As it was more open to the prevailing south west wind, the arrival of the motor boat at Kilcreggan pier could sometimes be the most difficult part of the journey. However, we all survived these hazards over the three years I went there without seeing an accident, so perhaps the dangers were magnified by pre-adolescent perception. Because of work commitments of the men of the family, the journeys most frequently occurred on a Saturday afternoon, although the women might travel earlier with the children. On arrival at Kilcreggan, the village shop opposite the pier was visited to pick up the heavier grocery items, which saved having to carry them all the way from Govan. Then there was a mile-and-a-half uphill walk to the farm.

 

KILCREGGAN

Three routes could be taken from Kilcreggan to South Ailey Farm, by low, middle or high roads. The low road along the shore line could be traversed round Barron’s Point to below the farm from where a side road climbed up Hamlet Hill. It passed through a wooded area near Craigrowney Castle and some villas, steep at first, then with the slope easing it become a farm track with a field on the left and a golf course on the right. It then continued on through the farm steading before joining the high road. However convenient it might appear, that was the route least used as it was longest and had the steep final ascent. The second route was by a lane that passed up the side of the Kilcreggan shop; it was used most as it was the shortest with an easier gradient. It too was steep for a short distance, but it lead on to the middle road that climbed diagonally on a more direct line and at an easier angle. This was the way favoured by adults who were generally carrying food, paraffin for lighting and cooking, and other necessities.

 

After following a contour for some distance, at the point where the golf course was encountered, this time on the left, the gradient became steeper again and turned sharply right and went up to join the high road. However, near this bend it was possible to take a short-cut by a stile, which enabled walkers to climb over the dyke onto the course itself and pass across the links. Here there were grazing sheep and clumps of gorse bushes that in spring were a mass of yellow flowers, then from here you could go in near enough a straight line to the farm. The risk of flying golf balls and complaints from players about trespassing does not figure in my memory.

 

The third option allowed a more or less straight climb to be undertaken up on to the high road from the pier, but this meant covering extra ground, so it was used on occasion only by the younger adults with a desire for exercise. As height was gained, the view over the firth and the surrounding hills became a magnet for me. I found it difficult to take my eyes off the ever present fascinating vista, and wanted to do nothing more than stand and gaze at it for ever. However, weather conditions rarely allow the most attractive aspect, a glimpse to be caught of the horizon on the outer firth. (45, 46 & 47. Three sections from a map and steamer timetable.)

SOUTH AILEY FARM

The outlook from the farm was to the south-west with at that time an uninterrupted view over most of the Firth. The sweep ranged from Ashton west of Gourock, round 200 degrees north to Ardentinny on the other side of the Loch Long. Most of the inner firth and the land masses on either side were laid out like a relief map from below the tops of the surrounding hills. A night time feature almost as fascinating was the spread of lights. Of particular significance were the lighthouses, with the Cloch dominating. Then much farther away beyond Innellan on the Cowal coast there was Toward light. It was slightly obscured but its flashes were visible, and there was another one farther out on Cumbrae.

 

Seen from this vantage point in daytime, on the waterfront at Ashton there was a large building of peculiar appearance which caused endless fascination and puzzlement. It resembled nothing more than the fascia and keyboard of a giant musical instrument like a low upright piano, a piano accordion lying on its side, or an organ. Situated on the esplanade west of Gourock, a close-up view of that building was less meaningful on the infrequent occasions when we passed through Ashton. I wondered constantly what it was. A couple of decades were to pass before it was identified as the Cragburn, a then newly built dance hall that may still exist but probably not used for its original purpose. If it is still there it is probably a bingo hall.

 

Below the farm, the gradual slope which became steeper lower down, produced the odd effect of hiding the Marchioness of Lorne from watchers above as she steamed by close to the shore when travelling between Cove and Kilcreggan. Sometimes a time check was required, and a rough guide would be if the times of the steamers in their daily progression was known, they could give an approximation. But to catch a glimpse of the Marchioness on the near leg of her circuit, it was necessary to watch from an upstairs window a particular spot on the close-too land horizon, to catch a glimpse of the top of her mast and funnel as she passed below.

 

Being a cyclist and although he worked a good deal of overtime, in summer my father cycled a lot in his free time and spent more of it at Cove than Mum and I. He and other male family members cycled to Rhu on the Gareloch and crossed on the ferry which at that time operated across the Narrows to Rosneath, from where it was about twenty minutes cycling time to the farm. Stories are recalled of them stopping work early around 5.30pm on Glasgow Fair Friday holiday week-ends, and pedalling furiously down through Helensburgh to catch the last crossing. If it was missed it meant a ten mile detour round the head of the loch. He was a member of the youth hostel organisation (SYHA), and I seem to remember there was a hostel in the Cove area (which may have been Craigrowney Castle) where he stayed on occasion if the accommodation at the farm was fully occupied.

 

From what is recalled of the accommodation at South Ailey, it does not seem sufficient for the five or six people that were present on some occasions. Now, I am not sure if the details of the number and layout of rooms in my memory are correct. After entering the south facing front door of the house and going to the rear, the stairs ascended away from the rear up to a landing off which there were four doors. On the left there were two doors, the left hand of which I have no memory of ever entering, so may have been retained for the used of the Kerr’s, the farmer's family. The other door here led into a room with a dormer type window that looked out to that superb view, which served as a visitors sitting room and main bedroom. Old non-prismatic binoculars with a magnification of only something like x2 or x3, was always to hand lying on the window ledge. But they were still a revelation in what could be seen, and I longed for a pair of my own.

 

A third door on the landing faced the stairs and led into a tiny room, large cupboard would be a better description, with a small arched dormer window in which there was a single bed and not much else. On the right the fourth door lead into the kitchen. About midway in size between the other two rooms, it seemed to be to the rear of the building but I do not remember there being a window. What light there was in daytime came through a skylight. There was a sink, a wooden table and hard chairs, a cupboard and, there being no gas or electricity, a large free-standing two burner paraffin stove on which all cooking and heating of water was done. This completed the accommodation. Lighting the paraffin lamps in the evenings was a ritual event, and the small amount of light they gave off and their smell had a romance of their own. The apartments on both side of the upper floor away from the windows had restricted headroom caused by the dormer angle of the roof.

