|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.