The Last of the Mohicans

'Am I wrong to think that we delighted in living there? No delusions are more familiar than those inspired in the elderly by nostalgia, but am I completely mistaken to think that living as well-born children in Renaissance Florence could not have held a candle to growing up within aromatic range of Tabachnik's pickle barrels? Am I mistaken to think that even back then, in the vivid present, the fullness of life stirred our emotions to an extraordinary extent? Has anywhere since so engrossed you in its ocean of details? The detail, the immensity of the detail, the force of the detail, the weight of the detail—the rich endlessness of detail surrounding you in your young life like the six feet of dirt that'll be packed on your grave when you're dead. Perhaps by definition a neighbourhood is the place to which a child spontaneously gives undivided attention; that's the unfiltered way meaning comes to children, just flowing off the surface of things. Nonetheless, fifty years later, I ask you: has the immersion ever again been so complete as it was in those streets, where every block, every backyard, every house, every floor of every house — the walls, ceilings, doors, and windows of every last friend's family apartment — came to be so absolutely individualised? Were we ever again to be such keen recording instruments of the microscopic surface of things close at hand, of the minutest gradations of social position conveyed by linoleum and oilcloth, by yahrzeit candies and cooking smells, by Ronson table lighters and venetian blinds? About one another, we knew who had what kind of lunch in the bag in his locker and who ordered what on his hot dog at Syd's; we knew one another's every physical attribute — who walked pigeon-toed and who had breasts, who smelled of hair oil and who over salivated when he spoke; we knew who among us was belligerent and who was friendly, who was smart and who was dumb; we knew whose mother had the accent and whose father had the moustache, whose mother worked and whose father was dead; somehow we even dimly grasped how every family's different set of circumstances set each family a distinctive difficult human problem…’ Philip Roth, American Pastoral

In 1958 the Hoffmann family – my father, Ken Hoffmann aged 32, Mother 22 and myself 2 years of age all moved into one of the ground floor flats at the newly built 6 Oxgangs Avenue. My parents had married in Dalkeith in 1955. At the time Mother was only nineteen years of age and had just finished her first year at Edinburgh University. Father was a Chief Officer in the Merchant Navy. As Mother used to say she met her doom at the Plaza Dance Hall in Morningside. She never returned to university much to my grandmother’s great disappointment. After they’d married they spent the first few years living at my grandparents’ home at 45 Durham Road Portobello before living for six months in a flat at Duncan Street with Mother’s cousin Margaret and Andy Ross; they too had a young child, David, who is of similar age to me. My brother Iain was born on the 29th November 1958 whilst my sister Anne completed the family being born at home at 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue on September 19th 1961. Around 1970 my mother went out to work in the Civil Service at the Department for Agriculture & Fisheries Chesser House and then later moved on to the Scottish Office at the New St Andrew’s House offices at the St James Centre. We remained at 6/2 as a family unit until 1971 when my parents divorced on my 15th birthday. Later that summer Mother married John Duncan who at the time was a P.O. in the Royal Navy. The following year, 1972, come St Andrew’s Night, I left Oxgangs and the family home.

In the 1950s the Prime Minister, Mr Harold Macmillan, told the electorate that they had never had it so good. His comments were partly based on the progress made in implementing the Beveridge Report and tackling the five evils of want; ignorance; disease; squalor; and idleness. The young families who moved into the newly built 6 Oxgangs Avenue in 1958 were direct beneficiaries of what men had gone to war for and the new vision of a country fit for them to live in afterwards.

Generally the families who lived in the Stair at number 6 lived in harmony. Yes, there was occasional friction, but it was very mild and occasional. All the families were good neighbours. The culture was a happy one which probably reflected the optimism of the 1960s. Compared to the housing which had existed a decade earlier, the modern flats and new housing schemes with their indoor loos and open coal fires were great places to live and bring up young families. Children played safely. There were formal playgrounds, sports pitches and tennis courts; and we could easily go off for youthful adventures to Redford Burn, the Army’s polo fields and Braidburn Valley all of which were on our doorsteps. One hundred yards away was Dr Motley's surgery and Mr Russell the dentist at Oxgangs Road North. There was a new school with the beautiful title of Hunters Tryst which was set in lovely spacious grounds with large playgrounds, a small wood and football pitches. It was a period of stability. Families were generally happy. Despite the daily grind and drudgery, mums and dads enjoyed the novelty of parenthood. Women were mainly the homemakers, men were the breadwinners. Access to employment was relatively easy. No one was well off and each household could be described as working class. At The Stair, no one owned a car, however people weren't desperately poor either, even if Child Benefit made the difference between eating or not The Stair reflected the changing decades. If the 1970s were about strife, then some of the new inhabitants were not as neighbourly. The 1980s of Mrs Thatcher led to families buying their own houses. The 1990s were a period of growth, better wages and no doubt those now at number 6 will have enjoyed foreign holidays and car ownership. By the Noughties the impact of the recession could be seen and the Stair was looking a little neglected - hardly surprising given it was now fifty years since it was built. The Swansons were our next door neighbours, living at 6/1 Oxgangs Avenue. Dougal Swanson worked as a shop assistant at James Aitkenhead’s Grocery shop and then as a stock-keeper at Brown Brothers Engineering Company. As for our father, Ken Hoffmann (6/2), well, Mother gave up counting at thirty, the number of jobs he had been employed in - assistant cinema manager; stock clerk; lorry driver for George Bain’s delivering meat to butchers’ shops in Edinburgh and the Borders and also as a long distance driver for John Bryce Transport. However he had also been a Chief Officer in the merchant navy, training at the renowned Edinburgh company, Ben Line. His qualification was probably the equivalent of a degree in physics or maths, however those were before the days of NVQs so he found he could not use transferable management skills to gain better employment. The other issue was that being an alcoholic made it difficult for him to hold down a job for any length of time. Mr Stewart (6/3) was a policeman and like many others in that line of work kept himself to himself, a complete distance from any other neighbour in the Stair. Even today, I think policemen and women are expected to maintain a certain distance as are teachers from participating on social media. George Hogg (6/4) was a joiner. George was part of a small cooperative of skilled tradesmen who in later years built their own houses toward Oxgangs Green.