THE VIEW

South Ailey, with its spectacular land and waterscape view, was for me looking at it with the rose tinted vision of pre-teens, idyllic. It could have been described on a warm day in high summer with a gentle breeze and good visibility as a heavenly vision. Within sight at that time there were more of the features of life that were coming to mean so much to me, not least of which was the shipping activity. Most memorable was the sight of vessels moving down the channel and going away into the distance past Cumbrae until they were tiny dots on the outer firth. If a big ship went out and visibility was very good, its plume of dark smoke could still be seen with the glasses after it went over the horizon.

 

Under these same conditions, tantalising glimpses might be obtained of smudges of smoke appearing at the very limit of visibility, approaching ever closer and bringing with it the hope of seeing a big one, perhaps a liner of the Donaldson Line, Athenia, Cameronia or Transilvania returning from Canada. If the wind was from a southerly direction, the view of whatever kind of vessel was producing the smoke might remain hidden until it had passed Dunoon and began to turn at Cloch Point, because it was obscured by the cloud being blown directly towards the observer. With only two brief return visits there in later years, these sights remain unforgettable.

 

Among the features of life to be cherished is a view with a seascape horizon holding the promise of travel to far away lands, which at that time produced a powerful longing to see beyond the most distant point of vision. In its ultimate form, that fascination with visual distance eventually manifested itself in an interest in astronomy. In previous years on journeys to Aberdeen and Dundee vistas over the North Sea were encountered, and on other visits to the seaside, awareness of these stirrings was felt.

 

The description of the view in the previous paragraph and the longing it generated remains, in spite of the fact that when seen from the Roseneath Peninsula, only at its best a tiny segment of the Irish Sea horizon is visible. But seen from an elevation well above sea level, be it only two or three hundred feet, the difference in the whole perspective is quite breathtaking. Unconnected in time with the foregoing because it was learned much later in life, is the fact that had it been known then, would have given an additional surge to my feelings. It is that there is a location on the Peninsula on the west side of Barron’s Point from which a compass bearing extended in a straight line down the Firth, the Irish Sea and St. George’s Channel, can be continued on to the Bay of Biscay without touching land until the north coast of Spain is reached.

WALKS

Exercises indulged in by visitors to South Ailey were basic in rural and seaside activities. There were long walks in the Coulport direction by the high road and return along the shore road, or towards Rosneath by the same variation of route, or spending time playing or lounging in the farm garden or on the shore if the weather was suitable. Between Cove and Kilcreggan and lying near high-water mark, Tu-Tank-Amun, or the Tut-Tut rock, as it was variously known, was a low rugged boulder chiselled by weather, the action of the sea or perhaps the hand of man. A corner pointing towards the water had been painted in bright colours by an unknown artist to highlight its shape. In outline it suggested the features of a caricature of a man, and seemed to go by these names.

 

It was always an attraction, an object of curiosity for us, and seemed to me somehow to be connected, in name anyway, with ancient Egyptian art. It was perhaps first done after 1922 when Howard Carter discovered the tomb containing Tu-Tank-Amun’s mummy. I know nothing of its origins and the paint seemed to be freshly touched up each season. During a visit to the area in 1990 to see the cruise liner QEII when she made her first call at the container terminal at Greenock, a brief but unsuccessful search was made to find it. However, I must have looked in the wrong area, because later mentioning it to another visitor, assurance was given that it is still there.

 

Although the broad waterway was busy with craft of all sizes at this time, porpoises were occasionally sighted. Their behaviour used to puzzle me, because judging by their appearance at and above the surface they seemed to swim in vertical loops. Popping up and showing their backs with its funny bent-over-backwards tipped fin at the top of each loop, gave the impression they were performing continuous loops underwater. They were in fact travelling along just below the surface and coming up frequently to breathe. Sometimes they performed spectacular displays by leaping high out of the water and landing flat with a splash that threw up plumes of spray.

THE HIGH ROAD

A walk along the high road at dusk on warm summer evenings would involve an encounter with bats which swooped silently over our heads, seemingly intent on attacking us and creating panic among the women and children. After seeing bats elsewhere and in tv natural history programmes, it was realised they were feeding on night-time flying insects that were taking advantage of the warmth rising from the road, and the girls had no need to fear getting them caught in their hair. Apart from the familiar noises made by farm animals, night-time sounds first heard but not identified till later, were owl, fox, oyster-catcher, lapwing, known in Scotland as the peeweeps, and much other wildlife, not much of which will be found there now. A favourite walk after dark was to go east along the high road to see the lights of the towns strung along the south bank of the Inner Firth. This was enhanced by well illuminated ships lying at anchor.

THE LOW ROAD

A clear recollection retained is of walking as one of a group of family members along the shore road in the Coulport direction, with the intention of picnicking, when a decision was taken by one of the adults to buy bottles of soft drinks. A cousin, a girl a few years older than me, was detailed by her father to go back along the road to a shop we had passed, what seemed to be but a few hundred yards away but was now out of sight past Knockderry Castle, to fetch two or three bottles. She seemed somehow reluctant to obey her dad and some harsh words were spoken before she went off, while the rest of us walked on slowly. We carried on for a half-mile or so and there was no sign of her catching up, so the adults decided we should retrace our steps and have a picnic wherever we met her.

 

After we had walked back well past the castle where she had left us, we could see a little way along the shoreline with still no shop in sight, it was realised that it was considerably farther back than had been thought. As we walked on we could see in the distance the shop in question, in Cove actually, and the poor girl, still a tiny figure in the distance, struggling along carrying loose in her arms the bottles which was almost too heavy for her. Her dad had his leg pulled about it while she received much sympathy from the others.

FERRETS

Another older cousin in his late teens was knowledgeable about country life. One of his interests was that he kept a ferret, much to the dismay of the other adults who were wary of a rat-like animal with such a fierce reputation. But rabbits for the pot were plentiful, for the advent of the disease myxomatosis was still about fifteen years in the future. When out walking mornings and evenings it was interesting to rattle the fence bordering a field with a stick. Rabbits remain in their burrows during the day, feeding mainly at dawn and dusk, and fence rattling was done then to see how many would be startled into movement, for any loud noise would make them move about. Uncultivated areas around the farm were riddled with their burrows, and the farmer would have been glad to be rid of all of them. Rabbit then was regarded much as chicken is today because it was cheap, and an uncle had a shotgun. It was served up occasionally at meal times during these week-end holidays because it was free. Between that and, I expect, the ferret and snares, we could have had rabbit stew anytime.

