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.
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| 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.
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| 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'!