Charles Blades (6/6) worked for many years at Ferranti's where he was a personal assistant to Basil de Ferranti. He regularly accompanied him to meetings in London. Whilst in the Army Charles had initially trained as a doctor but late on in the course dropped out. Like my father, he too was an alcoholic. This prevented him reaching his full potential. This condition blighted the lives of both families. Dougal, Ken and Charles were clearly bright individuals and incredibly Charles’ father was Lord Blades, the respected judge and appointed the Solicitor General for Scotland at the end of the war in 1945. Charlie Hanlon (6/7) worked for many years at the Uniroyal Rubber Mill which superseded the North British Company - a steady and secure job for many years. He worked shifts. Sometimes Hilda would hang out the top floor sitting room window and chastise the kids down below for being too loud and ‘keeping my Charlie awake when he's on the night shift!’ I liked the way Charlie brought home a Friday treat of chocolate bars for his four sons, Michael; Boo-Boo; Colin; and Alan. If you'll forgive the pun, it was a sweet thing to do. Meanwhile, Mr Duffy (6/8) was a general labourer and scaffy in later years; previously he may have worked elsewhere but that change may have been brought about because I think he lost his driving license.

In the original Oxgangs book, The Stair, Mother is of course one of the (many) stars of the Stair, featuring prominently in it and the two books which superseded it, Oxgangs A Capital Tale Volumes 1 and 2. There are many stories there in which she features. But, it’s in the different seasons and seasonal festivities in the calendar year, that I recall her best. Easter was always an important staging post in the year. It was then that we received our personal mugs (decorated with a cartoon character holding a chocolate egg) to last us the rest of year for our cups of tea – yes, in the 1960s we children drank tea from a relatively young age.

During the 1960s there were regular wee family picnics in the summer to Braidburn Valley. When the sun came out then Helen Blades (6/6) came out! There's a nice correlation there - Helen loved the sun and grabbed any opportunity to sun bathe and to get a little colour. The front of 6 Oxgangs Avenue was north facing and busier with road vehicles and passersby, whilst our back garden was quieter and a lovely sun trap. It was here that Helen, Marion Dibley (4/4) and Mother would often sit out in the garden on chairs or blankets with their backs to the shed wall and the sun on their faces, whilst they enjoyed a cigarette and a blether. As Mother says, who could ever forget Helen's marvellous deep throaty laugh. She and Helen were quite friendly, but with young families usually always too busy to spend much time together. We children often sat around to listen in to Helen, Marion and Mother.

When our father played cricket for Boroughmuir down at Meggetland, the cultural tradition was for all members of each team and the officials to bring along a contribution to the spread for afternoon tea. It was a Hoffmann team effort in this endeavour. I had to nip down to The Store (St Cuthbert’s Cooperative) at Oxgangs Road North to buy in a couple of large jars of Shippam’s Paste and unusually for us a Sliced Pan loaf - easier than our staple the Sliced Plain to make sandwiches with. Mother would then make up the sandwiches spreading them with Stork margarine and applying the paste; the sandwiches were then wrapped up in the bread-wrapper. Father had the glory leg - his role was to carry the sandwiches down in the 27 bus along with his cricket grip (bag) and put them on the long trestle tables inside the pavilion concourse. No one will likely recall Shandon Records which back in the mid-1960s was located around Stewart Terrace. Many decades ago it headed off to the great record shop graveyard in the sky. It wasn't large - just a small dinky little hole in the wall shop, selling second hand records but it carried an interesting stock and represented great value for your money. After we got our first little suitcase record player, one summer Mother and I took a few trips on the number 4 bus from Oxgangs down to Shandon to see what little gems we might pick up. I enjoyed those little summer interludes together, finding it a rare interlude for just the two of us to bond together. Apart from Mother holding the purse strings she also had a surprisingly deeper knowledge of music than me. So, initially whilst I might not be overly-happy with her choice of record from our limited budget, once back home to 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue I would realise we'd struck gold. On one such occasion she picked up Guantanamera by The Sandpipers; I had my doubts but it was a beautiful track as was Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazelwood's 'These Boots Were Made For Walking'with the B side the hauntingly dreamy Summer Wine.