 

Rabbit meat was a relatively common mealtime dish during the war years when anything palatable was made use of for food. While I enjoyed it then, with a growing appetite and short of protein, it is difficult to say whether it would be relished now as it has a rather strong flavour. One disconcerting fact about eating rabbit meat bagged with a shotgun was that you had to watch out for lead pellets in the meat. There was an occasion when an aunt complained bitterly while cutting up carcass in preparation for cooking because pellets had caused her knife to loose its cutting edge. My cousin got up to something by going out at night in the company of another lad, the son of a neighbouring farmer. They went up on to the moor in the centre of the peninsula, but whatever it was they were after, that too is beyond my recollection now. It might have been game birds, partridge, pheasant or grouse.

DUCKS LOOSE THEIR EGGS

An amusing event occurred during a game of hide-and-seek in the farm garden, when a nest was discovered under a clump of bushes in front of the house. Chickens everywhere were free range, and on creeping under the thick outer cover of a large bush that may have been a rhododendron when looking for a hiding place, I discovered an open space in the gloom around the trunk under an umbrella of branches and foliage. Lying on the ground in this place of concealment and shelter was a vestigial nest of twigs and dried grass, holding a clutch of what looked like unusually large eggs.

    Without considering the rights of ownership and thinking that something of value had been found, I gathered up what I could carry safely and took them in triumph into the house and upstairs. Proudly, I presented them to the grownups and stood waiting for their expressions of amazement, and the praise that was sure to follow. The eggs were taken from me and examined with a close scrutiny, then someone said scornfully, 'They’re nae use, they're ducks eggs'. The window was opened and my precious eggs were thrown back down into the bushes. It was hard lines on the poor duck.

THE 'BRUMLES'

Autumn is bramble gathering time for jam making, and expeditions were organised around the September weekend holiday for as many as could be accommodated at South Ailey to gather the berries. During daylight hours and between meals, groups headed off from the farm to scour roadside clumps of bushes, each member carrying a basket, or a milk or biscuit tin and clad in oilskins, boots and hat, regardless of weather conditions. A final item of equipment, a walking stick with a crook handle, a selection of which was always available at the house, was essential to get access to the centre of the thicker clumps. In those days in country districts men habitually carried a stick when out walking, and of course we younger ones liked to copy them.

 

All the items of attire referred to above were necessary regardless of the weather, for bramble bushes are nearly always in dense clumps along roadside verges. Where the verge was wide the clumps could be extensive and inaccessible in the centre. This was where the best berries were generally to be found, and it was mainly to tackle them that wearing heavy clothing was essential. The walking sticks were used to bring fruit laden branches towards pickers, for bramble bushes are vicious at close quarters with their sharp hooked thorns that catch and cling to, and tear, clothing and exposed skin. Oilskins gave good protection, but despite these precautions everybody suffered to some degree, and the scars of this seasonal encounter were visible on exposed limbs for days after.

THE STORY OF A ‘COW’

On one occasion when berry picking another hazard encountered was a lone 'cow' in a field into which Dad and I ventured. This incident occurred on the high road north towards North Ailey farm. The road here was above the level of the field by about four or five feet, so that on the other side of the wall bordering the road the ground was lower. The adults gave the animal a cursory glance and someone said 'Ach, its jist a coo, you’ll be all right’. So, to get access to the bushes that had grown over the wall, Dad and I climbed in and began working our way along, keeping level with the pickers on the road. After a bit we were made aware by companions overlooking the field, that the cow, which had been on the far side, had moved closer, somehow was bigger and looked different from others we had seen, and was behaving in a distinctly hostile way.

 

Awareness of the animal to us appeared to heighten its aggressive behaviour, and it started to snort and paw the ground and move about in an increasingly threatening way without actually heading towards us. We then became thoroughly alarmed, and to shouts of 'It’s a bull, get out quick' from our companions, we had to find a place free from bushes quickly where we could get up. I remember my father hoisting me up and placing his hand on my seat and almost throwing me into the arms of the others, then coming flying over himself spurred on by the sound of hoof-beats. The moral from that tale, engraved in my memory, is that it would be prudent to assume that a single cow in a field you are about to venture into isn't a cow!

MAKING JAM

The women usually remained behind at the farm busy with preparations for making the jam. But something causing doubt on this point is how did they manage it on a paraffin cooker having the efficiency significantly less than that of gas or electric? However, the stove was a large stove-enamelled cast iron unit, with a pair of round adjustable wick burners set side by side on top of individual fuel tanks that were enclosed within the sheet-iron panelling of the frame. The burners sat on a shelf low down, and each burner had a tall chimney, or cylinder, which created a draught and funnelled the heat up to grills on the cooking surface of the stove.

 

The condition of the wick had to be watched through small heat resistant mica windows discoloured by use in each chimney. In the front of the unit there were two large opening-out doors also with heat-proof glass windows. These too allowed a check to be kept on the level of the flame. However large and efficient it might seem, it is doubtful if it would have been up to the job of making much jam. When required, cooking meals at South Ailey was supplemented by using primus stoves, which were always taken with us on these weekends. Dad and another uncle, who was also a cyclist, each had one for brewing up on 'runs'.

 

As far as making the jam was concerned, what is more likely is that my aunt made hers on her stove while others carried their pickings home. If they were picked in damp weather, the condition of the berries would deteriorate quickly. Picked dry and handled carefully, quantities of the fruit could be taken home to Govan, and would last overnight in reasonable condition before being cooked. But in wet weather, and the time of year meant this was more likely, the fruit did not travel well or last long. It became a soggy mass of pulp. And worse, there being no refrigerators, if the autumn weather was mild it could show traces of mould even after lying for one overnight.

 

A quart milk-can holding about 2 to 3 lbs., an ideal quantity for a batch of jam, was a convenient but not really suitable means of transportation. Best by far, but awkward to carry, was a large flat biscuit or sweetie tin, so that the weight of the quantity above on the lower layers wasn't great enough to squash them. A milk-can tended to produce pulp in the bottom that succumbed to the mould quickly.

 

Making the jam filled the house with a lovely fruity smell, so that the wait to taste it was almost unbearable for an adolescent appetite. Then having it spread on buttered bread, of a texture and taste never encountered now, on plain (not pan) new bread of a soft lightness that made me ravenous. Ideally it was preferable to have bread bought early in the day that was so fresh as to retain enough heat from the baker’s oven to melt the butter, which seemed to enhance the taste. However, the end product wasn't always jam. For a change sometimes jelly was made, and to do this the boiled pulp was poured into a jelly bag and left suspended over a large bowl to strain. But this could sometimes be a frustrating business.

