally changed. There are new houses, new streets. It’s hard to visualizewhere 49 Copland Rd once stood. A lump comes to my throat; a tear escapes from the corner of my eye. Forthe first twenty years of my life I had lived here; that from here I took mydirection in life and my character founded.
I am bursting inside. I have a terrible urge to tellsomeone. I see a rounded little nun coming in my direction. I literally pounceon her as I say “Good morning! Isn’t it a beautiful morning?”
The surprised little nun smiles, then in a soft southernIrish brogue replies, “It is indeed. It’s a beautiful day”
But I’m not letting her escape from me that easy; I can’tcontain myself and I blurt out,” “I was born here; I lived in a tenement righthere”
“Oh,” she says looking thoughtful. “That must have been along time ago”
She goes on and tells me she’s not long over from Ireland.She certainly doesn’t know the Govan I knew. We say our Goodbyes and she goeson her way.
Once again I try to figure out where our two up, two roomsand kitchen home would have been. Istare in to space; I visualize the windows. The oriel windows which overlookedCopland Rd and Merryland Street springs to my mind and for a few seconds I amtransported back in time.
It’s Christmas time. I’ve hurriedly finished my tea and run the two flights of stairs.
I want to see the new artificial Christmas tree fromoutside. I cross the road and standoutside Galbraith’s stores and look upat the oriel window of our ‘Big room’. Although it stands only three feet high, I can see the tree shining .(Mymother has sat it on top of a large box) The tree has about ten stubby brancheswhich look more like toilet brushes. On them, hang twelve sparkling fairy lights. I think it’s beautiful!
But then, that was the early fifties!
The cul de sac of Merryland Street. I’m amazed; nothing here has changed. StFrances nursing homes is on one side. This is where the nun had come from. Mysister was born there fifty-four years ago, then, it was known as MontroseNursing Home. Now it’s a home for the elderly. Directly across from it isSt.Saviour’s church. Today the doors are shut. I remember the days when theywere always open. From our two storey windows in Copland Rd we could see rightup this avenue giving us a great view of all that went on in the church e.g.funerals, weddings and First Communion processions. But the thing that sticks in my mind was the tramping of hundredsof feet of the people going to Mass on a Sunday and the long queue forConfession on a Saturday night.
But again, that wasin the early fifties!
I’m back in Copland Rd again. Copland Road School has gone.A new one called Copland School stand in its place. I’m just about to move onwhen I hear a bell. Children begin to spill out of the classrooms. It’splaytime! I watch some children getting in to a huddle in the playground. Ihave a flashback……..
The year is about 1948/49.
A wee boy fromthe local Catholic school had died. This was the result of hanging on to theback of a lorry. He had fallen off and gone under the wheels.
It was dinner- time; a crowd of children were talking inthe playground of Copland Road School. . The ringleader said to me,“ We’regoing up to see his body. Are you coming?
I nodded. I was curious to see a dead body.
The family of the deceased child lived in Carmichael street. I remember clearly the constantstream of children making their way up and down the three flights of stairs.
The front door was wide open. We went in the kitchen.This room of course served many purposes, a living room, a sitting room, adining room, and with the usual bed recess, a bedroom. In the middle of thefloor on trestles was a white coffin. I stared. My face fell; the lid wasclosed! On the floor surrounding thecoffin knelt boys and girls from his school. With earnest faces they faced thecoffin, their hands clasped reverently.
Holy Mary Mother of God!, Holy Mary Mother of God! Istood and stared in wonder.
“Are you no’ gonny kneel doon and say a wee prayerforJoseph, hen?” I turned to find the wee boy’s mammy standing beside me.
“Oh I canny,” Isaid shaking my head. “ I’m no’ a Catholic”.
“Och, but you can aye say ‘Our Father’.hen” coaxed themother.
The poor woman got nowhere with me. I remember saying I’dhave to go back to school. I hope she forgave me!
Back to mywalk! I want to continue up Copland Rd to Govan Rd; but that’s no longerpossible. It’s all changed. I turn in to Vicarfield St., Cuthbertson’sDairy the bottling plant has gone. I reach Broomloan Road ,then Orkney St. The police station has gone but the bank building at thecorner of Orkney Street and Govan road is still there. I’m in Govan Road now.My face falls. This is hardly recognizable to me. The Plaza has gone. In itsplace is the new Govan Cross subway station. I stop and look around me. I’mthinking, could this be the spot where I used to queue in all weathers to getin to the Plaza? I didn’t care if the picture had started, nor if I didn’t geta seat. All I had wanted was to get in.
The coal depotThis used to be right beside the Plaza. This landmark has vanished too. Ihave a flashback…….
It’s Winter. The year…1950/52 Time…Saturday morning. Place… The Macdonald household at 49 Copland Rd (I’m about twelve orthirteen)
My mother says, “ Marion! Will you go to the coaldepot and see if you can get me a bag of dross ”
I agree readily; this was something different to do.