And when we grew a little older and after our parents were divorced, Mother, at last, used her Edinburgh University education and got a job in the Civil Service at Chesser House in Agriculture and Fisheries. As with Springsteen’s feelings about how proud he was of his mother going off to work, smartly and immaculately dressed, I too felt just the same. Anne, Iain and I shared some of the burden. We tidied the house; made the fire; did the messages; and washed, dried and put away the dishes. We took a certain pride in having the place looking ship shape for Mother arriving home at tea time. Those were happier days for us at 6/2. Home was a much more relaxed place to be. It was an inviting happy place to hang about and our pals enjoyed it too. Come the weekend, we’d often see Paul Forbes; Ali Douglas; Les Ramage; Boo Boo and others enjoy a sleepover with us sitting up late into the night with our bags of crisps and chips, sweets, chocolate and Globe Red Cola to watch the Friday evening horror film. Very much, changed days from when our father was there previously. With Mother earning a good income, we received some greatly valued items, mainly as birthday or Christmas presents,but sometimes outwith too but usually only after pestering her to death. Iain got a rather wonderful Johnny Seven Gun as a birthday present and also the James Bond Aston Martin car with the ejector seat which featured in the film Goldfinger. He also got a nice slot car racing game - it wasn't Scalectrix but it was good quality and great fun to play with. Iain and I also each received a pair of the famous Wayfinder shoes. They had a secret compass hidden inside one heel of a shoe and had animal tracks impregnated on the soles. I wasn't sure how many of these animals roamed around Oxgangs not to mention it being a pain to keep taking your shoe off if you wanted to track down a wild beast; and then what were we supposed to do if we came across such a wild creature in the locality – perhaps carry Iain’s Johnny Seven gun! When I began to go along to the Edinburgh Athletic Club in 1971 Mother pushed the boat out and bought me a good tracksuit and a particularly stylish pair of training shoes. They were similar to Adidas with three stripes, two of which were blue and one red. When that parcel arrived on the doorstep it was a happy day and a life changing event for me. Indeed, whenever we awaited an order the first thing we asked when we got home from school was 'Has it arrived yet?' Disappointment followed disappointment and then exhilaration on the magical day when we came home to discover a large, bulky, brown parcel.

Mother was a great reader, enormously well-read. Indeed in her later years, when suffering some of the vicissitudes of old age and poor health, she was at least temporarily, able to escape for a wee while to a hidden planet (Denis Healey) for some respite. Back in the 1960s we got our books from the Edinburgh Corporation Mobile Library. The library was parked on the corner of Oxgangs Terrace on Tuesdays and Fridays. We read more in the second half of the year. On late autumn afternoons or dark winter evenings it was always a lovely break to venture down with Mother to the mobile library and step inside and be transported to another world. The children's books were kept at the rear of the van up the little steps. My favourites were always the Folk Tales or Fairy Tales of other lands in particular Rumpelstilskin or The Tinder Box. Today Oxgangs has an excellent library. When it first opened I recall Mother and me attending some of the wonderful events that they promoted including daring to mischievously ask the beautiful Edna O'Brien about a passage to do with her relationship with John Huston from his book An Open Book which threw her somewhat - how the heck was someone from little old Oxgangs aware of that! David Daiches was at another of their special evenings and we were able to get him my to sign my treasured copy of the finest and most evocative book ever written about the capital, Two Worlds. Serendipity or what but twenty five years later the world moves full circle and in 2015 I was privileged and delighted to be invited back to Oxgangs Library as one of their authors as part of their anniversary celebrations of the opening of the library.

But it’s mostly at Christmas time that I recall Mother best of all, when she always ensured that no matter how poor we might be, Father being an alcoholic, perhaps unemployed, how she always ensured Anne, Iain and I always received an exciting, colourful, thoughtfully put-together stocking containing all sorts of lovely serendipities.

And what of 6/5 Oxgangs Avenue? Well, I’ve kept Eric Smith (6/5) aged 91, for last, because Eric’s now the last living adult member from the original Stair, as I recall it. Eric worked as a general helper at Marks and Spencer. This was a secure job; previously he may have been a bus driver, but his wife, Mary, didn’t like him working shifts. Today Eric lives happily in a care home in Colinton.

With the death of my mother Mrs Anne Duncan (formerly Anne Hoffmann) aged 89, last Tuesday evening, Eric is now the last of the Mohicans. Peter Hoffmann

Dr Motley-A Fascinating Update!