 

After cooking for the time required with the setting agent added and after testing the occasional drop on a saucer, when it was judged that it would set properly, straining the pulp into a large bowl became urgent as it had to be ladled into jars before it started to ‘set’, or firm up. To help speed up the straining, it was this sometimes lengthy process that depended on how much the water content of the pulp was reduced to, that caused the problem, Impatient with this stage made Mum turn the jelly-bag cone, winding it up to squeeze the juice through. But this was a practice frowned on by more skilled jam makers, because it was reputed to force through undesirable elements present in the pulp that affected the taste.

 

The jelly bag was a large cone made from thin closed mesh felt like material with an opening about a foot across and with a rounded tip, the mouth being held open by a flat wooden ring over which the edge of the opening was secured. The bag was suspended by two tapes forming loops with the ends fixed at four points round the circumference. A stick was passed through them to suspend the bag, and to achieve the height necessary my Mother used two kitchen chairs with the ends of the stick supported between them. When as much of the hot jelly liquid as possible had been squeezed out, it had to be transferred quickly from the bowl using a cup or a ladle to jars filled to their necks and set aside to cool overnight, then the contents were tested for set and taste.

 

After it had cooled down in the jar, the jam or jelly was covered with a thin round disc of grease-proof paper to reduce to a minimum the area open to the air that could be contaminated with bacteria. Another larger disc of white stiffer paper was placed over the top of the jar and pressed down round the outside. It was then tucked in under the jar's slightly protruding lip and held in place with an elastic band or tied tight with string, and a label was stuck on the jar with details of the contents and date. A disadvantage of home-made jam or jelly then which seems to have been overcome in modern times, was the strict injunction accompanied by threats of retribution. 'Don't use a knife to take the jelly out of the jar because that makes it runny; use a spoon'. The appearance of the jelly pan and bag was redolent of autumn.

 

In my experience the labour of gathering brambles was of much time and effort by many people to gather enough to make it worth while to process them. But an event at a later date showed us up as amateurs. In the autumn of 1940 our visits to Cove ended. The South Ailey accommodation had been requisitioned by the War Department to house service personnel, members of anti-aircraft and searchlight batteries positioned nearby, and travel to the area was restricted by the authorities. While there was good berry-picking in other areas, they were generally less accessible because of remoteness. Also, a general shortage of preserves due to the war and rationing, meant that so many other people were gathering them they became scarce over an ever expanding circle of countryside round the city.

 

After a year or two it became impossible to find enough within a reasonable distance, although Dad and I sometimes used our bikes to go farther afield. Nearby prime gathering areas were so hotly contested among the jam making fraternity that the stage was reached when the berries were spoiled by being picked before they were ripe. This state of affairs made it necessary to travel ever farther afield if we were to have any home made jam. Then a friend of the family with a holiday home in a camp on Canada Hill above Rothesay on the island of Bute happened to say he saw plenty on his weekend visits there. Bute was too remote for the normal squads of day trip pickers from the city, so he offered to gather some for Mum at the end of his next visit the following weekend.

 

When he went away my parents were sceptical of the idea that this man, friend though he was, thought he could gather enough to make it worthwhile getting the jelly pan out, 'On his own too!'. They thought he was being over-confident in his picking ability. However, the friend must have been experienced because he turned up the following Sunday evening with a tin full of big juicy berries, which he said he had gathered himself, for which we were all suitably grateful and a bit mystified at our own inefficiency. When the operation with the jelly pan began, it was found there was enough to make two batches.

 

Although sugar and jam were strictly rationed, enough of the former could be bought to make jam at home by accepting sugar pound for pound (weight) instead of the factory produced jam. The friend was of course rewarded with a jar or two of the finished product. A daunting aspect of making jam at home was that you could see what else went into the jelly-pan as well as fruit. If the pre-processed fruit was studied closely, quite quickly movements were observed which, on still closer inspection, proved to be a regiment of tiny insects having their fill before they too were cooked.

CONKERS

During this time my pals and I were eagerly searching around the local parks and woodlands farther afield for horse chestnuts for the usual game of conkers, but others seemed to get to the windfalls before us. Our berry gathering friend heard about it, and again promised to bring back some from Rothesay on his next trip there, where he said there were plenty lying about. This promise he also kept, for he brought back a brown paper bag with enough to keep our street's group of urchins supplied until the conkers season ended.

FARMING

So far in the story of South Ailey no mention has been made of the farm itself as a working unit. But it was there, operating in conditions of the period before the use of tractors and other mechanical powered equipment became the norm. All haulage and fieldwork; ploughing, harrowing, hoeing, reaping, rolling, and gathering in the hay etc. was done using horses and carts and other horse-hauled implements. Volunteers to help with the work from our group of adults during a holiday break were welcomed. As the season progressed the crops were cut with the reaper and bound into sheaves or stooks as they were called on Scotland. These were assembled into clumps of three or four stooks and lined up in well spread out rows like a regiment of diminutive camouflaged soldiers, to await the visit of the threshing machine.

 

In another field mown hay was gathered into long rows by the rake cart which were turned occasionally to dry off. When ready it was gathered in and built, using pitchforks, into a row of ricks (haystacks) with inverted-bowl shaped pointed tops near the gate of the field. Then and a low flat-bed cart was used to transport the hay to a storage barn close to the farm. With the rear of the cart resting on the ground close to the stook and aided by its slope, a wire rope or a chain was looped round the stook near the ground to haul it on board by sliding using the cart's hand operated winch. At the barn the hay was stacked inside until it was full, with the remainder rebuilt into the tall ricks described above. These had vertical sides and a thatched conical top. Finally, a tarpaulin or netting, weighted with stones that dangled all round the sides, was put over the top of the ricks to protection them from the weather.

LIVESTOCK

Cattle were brought into the byre from the fields twice daily for milking, after which the churns were taken by cart down to Kilcreggan pier and put on board a steamer bound for a creamery in Greenock, or to Craigendoran for onward transportation to Dumbarton. Chickens roamed the farmyard and the dung-heap, and egg laying hens could be heard 'clocking' in the hen-house, and the crowing of the cock sometimes disturbed our sleep in the early mornings. Farm buildings were usually constructed round three sides of a square, often with the dung-heap located within near the byre but as far away from the house as possible. There was a duck-pond with resident ducks, no doubt including the originator of the eggs I found. As was normal around all farms, there were the usual fierce dogs that barked loudly, frightening the life out of timid individuals like me. The flocks of sheep on the golf course and higher up on the moor were likely to have been part of the farm's stock, but we never saw them near the farm as this would only happen in the spring for shearing or shelter during a severe winter.

