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| Road to Swanston Village with Old Pig Farm in background (Dave Henniker) |
In the
early to mid-1960s between the ages of around seven and twelve a party of us
would leave our Oxgangs Avenue base and head up to the Pentland Hills each
summer. On a hot day and with our wee legs Swanston Road always seemed a
long, long road. A few of the older boys had bicycles and would journey back
and forward giving some of us ‘backies’ i.e. we sat on the leather seat whilst
the rider danced on the pedals. We were dropped off just before the old pig
farm-it’s now converted holiday cottages, office space and a restaurant. We all
turned up our noses as we passed the farm. Sometimes there was a little frisson
if one of the farm dogs who wandered around caught our scent and would
immediately begin barking and come chasing after us. The barking was almost the
worst part as the farm-yard always seemed very quiet and the noise would
attract the attention of the farmer. We were never sure if we were allowed on
this quiet lane.
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