Halfway -my first blog

Hendy and I sat and surveyed our kingdom. Hendy was Henderson Gibson and lived next door to me in a close near the eastern end of Woodlands Crescent in Halfway, Cambuslang. Hendy was my best friend. Well he was my best friend when Billy Cochrane wasn't my best friend and vice versa. Loyalties shifted as fast as when Hendy thumped me at wrestling or Wee Bill slaughtered me at football in the street and both things happened often. Anyway, back to the story.

The arrow shows our building.

Our building, as mentioned before, stood at the eastern end of Woodlands Crescent at the top of Craigallian Avenue and comprised of eight flats divided between two closes  each with two flats downstairs and two upstairs. To enter our close you had to go up four or five steps and these steps were flanked by two 'pedestals'. These were our royal thrones for the day, mine to the left and Hendy's to the right.

Because the building was also situated on a hill, our vantage point afforded us a marvellous view over Woodlands Crescent, down Craigallian Avenue to the Halfway and yonder towards the Campsies in the far distance.

The view from almost the exact place Hendy and I sat all those years ago.

To the left we looked up toward our school, Cairns Primary and, to the right, the Glen,  our favoured play place. More about the Glen later.

Looking up at our building the close on the left (nearest the Glen ) housed four families. Downstairs, on the left, the Ray's, on the right Mr Russell. Above them the Irvines and Clarks.

The Irvines, Simon and Jenny, had two daughters, May and Norma. May was my mother's best friend and my godmother. May, my mother's cousin Nan Haddow and my mother could often be seen in Tony Piazza's cafe, sitting at the big table at the back drinking endless cups of tea and smoking numerous cigarettes.

Jim Clark was a friend of mine but the family moved to Lilybank Avenue and we lost touch. The Howdens were the family who took over the flat.
If my memory serves me right Mr Russell was the only person who owned a car at our end of the street.

Our close comprised of Frank and Betty Gibson in the flat downstairs left, with Henderson and his older sister, Heather. Downstairs right was where we lived. Me, with my mum and dad, Maisie and Robert Magowan. On the first floor were the Alexanders and the Finlays.

I apologise if this begins to sound like a telephone book but it is often the case that others who lived at around the same time like to recognise the names of people they knew.

Across the road were the semi-detached houses we called the Orlets. There were four at our end of the street. In the first house lived Mrs Kelly. You didn't want to kick your football into her garden as, after she had one window broken, she threatened to take a knife to the ball if it so much as crossed over her fence. I remember her as a redheaded woman who had her share of tragedy. In the early sixties, a group of kids were playing on the frozen-over river Clyde at Blantyre when the ice broke and they fell through into the freezing cold water and drowned. One of the poor wee souls was her grandson, Peter Carney.

The next house was Billy Cochrane's. Wee Bill lived there with his mum and dad, his two older brothers Bobby and Donny, and his sister Irene. Next door to the Cochranes lived Gordon and Elizabeth McEwan. I think they had an older brother called Tam. In the house nearest the Glen lived Mrs Paton who was the aunt of another pal, Jim McDonald.

The Orlets  continued halfway down Craigallian Avenue but I only remember the names of a few of the families. On the left side were the Sampsons. John and Jim were the two brothers but apart from Janice I can't  remember the girls' names. Stevie Docherty also lived on that side as did my pal Jim Mills. I remember three brothers, Rab, Jack and Laurie Mills but again, no memory of the sisters' names.

On the other side of the road I remember Jim Leighton, Jack Perry and of course the Boyles with Ed who is the author and custodian of a marvellous website about Cambuslang. It is with Ed's kind permission that I have been able to use some of the pictures on this blog. Thanks Ed. I also had family on Craigallian Avenue with my auntie Agnes Meikle living next door to Ed, if my memory serves me right.

Around the corner and along the lane were the Deans and my earlier mentioned pal, Jim MacDonald lived in a cottage here. I never knew his older brother's name as we always referred to him as 'Wee Yin'. Next door to him lived Jim's best friend, Edgar Ramage, whose family were local coal merchants.