 

A fond memory is of a visit to the byre with its walls white-washed inside and out, to see cows tethered in stalls head to the wall feeding on straw from a raised trough there. Milking was done by two or three people sitting on stools, each attending to one beast at a time, one of whom was the farmer's wife. Initially, that experience generated a feeling of being almost overwhelmed by the stench of the animals and the dung, which set me wondering about the quality of the milk we consumed. Then later, seeing the place after the beasts had been returned to pasture, and looking with amazement at the transformation effected by the hosing and brushing it was given. It had turned it into quite a sweet smelling place with the ‘sharn’ as dung was called in Scotland consigned to the heap.

 

The milk collected in pails that were then emptied into churns, large twenty gallon round metal containers, which stood about three feet tall, then narrowed to a six-inch diameter extended neck into which a mushroom shaped metal lid was inserted. I don’t think the milk was treated in any way against disease by pasteurisation until after this time, which would have been done at the creamery.

THE CROPS

After the seeds were sown in spring, some fields had dumb sentinels called scarecrows, known as tattie-bogles in Scotland, were set up to scare off the birds that would feed on the seeds or young plants. The image of fields dotted with these immobile but vaguely lifelike figures are one of many associated with the countryside at this time. They usually had a turnip for a head that always had a hat, were dressed with cast-off clothing stuffed with hay or other suitable material, and were supported by bits of timber fixed in cruciform to hold the arms outstretched. They weren't all that efficient, as was illustrated by a drawing in a children’s book of the time depicting a crow perched on the arm of a bogle. The modern bird-scarer, a device which makes loud bangs at regular intervals, seems to be as efficient at annoying the neighbours as scaring the birds. Of the South Ailey occupants, the only recollection retained is a faint memory of the farmer John Kerr and his wife.

OMINOUS DEVELOPMENTS

My last visit to South Ailey in that era was in the early summer of 1940 in the dark days of the war more than seventy years before this time of writing, and the final event recalled there was of an ominous nature. Standing in the garden in front of the farmhouse on a bright day with my father and an uncle, we were looking out over that portion of the anchorage on the inner firth within sight. It was crammed with assembled shipping preparing to form a convoy, mostly merchant ships, or cargo boats as they were then known, with many dressed in wartime camouflage paint and the naval grey escorts.

 

Presently we became aware of the sound of aircraft, and were amazed and not a little alarmed to see coming towards us from the east, three sinister looking heavy bombers in dark camouflage on which no markings or insignia were visible. They were flying in formation and were probably Ansons, Hampdens or Hudsons from America. As they passed over the ships they turned towards us and flew low overhead. During the seconds of closest proximity at about 500 ft., with the sound of their engines beating on us with almost physical violence, we literally cringed with apprehension at the impression that we were about to be attacked. However, they flew on up Loch Long and we lost sight of them as they passed over the high ground.

THE EMPIRE EXHIBITION

The 1988 Garden Festival on the site of the former Prince's Dock and Plantation, Mavisbank and General Terminus Quays, was considered to have been a gigantic spectacle that was advertised as the local event of the century. But the Empire Exhibition in Bellahouston Park during the 1938 summer of wet weather was, in the view of people who had visited both, much better. The Garden Festival aimed at an attendance of around three million visitors, and that figure was actually achieved. But the Empire exhibition attracted over twelve million to a display area that covered almost the entire park, an area half as large again as that of the Festival site. There are enduring structures of stone and brick surviving from the Exhibition, but little or nothing remains of the Festival. Around the turn of the 20^th century a hospital had been built in the north-west corner of the park

 

One of the buildings from the Exhibition, the quite substantial Palace Of Art can be seen in the park today. Twenty and more years after the Garden Festival, other than a few show houses, does any of it still exist? After seven decades, masonry simulating a ship’s prow and part of a restaurant is still visible at the western end of the drumlin ridge in Bellahouston Park, complete with a commemorative plaque. Also, the Palace of Engineering was dismantled and the materials transported to Prestwick airport, where it was re-erected and used as headquarters for Scottish Aviation (now British Aerospace). It can still be seen today in good condition on the north east side of the airport runway. It’s interesting to learn that a military hospital was built c1900 in the south-west corner of the park to treat the wounded returning from the Boer war (48, 49 & 50), and the ground had to be cleared for the exhibition.

 

While my single visit to the Festival was enjoyable, the Exhibition was superior in nearly every way, and this is despite having been staged at a time of deep gloom and apprehension due to the international situation, because it was obvious that war would not be long in coming. A comprehensive description of both events can be obtained from photographs, films, books and the internet. With the Exhibition located quite near us we were subjected to the full impact of its presence, and I wonder now if there would have been visits other than the one with the school if we had lived outwith the city. Some of the observations set down here are personal recollections.

OPENING DAY

The Empire Exhibition was opened on 3^rd May 1938 by King George VI accompanied by Queen Elizabeth the now deceased Queen Mother. As it was nearby and provided the ideal location for the proceedings to be witnessed by a large number of people, the opening ceremony was conducted in Ibrox Park (51). The royal party then toured the exhibition and departed heading west to open a factory in Hillington Estate. Thereafter they boarded the royal train at Hillington station to visit and probably stay at the residence of a member of the nobility in Renfrewshire. Leaving Bellahouston part of the route they were to take on was along Mosspark Drive, so Mum, still the inveterate ‘royals’ watcher, decided to take me along and look for a vantage point to see them. From a number of possible locations along the route she chose the gusset at the corner of the Drive and Paisley Road West.

 

We saw them here, passing along Mosspark Drive at Paisley Road West on the way to Hillington. The recollection is clear of standing beside my mother and looking through the railings which overlook the then vacant triangular grassy plot at the junction. They travelled in an open limousine (or perhaps one with an open rear section) and were clearly visible from this slight elevation, from where we could look over the heads of the line of spectators ranged along the pavement edge in the north side of the Drive. It seems likely the route along Bellahouston Drive would have been chosen because it passed through the housing scheme of Mosspark, with its comparatively new houses, neatly laid out gardens and tree lined streets, rather than the more mundane Paisley Road West. This showpiece Corporation housing development had been completed in 1925.