Dr Motley

Hello Peter Hoffmann,

Dr. Arthur P Motley is my Grandfather. I am jumping up and down with joy. I have been searching for my grandfather for quite awhile. I have done google searches before but all I would get would be old dudes from the 1600 and 1700s. I did it today and up pops your blog. I found a lot of unknown information about my grandfather. Thank you. 

As you might be able to tell I'm from the states. My father Lewie Motley pass on in 2006. He was born in McAlester Ok. in 1925, I think that was Dr Motley senior year of High School. My Grandmother and Dr Motley were never married. My father never talk about his father. So I did not start searching for my grandfather until after my father passed. As a teenager I got a chance to go to high school in McAlester Ok. in 1965 at L'Overture. the schools were segregated white only and Black schools until 1968. Some of the teachers I had at L'Overture tough Dr Motley to, they were always talking about how smart he was. While I was living in McAlester I got a chance to meet Dr Motley's mother my great grandmother and his adopted father Rev. Frank Motley. 

Harold Motley

I would like to find Dr Motley's descendants. It would be greatly appreciated for any information about his daughter you can give me. Peter thank you for the treasure of information about my grandfather. I attached a picture of myself to this email.

Harold Motley     

Harold,

Many thanks for your fascinating e mail-one throws a stone in a pond never knowing where the ripples go! 

I've attached a link to a further update I did on Dr Motley, in case you didn't pick up on that one. http://6oxgangsavenueedinburgh.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/dr-motley-update.html

I've also published a book based on the blog and I've attached that link too; http://www.amazon.co.uk/Stair-Oxgangs-Edinburgh-Childhood-1958-1972/dp/149487413X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421922340&sr=1-1&keywords=peter+hoffmann+the+stair

The book includes the blogs and comments on Dr Motley. If you are interested in obtaining a copy I would hold fire, because your e mail is so interesting that I intend to update the book with your comments and additional information. 

It raises many further interesting questions-Did Dr Motley know that he had a son (Lewie) and indeed a grandson (yourself, Harold)? Why did he not marry your 'grandmother'? Did it have any influence on him moving so far away to study in Edinburgh? It's interesting too that both your father and yourself were given the Motley name. Also, that as you visited Dr Motley's parents (your great-grandparents) it begs the question as to whether Dr Motley was actually aware he had a son and grandson. You mention that the Reverend Motley wasn't Dr Motley's real father-I wonder who was? Do you have any memories of his parents-what they were like and what they said about Dr Motley? 

Like you I found it difficult to track down any information on him. If his daughter, Annette, is still alive she must be around 85 years old now. As I wrote, my mother thinks she married a Swedish gentleman. It may be possible to track down information about her through Register House, Edinburgh. My mother was very friendly with Dr Motley and has a lot of information and knowledge about him-they used to meet up for many years each week after he retired until he died. She would be happy to speak to you-her telephone number is 0131 444 0398-bear in mind the time difference in Edinburgh! Her e mail address is j.h.d@hotmail.uk.co 

I would be happy to speak to you too-my number is 07799 673290.

If I can be of any assistance don't hesitate to get in touch. As I wrote, your grandfather was a lovely, remarkable man and a legend in Oxgangs!

All the best.

Peter  

Easter and The Half Hearted

Between the years 1958 to 1972 on Easter Sunday I loved to hear the St John's Church bell ring out to the parish of Oxgangs to celebrate Easter Sunday.

In the Hoffmann household Easter was always a very special time at 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue.

Back in the late 1960s/early 70s Anne, Iain and I would have joined the Blades (6/6) on some Easter Sundays at the former Oxgangs Evangelical Church. Paul Forbes and I also attended Charlotte Chapel too, probably through the influence of Fifi and Liz Blades. And when we were very young children we were taken along by the old boy to Belford Church too.

And yet despite all this we weren't religious at all; certainly not in the true sense. It was something which we did; I guess we were just stumbling along on life's journey. In a half-hearted way - without any formal analysis; and like many other young people, we were finding our path in life.

However, I enjoyed going along to the churches.

I liked the occasion.

I liked seeing people dressed in their Sunday best.

I liked seeing families together.

I liked the sense of fellowship.

I liked seeing the minister interact and embrace members of the congregation.

I liked seeing older spinsters or widows feel part of a larger family.

I liked being part of a group or an extended family.

I enjoyed the service - the mix of biblical stories; sermons; and many of the values promulgated. I liked the sense of occasion and the mix of formality; history; tradition; and warmth too. I found myself, even as a young and occasionally rebellious teenager finding and enjoying these moments of quiet reflection during the service.

And yet I was never religious. I was never a believer. When the charismatic Rev Derek Prime invited the equally charismatic Arthur Blessit to preach at Charlotte Chapel hypnotising half the congregation, I was most concerned about Paul Forbes joining many others 'to come on down if you've felt the spirit!'

Despite never being well off as a family, Anne, Iain and I were very well looked after at Easter by our mother and our grandparents.