To finish the 'telephone book' I'll name a few more names then maybe I can get into the business of reminiscing.

Going up Woodlands toward the school, in the first close lived Ralph Yardley, Elizabeth McCutcheon and Tom Brown who moved away to Burnside about 1960. Further along lived Jimmy Cooper and Billy Winning and Harry Keary. (Sorry if the spelling is all to pot, folks.)

Ross Thompson was another friend who lived on Rosebank Ave. He had a brother by the name of Archie.

We never knew the Auld Kirk Road as such. We always just called it the 'Back roads.' The only names I remember from there were Lucky Shearer and the murderer, McGilvray. My mother told me that McGilvray was a quiet lad who would often walk me in my pram for her so she was shocked when she learned that he had killed someone. On the subject of murder, it was also in the mid fifties when we had a serial killer on the loose in Lanarkshire. He was an American born man called Peter Manuel who is believed to have murdered nine people. I remember as a wee five year old hearing stories about him prowling about in the Glen. It was nonsense of course. We all tried to impress each other by tales of personal sightings of the monster. Manuel was hanged at Barlinnie prison in 1958. As was usual, loudspeaker vans were out selling special edition newspapers immediately after the occasion and that is my only memory of the event.

We tended to play with those who lived in the immediate neighbourhood, rather than classmates who lived elsewhere. There are a few names I remember from Cairns Primary school: Archie Patterson was one name. Another was Ian Collingham who lived above the CO-OP on Hamilton Road. Then there were John Simpson and John Smith, both of whom lived on Cairnswell Avenue. I can't remember many of the girls at school, but two who spring to mind were Janice Hughes and June Fleming.

Phew! There were a few names to conjure with.

My family were from the Halfway except for my maternal grandmother who hailed from Springwell Terrace in Blantyre. Her name was Martha Graham and she was from a Blantyre mining family of eight. She married my grandfather, George Meikle from Castle Chimmins Avenue. He was also a coal miner and they lived in a building beside Gateside Pit about where MacDougal Drive is now. I never knew my grandfather though as he died in 1939 at Tynecastle Park in Edinburgh watching his beloved Celtic in a cup-tie against Hearts.

The building where my mother grew up.

The cause of his death could be up for discussion as although the official version was that he died of a heart attack, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law, both experienced miners who identified his body were convinced by the appearance and colour of the skin that the real cause was gas poisoning. He was a safety officer at his pit and on the morning of the game he closed some of the workings due to the presence of gas. He had complained of feeling unwell all day and collapsed and died at the match. The family's suspicion at the time was that death was attributed to heart disease in order that the colliery could not be found liable to compensation claims.

Their daughter, Martha, usually known as Maisie was my mother and was an only child. She went to Gateside school.

Some years after George's death, my granny married again to the man I always knew as my Grampa, Thomas Weanie. Tammy, as he was known, was born and brought up at 5 Mill Road. He served in the Royal Engineers in the first world war in Egypt, Gallipoli and France before returning to the Halfway where he worked as a coal miner for the rest of his life. He married Agnes Thomson and they had two daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret. Lizzie married a Welsh soldier called Hubert King then moved to Wales before spending many years in East Africa, returning to Wales in 1961. Betty died in 2013. Her sister, Margaret, tragically died young and within a short time her mother also passed away.

Tammy visited their grave at Westburn cemetery every Sunday and it was there that he struck up a friendship with my granny who was also there to tend her husband's grave, the two of them accompanying each other on the walk back to the village. The friendship grew and after the second war they married. My granny was a staunch member of Flemingston church and the Women's Guild and the minister, Mr Sillers, was a frequent visitor to their home. Tammy's hobby was the bowls and he was a keen member of the Halfway Bowling Club.

The two of us spent many a Sunday walking in the area when he would point out his old workplaces, the now disused pits, and tell me stories of working underground. We would walk for miles and my wee legs never seemed to tire when I was with him. The occasional bar of Fry's Five Boys chocolate helped a little bit as well.