I set off for Govan Cross pushing the old ‘Go chair’This is normally used by my mother for taking her washing to the“Steamie”
After half an hours walk I arrive at the coal depot.It’s a hive of industry. Coal merchants are loading their lorries. I wanderaround the coal merchants enquiring if they have any dross for sale.
Success! A bag is loaded on to my pram. I hand oversixpence then triumphantly I push the pram up Govan Rd, Southcroft St,Vicarfield St, then home.
Mother and father get busy in the scullery. A pail isfilled with dross. Water is added. Next, the mixture is put in tins, then in tothe oven.
Some time later the baked dross is brought out of theoven. My mother carefully upturns the tins and slides out the newly bakedbriquettes
With great ceremony one is put on the fire. We allwatch. Within a couple of minutes theprospect of a roaring fire is quashed. The coal briquette has collapsed leaving a little mound of dross.
My poor parents didn’t know, that to make briquettesthere has to be another ingredient…. cement!
Burleigh Sreet. I’m baffled. How did I get here? I never crossed any road. I retrace mysteps to see how I had arrived here. It’s clear to me now. Helen Street haddisappeared and the pavement has continued to Burleigh Street making itpedestrian all the way. I ‘m going up the street now. I find something new, ashopping mall. There are still some shops, but the ones that were familiar tome are gone, the Co-op, Boots and Clarks. It’s only ten thirty, but already theplace is buzzing with people. It really is vibrant. I stop and smile to take itin. This is the Govan I knew.
I get on my wayagain, passing Harmony Row and then I’min Langlands Rd.
There are fine tenement buildings here and below them,lots of little shops. The latter entrance me.
I stop and starein their windows. A butcher’s window catches my eye. The meat looks good and Igo in. As I wait to be served I am entertained by banter flying back and forthfrom butcher to customers. They are on familiar terms with each other. Onpaying her bill a woman says, “Oh, take a pound off Jimmy. Put it in myChristmas club”.
This comment fillsme with nostalgia; I didn’t want to leave the shop. For this is the world Ionce knew. But needs must and I leave clutching my parcel of meat.
To my left is Hill’s Trust school. It’s now a Community Learning Centre. Nowlooking ahead I see great changes. A housing development has been built smackbang in the middle of Langlands Road. I cross the road and pass betweenbollards in to a long walkway bordered on each side by trees, plants and shrubsand new terraced houses. It’s lovely. I walk from one end to the other andmarvel at the greenery.
At the end of this wide path I have to pass once morebetween bollards. I’m amazed; I’m back in Langlands Rd at the corner ofElderpark St. This area looks quite unchanged except that the road has beennarrowed by the introduction of parking bays, flower tubs and traffic calmers. TheElderpark Library.is on my right. From here I continue my walk followingthe curving perimeter of the park. Every now and again I stop and peer throughthe railings. I’m searching for something.
My eyes light up. I see it. The pond! And because of an incident here I nowbelieve I am a true Govanite.
I wasn’t yet at school when I fell in. My big brothers were fishing for baggyminnows.“ There’s one!. There’s one!” I shouted excitedly and then…. splash! I plunged in and joined it. My brother tothis day recalls how my knickers billowed out as I went under!
I take up my walk again; I’m still hugging the parkrailings. After a large bend, the road swings round and opens up. To the right is Crossloan Rd. Straight ahead is Arklet Rd. Once again I ammesmerized by the changes. Where once stood the huge Vogue cinema is a block offlats. This makes me sad as I remember …….
It’s the last day of the school term. The whole schoolis crowded in to the cinema. It’s prize giving ( I’m not getting one…. asusual!)) . But like the majority of pupils who are not receiving a prize; I’mprepared to sit it out. A carrot has been dangled at the end our noses; whenprize giving is finished, a film will be shown be shown!
My ‘pilgrimage’ is just about over now but there is onefinal landmark I must see. I cross to the other side of the road. I pass ArkletRd; then some vacant ground where The South Govan Town Hall used to be, and I’mat the hallowed ground where Govan HighSchool once stood. This landmark pulls at my heartstrings. I loved thisschool but alas, many years ago it was razed to the ground by fire .All thatremains are the railings and the gates. It doesn’t seem fifty years ago that, dressed from top to toe in theschool uniform I nervously walked through them. For a few minutes I remainthere, then, with a lump in my throat I turn and walk away.
I’m on the bus on my way home.This morning I set off from home in an exuberant mood but now I’m feeling sad.The Govan where I was born and bred is gone. The streets I played in as achild, from dawn till dusk are gone. Worse an that, nobody knew me. I was astranger!
But then, I think,there is another way to look at it. The Govan of today has changed but theGovan I knew is still vivid in my mind. I have a host of wonderful memories of Govan and of the people who camemy way. And as the song goes ‘They can’t take that away from me’ (That is, aslong as my memory holds out!)
P.S. Since I started writing this, I attended a reunionorganized through Friends Reunited. Seventeen of us met. The majority of ushadn’t seen each other for forty-eight years. We bonded right away and had agreat night. But then we all had somethingin common…………..… we were Govanites!
I'd like to Next Walk Please PLEASE.TAKE ME BACK TO THE LAST WALK PLEASE.
Take me back
