The Rose

by Amanda McBroom  b.8/9/47

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed.

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed.

Some say love, it is a hunger,

An endless aching need.

I say love, it is a flower,

And you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance.

It's the dream afraid of waking

That never takes the chance.

It's the one who won't be taken,

Who cannot seem to give,

And the soul afraid of dying

That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long,

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong,

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose.

The above poem was added to the blog on Tuesday 5th February 2019

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This is a photo of a tenement back court in Springburn, Glasgow taken some time in the 1950s. The building in the foreground is the wash house.

The wash house was an important facility for tenement-dwellers. Inside, there was a big boiler heated by a coal fire and either a sink or a wash tub in which the clothes could be scrubbed by hand. Having been washed, the clothes were squeezed through a wringer and then hung out to dry in the back court.

If the weather was bad, you might have to dry your washing indoors. In the kitchen/living room of each house there was a pulley (two or three wooden rails) suspended from the ceiling; it could be lowered by ropes and then, with the damp clothes suspended, raised again.

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When I was very young my Saturday penny often went to buy another toy soldier for my tin fort. Made of metal, about 4cm in height, the soldiers were brightly painted - black busbies, red jackets and dark blue trousers. Unusually my fort was also home to one or two cowboys and I remember a red Indian.

Like most boys at that time, I had a number of Dinky Toys. Modelled on real cars, vans, lorries and buses, those were much more expensive than the soldiers, and so it was only occasionally that one was added to my collection.

When playing with toys, I had a vivid imagination. While my pals all knelt down and pushed their little cars along the pavement, I remained standing, holding my car at eye level, for I could clearly see the imaginary road along which my car was speeding.

Both my sister and I were pretty good at “make believe”. When very small, she would sit for ages on the floor playing with loose papers and making up stories in a whisper to herself. As for me, a couple of clothes pegs (not the kind with metal hinges) could become people, the little round bit being the head and the two prongs their legs. Also if one of the pegs was fitted in to the other at right angles, the result was an aeroplane.

And when I was really tiny, I could content myself with an old biscuit tin full of discarded buttons, arranging them in different patterns on the carpet.

Who needs toys if you have a good imagination?

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Taken from the steeple of Kirkintilloch Parish Church - later renamed St. Mary’s, this 1914 photo looks down on the old wooden bascule bridge over the Forth and Clyde Canal.

Whenever a boat had to pass through, the bridge was raised by means of a wheel turned by hand and this was done by the bridge-keeper. I remember when it was replaced by steel swing bridge in 1933. 

In the years after the Second World War there was a huge increase in the number of vehicles on the road, and the opening and closing of the bridge for canal traffic created serious hold-ups. In 1967 a proper road bridge was built on an embankment, but this completely closed the canal at that point, resulting in a great deal of rubbish gathering in the water on both sides.

Many folk campaigned to have the whole length of the canal re-opened, and this happy result came about in 2001.

There is now a Marina not far from the bridge and Kirkintilloch is claiming to be “The Canal Capital of Scotland.”

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My mind has been taking me back eighty years or more to the days when the best present I could have was a jotter. Yes, just a plain jotter. 

I would get a pencil and a rubber and settle down to write or draw.
For quite a while I would sit and look at the blank page. There was something fascinating about the whiteness and in a strange way, though I was keen to begin, I was also reluctant to spoil the clean page.

And once I had overcome this reluctance to start, how did I make use of my jotter?

Writing stories which I never got round to finish, poems with rather dodgy rhymes, jokes taken from my comic “The Rainbow” and I remember trying to write a play. My inspiration usually came from Children's Hour on the wireless.

On one occasion I produced a magazine. I can’t remember what title I gave it, but I think it had half-a-dozen pages. Written in pencil, there were family news items, puzzles, drawings, jokes and poems. I tried to copy real magazines by varying the size of my script for the different items and using big lettering for the titles of each feature. 

My father was always very proud of what we children did and it was probably he who suggested that my completed work of art should be passed round relatives.

And so the magazine did the rounds and eventually was returned to me. But what a shock I had!

Someone had obviously been reading it at the breakfast table for
a runny egg had been dripped on to the front page. I know who the culprits were but I’m not telling.

 And that’s why I produced just one edition my lovely magazine.

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This unusual painting
Girl at a Window
is by Marie Therese Heumesser

It is followed by a Detail

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During my time as a club musician, I met some very talented amateurs. It was rare for singers to have their music with them, and I had to follow them as best I could. Since they usually didn’t know in which key their song was set, I would ask them to start on their own, and after a couple of bars I was able to join in with a suitable accompaniment.

I must mention that my knowledge of “pop” goes no further forward than 1960, and at times I was probably the only person in the club who didn’t know the number being sung. Fortunately the drummer knew his stuff, and was a big help to me.

Of course all the professional artistes had band scores, most of them very well written, and playing them was a challenge I really enjoyed.

For a while I played occasionally for cabaret at a golf club, and it was there I met one of their members - a very amusing amateur comedian. He reminded me of the American George Burns, and the audience loved his casual, relaxed style. I was so keen on his act, that I arranged for him to appear in the club where I was resident. And I was completely shocked! He was a flop! The poor man, away from his usual group of friends, had a real struggle to raise a laugh. 

That was the last time I ever recommended an entertainer.

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Many years ago Kirkintilloch district had three institutions for mentally deficient people; now there are none. The earliest was Woodilee Hospital (known to us as “the asylum”) which functioned from 1875 till 2001. Then came Waverley Park Home 1906 -1993, and from 1936 till 2002 Lennox Castle Hospital.

I knew Waverley Park very well, for I entertained there on many occasions. When it opened, its purpose was to provide for the “Care of Defective and Feeble-minded Children”. In practice it was a home for girls and women. Some of the latter seemed very old to me and and I suspect that they had been among the first occupants of the home.

The girls were always thrilled when visitors came to entertain, and enjoyed taking part. A church dramatic club which performed comedy plays was very popular, and my violinist friends and I provided music between the acts.

A few of the girls who were more intelligent worked outside as domestic helps, and one in particular was employed by a local doctor for many years. All of them went out en masse each week, on Sunday mornings to church, and to the cinema on Saturday afternoons. 

I used to dread meeting them in the street. They walked in a long line two by two, and, if they happened to see me across the road, they would nudge each other and point. Some were bold enough to wave. I'm afraid I was too embarrassed to respond. If I saw them before they saw me, I would take avoiding action by darting into a shop, and wait there till they had passed.

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