He pointed out things that I would never have noticed, such as the wartime aircraft searchlight overgrown with grass near Kirkhill Station, or the ice cold spring on the East Kilbride side of Dechmont Hill. He would buy me a cone at Piazza's cafe, probably to keep me quiet, then we would go across the road to the courtyard behind the old tenement building where he would play pitch and toss beside the wash houses.

The pitch and toss was behind the building on the right.

My father's family also lived in the Halfway and my father was born in 1929 in the family home at 46 Gateside Avenue. My grandfather was Alexander Magowan (Papa) and my grandmother Mary Magowan (nee Eadie). My father was Robert Magowan and he went to Hallside Primary and then later to Hamilton Academy. He had three brothers and two sisters - George, Samuel and Alex, Nessie (Agnes) and Maimie.

46 Gateside Avenue, arrowed

Papa Magowan was a keen photographer and cyclist and I heard that he was one of the founders of the local cycling club. After the war, my father was a member and the club would have holidays where they would travel by train to places like North Wales then tour the area by bike for a few days before returning home.

When my parents married, they lived with my granny and grampa at the house beside Gateside pit, 220 Hamilton Road. When I was a baby they moved to a new flat at 286 Woodland Crescent. Not long after this my grandparents also moved, to a brand new house at 109 Cairns well Ave.

My paternal grandparents died in the 1950's and are buried in Westburn cemetery. My uncle Alex married his wife Cathy and they lived in the house at Gateside Avenue for a while longer.

Well, I think that's enough background and namedropping for now. Next time I will write about our daily life as kids in the fifties.

The Glen

The Glen was a place in Halfway. For many it was nothing other than a small grassy area between Cairns and Castle Chimmins with a few trees and a burn running through it but for us it was another world, a world of jungles and swamps where the mighty Amazon flowed from the back roads down over mighty rapids towards the 'Hauffie'. It was the place where Japanese snipers lay in wait for us behind the bushes and where Rowdy Yates drove herds of cattle or Flint McCullough scouted for Wagon Train to ensure the settlers could come safely past the injuns. Above us flew the helicopters from Whirlybirds and in the distance - Flash Gordon's rocket ships.

In short, it was a magic place that fired our young imaginations and inspired our fantasies.

The Glen was only large in our minds. In reality it was about 250 yards long and varied from 100 yards down to about 30 yards wide. The area, originally a shallow valley, has been filled in gradually over the years, beginning in the sixties, and in no way resembles the Glen of my childhood.

The Glen after it was filled. This view taken from approximately where the top of the Big Slide was. The entrance from Woodland Crescent is on the far left of the picture and the two front doors we can see are those of the McEwans on the left and Mrs Paton on the right

When entered from Woodlands Crescent, the Glen dropped down to the Burn. The Burn flowed from right to left, from the Back Roads and disappeared into a small tunnel which led into Ramage's coal yards. This tunnel was small and claustrophobic but, nevertheless, as young boys we felt compelled to crawl through it. You would be halfway along when someone shouted "Rats!"  The result of which was a small boy popping out the end of the tunnel at the speed of an artillery shell from a cannon!

 A well trodden path led from Woodlands down to the Burn and continued up on the other side to Castle Chimmins. There was a flattish area to the left of the path where we played football or rounders and built bonfires ready for Guy Fawkes' night. Further up on the right hand side was where we learned to play baseball, taught by young Mormon missionaries with crew cuts. They had tried to teach us American football but gave up on that as we played too violently and they were scared someone would get seriously injured! They tried to get permission from our parents for us to attend their church services and one of our number actually went along out of curiosity. Imagine his horror when they tried to baptise him. Their baptism involved full immersion  in water and he thought they were trying to drown him! I will spare him any embarrassment by not naming him.