Each year, on Good Friday we received an attractive little mug with a cartoon figure on it; sitting on top was a simple milk chocolate egg. These were inexpensive items yet we set great store by them. Yes we quickly broke up the egg into pieces and enjoyed eating it; but the mug was special, because that was our cup for the rest of the year, from which we enjoyed our morning and evening 'cuppa' of tea, with milk and two sugars.

On the Saturday we were very lucky, because every year, our grandfather Gaga brought each of us a large brand name egg e.g. a Cadbury's Milk Tray chocolate egg with individual chocolates arrayed along the bottom. We knew how lucky we were with this, because outwith Norman Stewart (6/3) who always outclassed us all we did relatively well compared to our pals at The Stair.

On Easter Sunday itself we would be collected by our grandfather and driven down to Durham Road, Portobello; I loved the route and in particular seeing the women and gentlemen dressed up in their lovely coats and hats walking happily to church services at Greenbank; Morningside; the Grange; and Duddingston Village. Usually we would hear the lovely sound of the peal of the church bells ringing out and calling the followers to worship.

Easter Sunday, perhaps appropriately, was a simpler affair.

Our artist-grandmother had made three hard-boiled eggs for each of us which she had painted very attractively. We would go out into the warm sunshine in the back garden and roll the eggs until the shells eventually broke. I'm unsure whether we realised the significance of this - but I'm sure we will have been told.

In the decades after I left childhood at Oxgangs I've always found Easter a special time of the year.

I've occasionally written poems about it or had the oddest dream, once combining the two involving Arthurs Seat.

Easter Away

‘…Like a magnet, drawing me in

Wanting to whisper something to me

I’d like to listen. But can’t

Easter’s a strange time. And the world is whizzing

And to stop. And maybe find out

That you were only a dream.’

In later years when we married we enjoyed Easter with the extended family up at the farm in the Highlands.

And over the past eighteen years or so the fun and competition of the 'famous' Easter Egg Hunt with 'Atticus' and 'd'Artagnan' and cousins and friends. This year, 'd'Artagnan' is competing at the Birmingham International Open but Unc (Iain Hoffmann) and I have been in strict training to outfox Diane and 'Atticus' in today's egg-hunt - Unc' has his walking stick at the ready, so watch out Atticus for dastardly tactics!

And although we can't enjoy the peal of the St John's Church bell ring out today have a lovely and 'Happy Easter' wherever you are; and if you get a moment to pause for a moment of reflection, enjoy that too.

ps 'The Half Hearted' is a very early, but enjoyable novel by John Buchan - well worth a read.

Dreeping-Ruth Kaye (Blades) and Peter Hoffmann

Hello Peter
I cannot remember if you mentioned about the dreeping off the shed roof at the back we used to do that often. The stair fashion also fascinated me everyone was very into the 70's look I remember fiona and Liz with their loons. My mother always used to dress the 3 youngest in the same outfits all the time. Bu I guess it was easy for her. She always had our play clothes laid out on our beds when we came back from school. I had forgotten your mother was always a natty dresser and very colourful I do not think I ever saw her in trousers whereas my mum wore trousers all the time. I know your mum loved sewing and made a lots of dolls clothes I am sure she could have made a very successful business out of it
Kind regards
Ruth

Excellent-that one passed me by-I used the term with d'Artagnan not so long ago when he was up in the attic and he just gave me this blank look...duh!...Dreeping-what's that? Yes, it was very popular-we sometimes had to coax one or two people down who would take fricht and end up in the hanging position for five minutes so good was their power to weight ratio! 

I don't remember Mrs Anne Hoffmann making doll's clothes-I'm likely to catch up with her and Anne Junior on Saturday when I'm down in Edinburgh for the weekend with d'Artagnan-she certainly was brilliant at making her own clothes-if we came in from school or out playing and cloth covered with patterns and pins encompassed the sitting room floor we made a quick body swerve out of the house as we knew from experience that the language might get rather colourful and choice if things didn't always go to plan! We could have done with your creative thinking back then Ruth-it would have been good pin money-sorry, me and my pins, uh, puns again!

ps Iain and his wife are up staying with us over New Year-he was saying you were always his favourite and how he enjoyed chatting with you coming back from Firhill School-he said you were always great fun!

Christmas Eve

When Anne Hoffmann, Iain Hoffmann and I were young, whatever our circumstances - whether our father was in work or not - Santa Claus always did us proud.

Christmas was always the best and most exciting time of the year.

When I say that Santa (aka Mother, Mrs Anne Hoffmann) - sometimes with support from Father (Ken Hoffmann) did us proud I don't mean that we were spoiled or received any expensive presents - no, instead we always got a stocking which was filled full of imaginative small presents which were an absolute delight to wake up to.

Like most kids it was the one evening of the year when we were keen to go to bed early of our own accord.  And of course it was the one morning in the year that we were keen to get up early too!

I'm not too sure how it worked in all the other households in The Stair.

