Over my breakfast, I had pondered. What would I do today? Go to town? Visit someone?
None of these suggestions excited me, and then it came to me. I'd done it before.

I'd do it again, but this time I'd do it in reverse.
Was ten o'clock when I left the leafy suburbs where I lived.
Except for a few people going for newspapers and the postman doing his rounds, the place was dead.
One hour later, by bus and subway I arrived at Copland Rd (It will never be Ibrox to me!)
I emerged up the stairs from the darkened station, my heart was thumping with excitement. I was going home.
It was a brilliant day. Copland Rd; had never looked nicer.
As a child coming home from town on a Saturday after a visit with my parents to the 'Poly,'Arnott Simpsons', or Woolworths,
I used to think that it was miles to our tenement house in Copland Rd; but looking down it now, it seemed so near.
I stood at the corner and looked all around me. Woodville Street was to my left. I heave a wistful sigh. This was to be the first of one of the many I was to make on this nostalgic walk.
The street had reminded me of The Scottish Machine Tool Co. which used to be here.
I looked up the street. It was gone. I remember how, when I was a teenager I used to phone this company to speak to a young apprentice draughtsman. He was my boyfriend and my first sweetheart.
But I must get on; I've a lot of ground to cover.

I started making my way down Copland Rd.
From left to right I look; I'm trying to take everything in.
Quadrant. I thought on Frank Haffey who had lived there. He had been a great footballer and later went on to play for Celtic.
When we were both still at school, he at St Gerrards, me, at Govan High, a pal of his had told me that Frank fancied me. Handsome as he was I had to ignore this; the reason being he was a Catholic!
Then, that was the early fifties!
Summertown Rd is now on my left.
I stop and remember the days when I was young when I, and my pals, used to run up this road to get to the ' baths' in Clynder Street.
I'd have a thrupenny bit, coaxed from my beloved daddy, clutched in my hand (With twinkling eyes, he would hold out his two upturned clenched fists. I would then have to prise each callused finger up to find the thruppeny piece.)
Happy times were spent in that freezing pool and I learned to swim.
Few yards on I reach the spot from where my direction in life and my character was founded.
It's difficult to imagine where 49 Copland Rd stood. New houses, new streets, it had all changed. I stand in the middle of the quiet road, and look around. I have a lump in my throat, a tear escapes from the corner of my eye.
People passing pay no attention to me. I feel like a tourist. I am bursting inside now. I've got to tell someone. A small rounded little nun comes walking down towards me from the St Francis nursing home.
I literally pounce on her "Good morning, isn't it a beautiful morning"
I am nearly shouting. She smiles and in a beautiful Irish brogue replies, "It's a beautiful morning indeed" she's not escaping from me that easy; I can't contain myself and I go on "I was born here; I lived in a tenement right here"
"Oh," she said looking thoughtful. "That must have been a long time ago" she goes on to tell me she's not long over from Ireland.
She certainly doesn't know the Govan I knew. We part, and I watch her, a purse clutched in her hand make her way to a local shop.
Remain standing here. I'm trying to fathom out where our windows were. I picture the oriel window at the corner. Now I am transported 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 from outside.
I cross the road and stand on the pavement opposite our building and look up.
At the oriel window of our 'Big room' I can see the tree. Although it stands only three feet high, I can see it clearly.
(My mother has sat it on top of a large box)
The tree has about ten stubby branches. The latter, with a circumference of about two inche look more like toilet brushes. On them, hang twelve fairy lights. I think it's beautiful! then, this was the early fifties! vision fades and I come back to reality.
I turn and changing my direction I go up the avenue from whence the nun had come. It's a cul de sac. I think it's called Maryland Ave. On one side is St Frances nursing home. My sister was born there fifty-four years ago when it was called Montrose Nursing Home.
Directly across from it is St.Saviour's church. I remember the doors were always open. Today they are shut.
From our two storey windows in Copland Rd we could see right up 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 hundreds of feet of the people going to Mass on a Sunday and the long queue for Confession on a Saturday night.But then, that was in the early fifties!
I retrace my steps and return to Copland Rd again. I walk on a hundred yards or so.
The school I went to has gone. A new one has taken its place. Carmichael St is to my right now. I have a flash back! must have been around 1951/52. .wee boy, who had been hanging on to the back of a lorry had been killed. was dinner- time at school; some children had got together. The ringleader said, " We're going up to see his body. Are you coming? couldn't say No; I was curious to see a dead body..family of the deceased child lived in Carmichael street. I remember clearly the constant stream of children making their way up and down the three flights of stairs.front door was wide open.
We went in the kitchen. This room of course served many purposes, a living room, a sitting room, a dining room, and with the usual bed recess, a bedroom.
In the middle of the floor on trestles was a white coffin. I stared. My face fell; the lid was closed! On the floor surrounding the coffin knelt boys and girls from his school. With earnest faces they faced the coffin, their hands clasped in prayer Mary Mother of God!, Holy Mary Mother of God! I stood and stared in wonder.
"Are you no' gonny kneel doon and say a wee prayer for Davie, hen?" I turned to find the wee boy's mammy standing beside me.
"Oh I canny", I said. " I'm no' a Catholic".
"Och, but you can aye say 'Our Father'.hen" coaxed the mother.
Poor woman got nowhere with me. I remember saying I'd have to go back to school. I hope she forgave me!

Back to my walk! I intended continuing up Copland Rd to Govan Rd; but that was not possible, it had all been changed. So taking a left, I turn in to Vicarfield St.
Cuthbertson's dairy has gone.( This wasn't just a shop; it was a bottling plant) I continue up this street, into Broomloan Rd; then Orkney St At the corner is the bank building. Apart from that nothing else is familiar. The Plaza picture house is gone. So is the coal depot.
Where (I think) the Plaza once stood is a new subway station. I loved the Plaza picture hall (I did a lot of winching in there!) I remember how I'd stand in queues in all weathers. Not caring if the picture had started, not caring if I didn't get a seat. All I had wanted was to get in.
Next to the subway station is a bus station. This is new to me. When I was young a coal depot used to be here.