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A few
years ago I took advantage of a ‘window of opportunity’ during the first 2
weeks of March to visit my Native City--St.Kentigern’s ‘Glaschu’
aka St.Mungo’s Glasgow.
I arrived
armed with raincoat, sweaters and a camera on what I hoped would be a
revisitation to the scenes of my childhood. Alas the Politicians had
beaten me to it, and many of the old haunts are now but a memory. I was
particularly interested in visiting the Gorbals area and as I made my way
from Queens Park to Eglinton Toll, much seemed the ‘same’. However from
there on the ‘dream was shattered’. Dixon’s Blazes iron works, “the Bad
Fire” of my childhood was gone, along with most everything else round
about. I pressed on and “lo and behold “! Abbotsford Chalmers Parish
Church, refurbished, stood at the corner of the new Cavendish St. I walked
along the street to, unbelievably, #10, albeit a small residential block,
and there across the road was Abbotsford Primary School. The ravages of a
fire resulted in it being boarded up and it was “under offer”. My camera
shutter was clicking away as I made my way to the front gate, and I was
delighted to see the heads of John Knox and David Livingstone still gazing
out above the main door.
Further
down and into Gorbals St. the devastation of ‘Progress’ was evident. A
section of a beautiful old red sandstone tenement was all that remained
of the original street on one side. It had been a Bank at one time and
the ornate facia still showed. At the back, the rear of the tenement
back-close looked as it had been, except it was ‘boarded up’. Across the
road where once the Citizens Theater stood was the New Version. No
improvement there at all. The row of statues depicting the Muses had been
removed to preserve them somewhere, and I wondered what Duncan MacRae
would have said about the theatre where once he had delighted my
generation in Pantomime. Gorbals Cross itself, had been paved-over,
complete with its 3 poles and their huge clock faces. I turned left on to
Carlton Pl., fortunately spared from the ‘improvements’, and crossed the
Suspension Bridge. Gazing down into the dark waters of the Clyde, I
wondered what the next millennia held in store for my dear auld Glesca
Toon.
Boarding the Bus home at St.Enoch’s Square I thought of the plans for the
following days and what I would find. Is ‘Brigton‘ Cross still there or
has it gone to be with its Gorbals cousin? Saturday morning brought the
pleasant answer---yes there it was! There was even an assembly of
worthies at the street corners still debating whatever it was they were
trying to put right in the world. I cut through Glasgow Green past the
Peoples Palace (closed for renovations) to reach the ‘Barrows’ and a
revitalization of ‘the dream’.
At
last! There were the streets and buildings I once knew. Perhaps less
of them, but still intact. Only the shop fronts had been changed as the
old businesses moved away, but a few names from the past lingered on. I
picked up some old fashioned boilings from the huge array of glass jars in
Glickmans (“at this location for 50 years”) and edged my way through the
throngs at the outside stalls of the ‘Barras’.
The
touts were still drawing the punters with promises of a ‘treat if you
buy’, their voices carrying easily to the back of the crowd, thanks to the
modern innovation of chest-mounted microphones. The ‘waxcloth’ of my youth
had been replaced with “vinyl flooring” but the methods were still the
same--”you can go up the Town and you’ll see the same thing at twice
the price / I’ve got to clear the lot today so I’m giving it away /
Cigarettes and Taabaacaa, a bargain “.
After a
refreshing pint in the Saracen Head Pub, where a picture of St.Mungo’s
well hangs on the wall along with display cases of memorabilia from the
earliest days of this possibly oldest pub in Glasgow, I returned to the
covered over portions of the Market, so thoughtfully provided by the
McIver family. The next 10 mins. yielded a couple of treasures from this
Aladdin’s cave of books, oddments and assorted junk.; 2 copies of the
collected works of Robert Burns, one a rare edition, for a few pounds! I
could have spent a week looking through the stalls but time was pressing
and I contented myself with a last purchase of a Scottish Brass plate and
a silver Sherry goblet, both at bargain prices. The vendors were happy, I
was happy, and everything was right with the world and the Gallowgate!
Walking
up the High Street to the Cathedral and Provans Lordship I crossed over
Duke Street and passed buildings which have remained, thankfully,
untouched by the grim Reapers of the redevelopment Committee. Glasgow’s
Coat of Arms looks down from one of these tenements which also carries
other embellishments on the stone work. I had never realized before how
many of Glasgow’s buildings were decorated with our unique Coat of Arms.
The
following day I decided to visit the Museum of Transport, now housed in
the old Kelvin Halls. Rows of vintage cars, Horse drawn carts and coaches,
Bicycles and Tram Cars were all displayed in a fascinating collection
complete with suitable props. I stood beside a tram stop and could almost
hear the clippies voice on the Mosspark bound tram yelling “ comeoan ge’
aff”! Close to the front doors I found my Time Capsule! A complete
street had been built with cobblestones, lampposts, old Fords and Austins
parked on each side with the lights from the shop windows reflecting off
their paintwork. Here were the retailers of yesteryear! Blackadders window
had box cameras at 12/6 and the butchers fishmongers and bakers all
displayed an enticing array of produce. I asked the lady in the box office
of the Cinema for a ticket but she remained stoically silent, frozen in
time like her surroundings. A last look at the ‘down to the last detail’
Subway station, with its empty train waiting to rattle off, like some
mechanical worm, into the depths of the Clyde Circle, then I left the
early years of the 20th Century and stepped outside to look across the
road at the University and Glasgow Art Gallery. Crossing the bridge over
the River Kelvin, I thought of it making the journey down to the Clyde and
on into the Atlantic Ocean whose waters lap the shores of our great
Country of Canada. There is where I call home, but Glasgow holds my heart.
Jack
Jackson March 1998. |