In terms of quality high spend presents Norman Stewart (6/3 Oxgangs Avenue) did better than any of the other children.

One feature which I didn't enjoy at school was that on our return in January the teacher always asked us all individually, in front of the class, what we had received.

I can recall telling a fib saying that I had been given a graphic designer's set - of course I didn't have a scooby what that was but I was determined not to be out-gunned by Norman - he of course was the one pupil in the class who knew perfectly well that I had not received any such thing!

In my memory Christmas Eve was a very quiet evening in The Stair. 

I can recall my father regularly going out to the Christmas Eve Watchnight church service, presumably at Colinton Mains Parish Church, the same church which the Swansons attended - I don't think he went to the remarkable Reverend Jack Orr's St John's Church service.

Colinton Mains Parish Church

St John's Churdh of Scotland, Oxgangs Road North

Rev Jack Orr

The Hanlons (6/7) always seemed to receive some quite nice presents and they might be seen out playing with them, but not until several days after Christmas Day.

Over the years Mother and our next door neighbour Mrs Molly Swanson (6/1) had an arrangement whereby Mum gave Gavin and Heather a wee tin of Woolworths' toffees and we all received something from Molly - as mentioned I once got a book from her, but when it was opened it instead contained seven tubes of sweets inside arranged horizontally inside.

The Hoggs up above (6/4) always received girly pressies and I can recall my sister Anne spending time with Christina, Maureen and Eileen. I'm much vaguer on the Blades (6/6), other than one year when Alison, Ruth and Esther got their Spacehoppers.

.
Presumably before Anne was born our grandfather gave Iain and me a bobble Santa each which were full of wrapped toffees - the figure is a delight and has been carefully looked after over the past fifty years - each year we bring the two Santas out. The Swansons got a similar Santa figure, but they had less jolly faces.

I may be wrong but I seem to recall that the Hanlons and the Blades were quite big on such decorations as the linked rings which went from corner to corner across the ceiling.

I used to regret that we were more conservative with individual Woolworths' decorations which were very attractive and aesthetically pleasing. There wasn't such a crowded effect which as a boy I would have liked. I suspect Woolworths did Mrs Anne Hoffmann and many other parents proud over the decades.

On Christmas Eve each of the three of would leave one of our mother's nylon stockings at the foot of our beds.

I was always the first of us to awake.

I would crawl down the bed and reach out to see if Santa had arrived yet and then the excitement of feeling the bulkiness of the mis-shapen stocking full of surprises was the most wonderful sensation in the world It's Christmas! I would bellow out It's Christmas! as I jumped down from the bunk bed to switch on the light and awaken the others.

The stockings were just great - they were filled with torches; little games; Yogi Bear or Huckleberry Hound picture books; perhaps a young person's novel; colouring books and pens; a selection box; some gold coins; an orange and an apple and a half crown; The Broons or Oor Wullie annual in later years.

Photograph courtesy Heather Lawrence

Anne would get some girly stuff - I particularly recall a delightful peach smelling cream; whilst Iain might get a toy car, perhaps a Corgi or some Matchbox cars; on one occasion when quite young I got a leather football and football boots. Iain was very into his cars whilst I was uninterested in cars, although ironically I have had more sports cars over the years than one could throw a stick at, much to my wife's dismay.

When we were very young, in our innocence we'd then rush through to awaken our parents to show them what Santa had brought us.

These Christmas mornings were simple little affairs, but wonderful - our mother ensured that these were magical occasions every year from being very small children and into our teens; happy times and very, very sweet memories, which I've never forgotten.

Much like Sundays, on Christmas Day we saw very little of what went on in The Stair because our grandfather would collect us at mid-morning and take us down to Portobello for the day, not returning till late at night - but for that you'll all have to be patient children and wait until Christmas Day to hear that story!

Dr Motley

Perhaps the most remarkable story of all the individuals at Oxgangs during the 1960s was that of Dr Motley.

Perhaps the most remarkable story of all the individuals at Oxgangs during the 1960s was that of Dr Motley. I always thought he looked amazing. As a wee boy, he would have been the first black man that I had seen. I couldn't take my eyes off him. The fact that he was a different colour to me-black to my white; then there were his hands, I noticed too the contrast of his palms which were a much lighter colour. And of course there was his voice-a lovely, deep, rich, American sound; with a sweet cadence, musicality and deep mellifluousness which was something to behold.

I always found him to be a very gentle man-a gentleman-positive and sympathetic to his patients-he struck me as being a very happy person-he laughed a lot. As I grew older I got a sense of how immaculate in appearance he was-he dressed in beautiful suits, shirts and ties-class jewellery, a gold ring and a lovely watch and a handkerchief in his top pocket-he had a real sense of style and must have cut quite an exotic figure in bleak Oxgangs. Although he wasn't tall he was very handsome with a gentle face.

I have spoken regularly about the concept of transactions and relationships. Partly because it was the 1960s; partly because for years it would have been a one man practice; and partly because of the nature of the man, I always felt I had a personal relationship with him. No doubt hundreds of his patients over the decades would have felt the same.