 

Entry to the Exhibition was similar in terms of relative money value compared with that for the Festival, but as money was scarce in the 1930s it is remarkable that so many local people were able to visit it. Three visits are recalled, the first of which was as part of a family group that included grandparents Mary and Joe Chambers. It was early in the season probably on an evening during the first week and may have been the opening day. We walked up Craigton Road and Jura Street as part of a continuous stream of people from Govan district going to and returning from the park. Most were like us intending simply to look in from outside. After walking along Paisley Road West for a while, taking in the spectacle that by comparison was similar in attraction to having a Disneyland Park planted in Glasgow, when Granda Joe said, in his east coast dialect, 'Let's gae in, c'mon an eh'll treat ye a'. With a surge of excitement in we went, for me it really was like going into wonderland.

 

It was probably the first time my parents had seen anything like this, but Mary and Joe may have visited previous exhibitions in Kelvingrove in 1901 and 1911 which had been equally grand if perhaps on a smaller scale,. Inside the park we walked about in the pleasantly mild spring evening looking at the multitude of interesting sights, while I resolved, with complete disregard of the impossible financial outlay to explore as much as possible over the coming months. On that visit I undoubtedly suffered from over exposure to fascinating sights which, were they encountered singly, would have been so fixed in my memory as to be recallable today. With a few exceptions, they are hazy impressions made difficult to disentangle for description.

 

The second visit was with St. Constantine’s Primary School on a day of heavy rain, when all the children were transported from Craigton Road the short distance on a few specially laid on trams. The occasion was a bit of a disaster for me. Within a short time I became separated from the others, and after looking about unsuccessfully with rising panic it seemed the best thing to do would be to make my own way home. This I did, but later realised that I should have looked for an official and reported my predicament, for there would have been a system in operation which would have reunited me with the school party.

 

Arriving home long before the expected time caused a sensation, and on telling the story of what had occurred there were expressions of disbelief at how I had been so practical. To tell the truth the weather was so wet we had all quickly become soaked, and I was grateful for the opportunity to go home for a change of clothes. I had a few pennies in my pocket and one of them enabled me to take a number 7 tram from Jura Street to Crossloan Road and walk home from there. In contrast to what would have happened if a similar situation should occur today, there's no recollection that the school authorities noticed my disappearance.

TAIT'S TOWER

The main highlight of any visit was to take a lift to the top of the tower which was named after its designer. The tower (52) had viewing platforms set on three levels at the top for which different charges were in force according to which one you went to. Although contemporary photographs and illustrations appear to suggest there were four levels, what looks like the top platform is actually a roof over the topmost level. It was again Granda Joe who took me up on another visit. There's no memory of there being the almost permanent queue for the lifts as there was for the Clydesdale Bank Tower at the Festival.

 

On this, the third visit, we went up to the highest level, but because I suffer from agoraphobia (fear of heights) I did not enjoy the experience. It affected me so much that standing with my back firmly pressed against the rear wall I could only look out over the city at the fascinating view, between the legs of spectators who crowded the rail, and the heavy wire mesh parapet. With a height of 250ft Tait's tower was taller than the Clydesdale Tower at the Garden Festival. In addition, as it stood on top of the ridge it had about a hundred and fifty feet of a start, so that its top must have been something like 400ft above the level of the surrounding land. In my collection of memorabilia there is an official folder with strip photographs which show interesting, though not very clear, panoramic views all round taken from the top of the tower.

THE NARROW GAUGE RAILWAY

The amusement park occupied a large area in the south east corner at Dumbreck Road and Mosspark Boulevard and the railway was laid out in it. Two trains were constructed to a scale of about one tenth full size, but the line covered a much smaller area than the one at the Festival. The Exhibition line was a few hundred yards of single track, with a return loop at either end and a passing loop in the centre, with about five minutes running time from end to end. Needless to say in the eyes of a seven year old budding railway enthusiast it was the last word in technical sophistication. I wanted to spend all of each visit on it or to simply stand by to watch. During the summer there was even a collision after the telephone signalling system developed a fault. The trains met head-on on a single track section and a number of people were slightly injured.

 

The locomotives (53) were coal-fired, steam propelled scale models built to the standards of the time, which might be thought somewhat lower than similar professionally built models of the present day such as those at the Festival. But having seen a good photograph of them being delivered from the manufacturers and on the web site, it appears they were as good in their detail and finish as might be expected today. However, some of that detail, which seemed currently to be made of plastic, would have then been as in the prototype, in metal. As models of contemporary locomotives such as my prized possession, the late lamented tin-plate model, they were fair representations of two of the then latest express passenger engines, 4-6-0 Stanier Pacifics of the LMS named Princess Margaret and Princess Elizabeth.

OTHER EXHIBITION HIGHLIGHTS

There is little recollection of the other exhibits in the park, so it will be apparent that most of my attention was absorbed by the railway and the tower. Much of the rest was in the nature of trade displays and crafts by indigenous people from countries of what was then known as the 'Empire'. An odd attraction was the crazy house, an extremely oddly constructed small building that looked as if it had been put up by builders who were drunk or suffering from the DTs (delirium tremens). But the strangest thing about it was the laughing sailor, a full size dummy dressed in naval uniform that was perched on the roof of the porch. It rocked around in a most lifelike way while gales of laughter came from an unseen source.

 

Bob Crampsey's book about the exhibition, which, along with other accounts, assisted in recalling some of the details set down here, stated that late in the season after rocking about for a few months the sailors head fell off and in falling narrowly missed hitting a woman. Giant candy lollipops were on sale for a shilling, at a time when my pocket money was a half-penny a day. A shilling then was roughly equivalent in value to about £2 today. The lollipop was of fruit rock type candy, and must have been six inches in diameter and a quarter inch thick; enough to keep any child sookin' for a week. I wasn't fortunate enough to be treated to one, but a few acquaintances were, much to the envy of the rest of the group.

PORTENTS OF WAR

Despite the excitement generated by the spectacle there was the constant apprehension of war, ominous dark clouds of which were looming up. Talk of war, the certainty that it would happen and that it would affect all of us, was dominant in the media. Although it was almost a year after the exhibition closed before it actually began, the impression was that we were already living in a war situation, and the exhibition itself, despite the gaiety, excitement and interest it generated, wasn't free from the signs.

 

One portent was search-light batteries, one of which was mounted on top of the tower which, along with others deployed round its base, were used to advantage as the seasons advanced and darkness came in earlier. The crews on the ground scanned aimlessly around the sky to advertise the exhibition's presence, but the unit on top of the tower began to pick out features in the surrounding town and landscape, illuminating them with a brilliant finger of light. After a time it was observed that they were often directed at the same spot to the north-west. Granda Joe who had recently retired from work at this time, said they would be illuminating what was to be the biggest ship in the world, the liner Queen Elizabeth, which was at that time fitting out in the basin at John Brown’s shipyard in Clydebank where he had worked.