At its widest point the Burn was probably no more than a little over six feet wide but when we built a dam it could be much wider. A few of us began the damming process one day but when some of the older boys led by Bobby Cochrane discovered us, they took over control of the project and within a short while their more advanced building ideas resulted in the creation of quite a large pond. More ideas followed and before long a ferry service was inaugurated over this expanse of water using an old tea chest in the absence of a MacBrayne's steamer.

The good ship 'Tea chest', guided through the water by Bobby, was not too stable and, on its third or fourth voyage, with yours truly as the passenger, it began to wobble in the water. In panic and not awaiting orders from the captain, I abandoned ship and dived headlong into the muddy water to the sheer delight of all my friends. I walked home with wellie boots half full of water and changed clothes. When I returned the dam was already dismantled and the stream was flowing in its normal fashion. People crossing the Glen could not get across the enlarged watercourse and had ordered the destruction of our dam! Grown-ups just didn't seem to appreciate the advanced construction techniques involved or the multitude of play opportunities offered up by the dam. Couldn't they just have gone round by the Back Roads instead?!

Running along the Woodlands' side of the Glen was an old path from Gilbertfield Road to the Deans,  the cottages at the bottom end. One side of the path was flanked at first by the gable ends and gardens of the flats then the gardens of Craigallian Avenue, the other side by a row of bushes which supplied us with an abundance of branches and so forth that we could make bows and arrows from, or use as substitutes for swords or machine guns.

On the Castle Chimmins side of the burn the ground rose in a slope, at first gentle then more steeply. It was here on the steeper slope that the 'Wee Slide' and the 'Big Slide' stood. These were simply places where water draining away had eroded the soil leaving a steep bare patch all the way down the slope and, in the case of the 'Big Slide', where we weans had enlarged the channel by sliding down on our backsides.

On the other side of the burn from the slides was a boggy area where we didn't play that much due to the many jaggy nettles which grew there. There was a wee pond here however and we could capture tadpoles and newts in our jam jars and to heck with the stings we invariably received.

Nettles were the bane of our lives as we wore short trousers but we learned to smear the stings with docken leaves to ease the pain. Another plant we found in the Glen was one we called 'souries'. It consisted of a small clump of leaves growing close to the ground. which we ate it for its sour, lemony flavour. We loved the taste of it.

The trees in the Glen were used for climbing or, even better, for swings. Now and again some of the older boys would manage to 'purloin' a long length of rope. This would be tied to the tree at a high height and the end would either be tied to a piece of wood to hang on to, or fashioned into a noose that you would put over your head and under your arms so that you could swing without your hands taking all of your weight. Because the rope was tied high up on the tree it ensured that the radius of the swing was large and the 'ride' was longer. Accidents did happen of course and we did end up with cuts and bruises from our falls. The most serious episode I remember was some boy from Castle Chimmins who fell when a rope broke and landed on a plank with a six inch nail sticking out of it. The nail went right through his calf from one side to the other. We were very impressed when he simply pulled it out and went off home, as he said, 'to get a plaster'.

The bottom of the Glen was a little mysterious. There were ruined walls and the floor of an earlier dwelling there but of more than that I know nothing. I got some money for my fifth birthday and wee Billy Cochrane went half's on five Players and a penny book of matches. I have a memory of paying 1/1 for the cigarettes but that could be wrong.

We sat down by those ruined walls and lit up. Then, to our horror, we were discovered. It was Bill's brother Bobby along with Gordy McEwan  and they threatened to tell our parents if we didn't hand over two fags to them. Of course we complied with their blackmail and handed over the cigs. It was years later that it occurred to me that it would have been highly unlikely that they would have shopped us. They were, after all, only six or seven years old themselves and would certainly not have taken the chance that we might have revealed them as fellow smokers.

Modern readers might find it hard to believe that we smoked cigarettes at so young an age but they were different times then and almost everyone around us smoked. My parents told me that on one occasion they saw me sitting up in bed, looking at a comic with a fag hanging out of my mouth. I hadn't noticed them so they retreated to the living room where they had a good laugh about how ridiculous I had looked then came back and gave me a good belting. At that time I hadn't even started school so could only have been four years old!