But what a story. Imagine how challenging it must have been for the young Arthur Phillip Motley. He travelled thousands of miles across the Atlantic Ocean when he came to Edinburgh as a student from the Deep South of the United States of America in the late 1920s.

As a black man in Edinburgh at that time, he would have been in a very small minority, both at Edinburgh University and also in the city. I would imagine that over the years and across the decades he must have suffered some prejudice and the vicissitudes of discrimination. When I looked at his gentle countenance I sometimes thought of the slings and arrows and brickbats he probably endured from people-with his manner he probably did what many smart people do-never reacting, never responding-just ignoring such things and getting on with life. Although Mrs Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) made an astute point to me when she said Would it not have been a lot worse back in the States?

Coming to the city to train as a doctor at the university and at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh says a very great deal about his character. To go on to form, develop and build up a practice at McAlester Cottage in the fledgling community of Oxgangs in the late 1940s and early 1950s must have been an even greater challenge.

My early memories of McAlester Cottage are of what a lovely house it was-it was white and red and the finest house in the immediate area. The waiting room had a highly polished floor with seating around the perimeter; in the centre of the room were eight high quality, brightly coloured chairs for small children-it was great fun to sit on them. The family would have stayed at the practice too. I don't remember really seeing either his wife Annette or his daughter-also called Annette-they must have kept a very low profile.

When he was building up the practice he must have worked incredibly hard-no doubt he would have been called out at all sorts of times of the day and night. Building up a practice on his own with all the inherent stresses and strains must have been very challenging for him. And yet whenever he saw you he never exhibited any sign of this.

Until now, I never thought about the name of his home and surgery practice-McAlester Cottage-after all it's a good Scots name. However it's now occurred to me that he would have had the house built for himself-after all it's unlikely that such a house would have been built there at the time if it wasn't for a young doctor. I've now realised that the name was a reminder of home!

He was born around 1906 in Texas. The family must have moved after this to McAlester City (the McAlester of McAlester Cottage to remind him of home?), Oklahoma where they resided at 903 E Monroe. Dr Motley was listed as being a resident there along with his father R Frank Motley who was a minister and his mother Ethel Motley. This is taken from the US Census of 1940. However it's interesting to see that five years earlier, 1935, he was listed as living in Edinburgh where he was a medical intern at the Royal Hospital, Edinburgh. Did he move back to Oklahoma when the Second World War started? Or was it because there were no jobs available in Edinburgh? Or was it for family reasons?

However, he must have begun studying in Edinburgh in the late 1920s because in the 1928 Yearbook for Lincoln University, Pennsylvania-the leading black university says the following:

Arthur Motley 1928

A R T H U R  M O T L E Y

"Hoops"

Motley, now living in McAlester, Oklahoma., also comes to us  from Wiley College.  He belongs to The  Firm, to the Varsity  " L "Club,  and to Alpha .  " Hoops " has been among the honour group students since his matriculation. He is a profound philosopher of life and religion; a lover of women, Wiley, and Bull Sessions. A few years and  "Hoops" will be an M.D. from Edinburgh, Scotland.

I'm surmising here, but I think he perhaps chose to study in Edinburgh at that time, because I think it was regarded as being the leading medical school in the world. A medical degree from Edinburgh meant that in theory one could have practiced anywhere in the world, although that said, as a black man, this would undoubtedly have restricted his opportunities. Many people would have had deep reservations about being treated by someone who wasn't white.

He was still in Edinburgh in 1935, where the Census records him as working in Edinburgh at the Royal Hospital, Edinburgh as a medical intern. However, in 1940 he was recorded as being back at the family home in Oklahoma.

Mrs Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) knows he was a ship's doctor during the Second World War, but we're unsure whether it was the US Navy or the British-I assume it was the American. He told her that when the ship was in port in South Africa and the sailors encouraged him to go ashore he said No I'll have to remain on board-when they asked him why he replied that he was frightened I'd be lynched!

The big question is why he came back to Edinburgh to set up a practice. Again, surmising, it is likely that this was because he had met his wife, Annette. She was the daughter of a shopkeeper who sold tobacco and confectionery. The shop was close to his digs and he'd met her there. I would imagine this must have been why he chose to stay in Edinburgh, but Mrs Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) said that he loved Edinburgh-good taste!

When he was developing the practice at Oxgangs he could be seen cycling on his bicycle to visit patients-again what a wonderful sight that must have been. He must have set up shop around the time of the start of the NHS in 1947-up until then patients had to pay for treatment so people always thought twice about visiting the doctor-not to mention that such bills were always in guineas!

Being married to a white woman must have made life challenging socially and professionally, yet Mrs Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) says that he held regular large parties at home and a line of fancy cars could be seen outside. Before McAlester Cottage was built he stayed in one of the Gumley's houses across from The Store. When Dr Shepherd joined the practice he moved in there when Dr Motley moved to McAlester Cottage. In later years he lived at Buckstone.