 

In a more ominous but nevertheless spectacular development, aeroplanes, RAF Hawker Hinds from the 602 City of Glasgow Squadron based at Renfrew aerodrome, slow lumbering biplanes of the time, began flying round the exhibition in the evenings (54a & b). The searchlight batteries were of course set up to find aeroplanes aloft during darkness so the Hinds, too were picked out and illuminated by the lights. Initially, the beams had to search around to find them then the others immediately converged to bathe it in a brilliant pool of light. In an age when a plane in the sky still drew all eyes, this display made a powerful impression. In addition to advertising the Exhibition, the intention was probably to train and display the skill of the searchlight operators and show off the aircraft. A single illuminated plane was a remarkable sight until they began arriving in flights of three or more, and perhaps as many as half-a-dozen, which created a sensation with everyone for miles around looking up open-mouthed. See the cutting from The Herald of 1/4/93.

 

That display was deceptive. Under wartime conditions enemy planes would not obligingly linger in the vicinity of searchlights, or fly around at the convenient low height of under a thousand feet, indeed low enough for them to be illuminated by the street lights never mind the bright lights of the Exhibition itself. They certainly would not do so at a slow speed and make wide stately turns, making it easy for the searchlights to catch and follow them. A later development was more sinister when anti-aircraft guns were brought in to practise with blank ammunition. I remember standing in Hutton Drive on a particular evening, watching the flight of planes clearly visible above the roof ridge of the terrace in St. Kenneth Drive, with each one was dazzlingly illuminated. This scene was accompanied by the sound of the guns which were to be the main audible feature of air raids during the coming war. The exhibition closed on 29^th October, and 602 Squadron was equipped with Spitfires in May 1939.

PUBLIC TRANSPORT, THE EXPANSION OF THE TRAMWAY SYSTEM FOR THE EXHIBITION

Day trips by train to Glasgow could be undertaken by visitors from as far away as London, which allowed about four hours at the exhibition although it meant a very early departure from the south and a late return. Existing tram services were augmented and new ones added to cater for the great multitude of visitors. Additions were made to the track with junctions being added to the existing network to give greater flexibility. The first change in our district was made in Govan Road at Golspie Street. A second double junction was installed here that allowed a special service from the Renfrew direction to join the number 7 tram route and turn into Golspie Street to proceed up to Bellahouston. At the other end of this branch, at Jura Street, a completely new two-way double junction was installed giving access to Paisley Road West in both directions.

 

Other changes were made in the not quite completed loop of track round Bellahouston Park itself, on what was part of the number 3 service through Pollokshields. This section ran for three-quarters of a mile along reserved ballasted track from Dumbreck Road between the park and Mosspark Boulevard to the end of the line near Corkerhill Road. This line was extended round into the latter road and down the hill, also on reserved track but with a cobbled surface bounded on each side by a narrow island pavement, to Paisley Road West where yet another two-way double junction was installed. The short stretch of Corkerhill Road between the Boulevard and Paisley Road West was laid out at that time as a wide dual carriageway, and it remained like this until the late 1960s long after the trams ceased running and the track lifted. Houses were then built on the site of the west (north bound) roadway while the other one reverted to two-way traffic.

 

Compared with the shooglie motion of the older trams, the not long introduced modern Coronations ‘cars gave a ride of what seemed like Rolls Royce quality. Running on twin double axle bogies instead of the older two axle rigid frame truck, these and the service alterations made a significant improvement in the flexibility, comfort and carrying capacity of the tram services. Apart from increasing the frequency of existing services, additional routes were introduced for the duration of the exhibition. One carried spectators from the city all the way round the park, except of course for the short trackless section in Dumbreck Road between Nithsdale Road and Paisley Road West.

 

Some of the older trams were withdrawn from service to be rebuilt and adapted for advertising and, decorated with lights, posters and slogans they trundled round the streets having been set up as brilliant mobile advertising hoardings. That was an unprecedented innovation, for up to then no adverts were permitted on any Corporation vehicles. After the Exhibition closed a few of the older vehicles destined for the scrap yard were retained for this purpose and were seen occasionally. But the subjects advertised were confined to mainly civic services, such as displaying information about exhibitions in municipal halls.

A GROWING LOVE OF TRAVEL

Around this time I became aware of an urge to know more about regions outwith the locality of my home. A desire to travel was developing and I longed to be able go exploring, to go anywhere with anyone willing to take me. From an early age I went for walks with Mum and Dad and most frequently Granda, and on summer evening and weekends occasionally the family went on bus runs. There were the trips to ILP social gatherings, holiday journeys to Cove, Aberdeen, Arbroath and Dundee, Stranraer, Rothesay, Ayr and other place. All of which I found so interesting that they produced a powerful desire for more.

 

There were further expeditions during holidays spent in distant places. From Aberdeen we travelled to Lossiemouth to see Prime Minister Ramsay McDonald’s house (55), and Inverness and visited Loch Ness (56). From Stranraer we went on that day trip to Portrush (described previously?) But my greatest desire was to travel to England and abroad which wasn't achieved until I was serving the (mandatory at that time) eighteen months National Service from March 1949. A further manifestation was that as travel experience grew, an overall picture of places visited and passed through stayed with me. This enabled their locations in relation to each other to be visualised, rather like having a great expanding map building up in my mind.

EXPANDING HORIZONS

Then a craving for new horizons took off in the ultimate but unexpected direction. Visits to the local library caused an interest in astronomy developed, and among the tiny range of magazines of the time, tiny compared with what is available today, I noticed in Dick’s newsagents shop in Kennedar Drive a copy of Astounding Science Fiction magazine which came out monthly, and pestered my parents to buy it for me without success. Popular science fiction, then in its early infancy, was regarded in much the same way as soft porn is today. Indeed much SF contained elements of this to boost sales, which made it into something to be avoided by staid readers, who knew nothing about it but who might otherwise have found it to their liking. The converse of that will also be true; anyone looking for porn might have been attracted to SF and liked it too.

 

Amazing Stories, really a much better quality magazine was discovered at a later date. In 1939 some old copies of Astounding were acquired and kept for a number of years. How this came about I have no idea now as they cost something like 6d a copy, so that I would have had to save my meagre pocket money for two weeks to have enough for one issue, and this was beyond me. But it was Amazing I cherished beyond any other reading material which in the very early days of SF became the best of its kind.