Because everyone smoked, it was easy to get cigarettes. You pinched them from your parents or clubbed together to buy a 'threepenny single'. These we could buy from the old lady who had a backdoor shop at her house on the corner of Gilbertfield Road and Castle Chimmins Road. Round the back of the house, up the stairs and knock on the door.

" A threepence single please."
"Who's it fur?" she would say.
"Fur må faither, " or "Fur ma big brother," we would say. Nae problem.

Otherwise we bought them from Jock Shepherd's ice cream van. He never asked questions. (I will address myself to the subject of Jock Shepherd and vans in a later episode of my blog.)

We had no particular preferences and smoked anything we could get our hands on. The usual cigarettes were Players, Capstan and Senior Service or if with filter, Bristol. We weren't all that keen on the cheaper brands like Willie Woodbines or Park Drive but as I said before, we never said, "No."

We shared cigarettes by way of the 'limit'. A limit consisted of three draws and could not be refused, but try and sneak an extra draw and all hell broke loose. I think we had more fights over 'limits' than anything else. Later in the sixties the limit became mysteriously increased to four draws.

We were absolute experts in our knowledge of cigarette brands, partly due to collecting cigarette packets, partly due to a rough and tumble game we played called 'Cigarettes and Whisky.' This entailed the person who was 'it' standing in the road while ten to twenty boys and girls stood menacingly on the pavement. Each would choose the name of a cigarette brand and the person in the middle of the road would begin calling out names.
"Black Cats", "Peter Stuyvesant", "Kensitas", "Craven A"

Ah! That was the first right guess. 'Craven A' would roll up his sleeves and hop onto the road. 'It' would hop towards 'Craven A' and try to knock him over before he reached the other pavement because if he reached it without putting his other foot down on the street he would shout "Cigarettes and Whisky!" and the whole damned mob would come hopping over. Every one who got either flattened or put both feet on the road joined 'It' for the next round and so on and so on.

Most of our street games involved a little violence as in the case above. Sometimes it was directly involved, sometimes indirectly as when we played 'Kick the Can'. The rules were simple. While the person who was 'it' (or 'het' in our local dialect) counted to a pre-agreed number, the others ran off and hid. If they were discovered and were tagged before toppling the can with a kick, they went to jail. However if someone could sneak back to the can and kick it, everyone got out of jail and ran away to hide again. Simple rules but when you were 'it' and the jail had been emptied five or six times, you became a little bit irritated and easily goaded. The result was, typically for us, a fight which ended with everyone taking sides and, however the outcome of the fight ended, the actual game was finished.

Another game we played was 'Fiery Furnace'. The centre of operations was the lamppost outside Elizabeth McEwan's house. Two people were chosen. The first, who was 'It' leaned up against the pole with eyes shut while the other took a hold of each person's hand and, with their finger, drew an 'S' upon the first's back, reciting the mystical incantation, ' I draw a snake upon your back, guess who touched.'

The person with their eyes shut would then give instructions to each participant.

"Go to McAllister's gate."

"Stand outside Yardley's close."  "Go to the bottom of the big slide."

This type of instruction was given to each of us until the whole flock was dispersed around the neighbourhood. Then 'It' opened their eyes and looked around to see who had been sent where. With a bellow they then shouted, "FIERY FURNACE!"

At this, all the participants in the game ran hell for leather to the lamppost. Over fences and through gardens we ran as if chased by the hounds of hell. Our heels grew wings to give us extra speed. If we fell and bled, we noticed not. The goal was all. The lamppost was the Holy Grail.

The Lamppost

We had to reach it before the others for there was a price to pay if you were last.

The price was 'Running the Gauntlet.'

Those who had reached the goal before you formed two lines facing each other - this was 'The Gauntlet.' Now all you had to do was run through the two lines and come out the other side while the others kicked and hit you to help you on your way.

Needless to say, we learned to run fast, those of us from the 'Halfway'!