 

When my father became aware of my interested in what to him was an arcane subject, he displayed an attitude of indifference towards astronomy and was scornful of science fiction and the very idea of space travel. He regarded the latter in the same light as astrology saying it could never happen, a view held by most people, even by some who were interested in the subject. I had never before and for a long time after had thought much about it, and it seemed that few people were aware of it or bothered to imagine that one day men might go into space. The most virulent critics of the idea were certain leading astronomers, among them the most vitriolic in his condemnation of the idea was an Astronomer Royal, Richard Wooley.

 

When asked in the year before the first Sputnik was launched what he thought of the possibility of man travelling to other planets, made the announcement which showed him to be extremely short-sighted. 'Talk of space travel is utter bilge’. No-one in my circle of acquaintances within or outwith the family knew anything about it or showed the slightest interest in the subject. I used to get funny looks from other people I tried to question in an effort to learn more about it, quickly finding I was on my own. It was many years later before anyone with a similar interest was encountered.

 

Realising I would have to find out about astronomy for myself through reading was the impetus which spurred me to visit the local library more often, in the course of which I discovered the Just William books by Richmal Cromption. At first the books on astronomy encountered were of no help because Elderpark Library had only one or two on the subject, and they were serious tomes that weren't written for children. However, one book, which happened to be by a previous Astronomer Royal, Sir James Jeans, I carried home and read from cover to cover with little understanding, but it generated a desire to know more and learn as much as possible about the subject.

 

The section of the library with a few books on the subject was searched for any written for the layman in terms I could understand, but there were none. The craving did not begin to be properly satisfied until near the end of the war, when the V2 rockets began arriving from space in southern England. There were descriptions of the weapon and much speculation in the press which served to increase further my interest in the subject. The fact that in flight the rocket climbed to a height of around fifty miles meant they were the first man-made objects to rise above the atmosphere.

 

In that book by Jeans another item of information was comprehended after much re-reading and pondering. It defined and explained something which came to represent for me the absolute limit of travel, even if only by the spaceship of the mind, astro distances, which really fired up my interest in the subject. These distances are measured by something called light years, and postulated what might happen to an object travelling at the speed of light, 182.000 miles per second. No other piece of knowledge has given such a surge to my interest in any subject since I made that discovery. People who knew of this secondary obsession used to ask if I hadn't at any time considered taking up the subject seriously as a career move. But the technicalities required the ability with mathematics, geometry, and trigonometry I never possessed.

 

Would the reader consider it possible to be able to see light actually travelling? It could be stated that every instant your eyes are open you see light moving, but what is meant here is to see the actual photons moving. An experience when watching searchlights in action during the war produced a phenomenon, the explanation for which did not surface until much later, and will be found in a description of searchlights in chapter 5 in my wartime reminiscences below.

 

The craving for travel received a boost when I discovered that maps were accessible. A gift of a small cheap mounted globe of the world about nine inches in diameter further contributed to that knowledge. But after asking Mum to point out the street where we lived on it, it was astounding to find our country indicated by so insignificant a spot that the name across it was in letters so tiny they were illegible. A map of the world hung in every school classroom, on which the red bits were pointed out with a marked degree of awe as THE BRITISH EMPIRE. This was accompanied by a recital with all the boastful connotations of the sun never setting on lands belonging to Britain which used to produce in me a feeling of guilty pride. It made me wonder what the people who lived in these countries thought about this. Despite the classrooms maps, at that time teachers made no serious efforts to encourage pupils to take an interest in geography, far less astronomy. Perhaps it was considered then to be too advanced for primary school pupils, but I was for ever getting into trouble for failing to pay attention to lessons when trying to study the map from my desk.

 

Reaching the stage of acquiring a map of the locality I was able to fill in the gaps in the pictures in my mind of the immediate topography. This mental map or topographical awareness expanded as travel experiences grew, so that eventually there was no difficulty in forming a picture of any area around Scotland I travelled to, and adding and correlating it to existing knowledge. While books are an excellent source of knowledge, a well detailed map can be just as interesting, and as I grew into my teen’s, hours were spent studying any of good quality with plenty of detail I could get my hands on. The Ordinance Survey maps were discovered in the early 1950s and they were found to be the best source of this information.

 

Soon the subject progressed beyond the scope for travel and began to take in regions farther afield, countries and continents. This facility was to benefit most from the war. As the various campaigns in Europe to begin with then spread around the world, they were always accompanied in the press by copious maps, and all that information I soaked up like a sponge. Aside from press archives, an example of the kind of thing I mean was used extensively in the six volumes of Winston Churchill's 'The Second World War'. Some unusual place names from this time have always stayed with me, such as Taganrog, a town in what is now the Crimea, The Arakan, a region in Burma, and Antananarive, capital city of the island of Madagascar now known as Tananarivo. Also, among the islands scattered around the Pacific Ocean there were interesting names like Guadalcanal, Saipan and Eniwetok.

PREPARATIONS FOR A NEW ARRIVAL

Towards the end of November 1937 my mother's sister Molly had her first baby, a daughter. About the time Moira was due to arrive a pram that can be seen in part in two family photographs was to be delivered from Linthouse to the house of my aunt and uncle who, after their marriage in February had set up house in Orchard Street, Renfrew. It was of the old style and was too bulky to be taken by bus or tram, so it was arranged that Mum and I would walk from Linthouse to Renfrew pushing it on an evening shortly before the event, and we set off in the dark in crisp frosty weather.

 

Passing Shieldhall Dock I complained of feeling tired, so Mum suggested I get into the pram which was of the large deep bodied style of the time and able to take my few stones weight of seven years. At first I thought she was joking, but while she regarded it with amusement, further discussion indicated she was in earnest. I was nevertheless reluctant to try it in case we met anyone. However, eventually she convinced me that it was unlikely, and anyway there were no street lighting until we reached the first houses in Glebe Street on the outskirts of Renfrew, and with only infrequent traffic including trams, with the pram’s hood up no-one would notice. I climbed in and made myself as comfortable as possible.

 

While the position was a bit cramped, lying on my back I was able to watch the stars in a segment of sky which stood out clearly in the then darker firmament in that age of far less light pollution. A hypnotic sensation was generated, and by the time we reached the outskirts I was almost asleep. Their house would soon be having visits from the local Renfrew Green Lady, as the District Nurses were known because of their uniform, to attend to the new arrival. During the next year or two my uncle and aunt moved from Renfrew to 16 Skipness Drive, to a low down tenement house just two closes away from us.