Dr Shepherd was an excellent doctor-probably superior to Dr Motley. Dr Shepherd delivered my sister Anne Hoffmann at home on 19 September, 1961. In the decade or so prior to this, it must have been challenging for Dr Motley to learn all the skills required to be a general practitioner-being human he  undoubtedly will have made mistakes. On one occasion I had a poisoned big toe-the poison spread up to my knee-I was delirious and believe there was a danger that I could have lost my leg-when Dr Shepherd visited on an emergency call out, he immediately took control and lanced it.

He was very supportive of our family over the years. It was at his practice that I got a message in June 1976 that I'd been picked for the Olympic Team-ironically I was there getting an injury treated.

Peter Hoffmann 1976

He regularly offered to get me a scholarship to Oklahoma University which I never followed up. Two years later when I moved up to 800 metres for a year I would have been ranked number one in the United States, so undoubtedly a good scholarship would have been available, particularly with his connections there. He kept in touch with his old classmates as can be seen below. After being selected for Montreal he arranged a collection for me as a poor student to support my athletics. I was about to go off to Loughborough University (which I gave up after a week-I didn't feel Coe was good enough to train with when I had Jenkins et al!). I received a sizeable cheque, but we think it was Dr Motley who provided the bulk of the money!

As indicated, he kept in regular touch with his Alma Mater, Lincoln University, Pennsylvania, but I suspect also Wiley College-look out for the film The Great Debaters-all about the outstanding debating team which was formed whilst he was there as a student:

DR.ARTHUR P. MOTLEY, a medical practitioner, travelled the long distance from Edinburgh, Scotland, to be present at Commencement and to celebrate his 55th reunion with his classmates.

Mrs Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) doesn't recall ever seeing his daughter, Annette. I thought that I had, but my memory could not be depended upon. Was she black, white or mixed race heritage? Was she sent away to a boarding school and therefore wasn't in Oxgangs very much? She married someone from Scandinavia-possibly Sweden and settled there. She may have been estranged from her father and possibly quite bitter toward him. Towards the end of his life she wrote to him and made an attempt to get back in touch but Dr Motley said that although he intended to leave most everything to her, he felt it was too late in the day and that there had been too much water under the bridge. Mrs Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) thinks that back in the 1980s grandchildren came to visit him and he took them for a tour of Edinburgh on the top deck of the Number 32 bus which had a circular route.

Whenever I think of Dr Motley it is with great fondness-the mention of his name brings a smile to my face. He was kind,gentle and a caring doctor-he had an appetite for life and you felt better for spending a few minutes in his happy company.What a remarkable man and extraordinary character he was.

106287 106748 Divi-Day

I initiated a party trick a few years ago. I wrote down the numbers 287 on a piece of paper and kept the numbers hidden from everyone. I then said to the group I'm going to say three numbers and predict what three numbers Iain Hoffmann will come up with in response. The younger members of the group were particularly astonished when I got my prediction right.

The six numbers referred to the numbers which we had to quote whenever we visited The Store-this was our St Cuthbert's Cooperative allocated store number. The number was engrained into us from an early age, although some nameless members of the family had to have it written down for a few years!

It meant that we we were part owners-well, a teeny part-owner of the company; thus any time a member of the family visited  The Store and made a purchase it was important to always give the number.

Twice a year a dividend was paid out to each member-it was a percentage of what had been spent in the previous six months, but also was based on the profit the company had made. The second number in the title was The Blades' number-they must have signed up almost five hundred customers later than ourselves.

For many families in the city it was an important time in the year. After the money was paid out at Bread Street, Mrs Hoffmann would take Anne, Iain and me straight in to town to buy new school shoes and such like. We would go to Clarks-the x ray machine for checking that the shoes fitted properly was fascinating...!

In the decades before the 1960s it probably was the difference between many children going shoe-less-Divi-Day was that important. I may be wrong, but I think some families in the local Stairs only bothered collecting their dividend once a year using it to pay for either Christmas or for a summer holiday-we never had that luxury of allowing it to build up, instead queuing up on the first day that it could be collected!

Saturday Afternoons - You Grunt, I'll Groan!

Can you have a relationship when neither party speaks to each other?

One relation who hasn't really featured thus far in the series of blogs is our great-grandfather Willie Wight. 

He lived until his early nineties as did his wife, known affectionately by we great-grandchildren (Anne, Iain and me) as Wee Nana. They lived all their married life at London Road, Dalkeith in the upstairs part of the building. It was a solid, well built house-it's a listed building and is still there today.

The house was situated opposite the old Stewart's Shell Garage. I fondly recall looking out the windows at the petrol pumps with the old shell design on top of each pump. The coal fire would be blazing giving off a grand heat on a winter's afternoon.

'Saturday Afternoons, Dalkeith' (Peter Hoffmann, 2004)

Willie Wight was a remarkable craftsman: as a blacksmith he created gates and railings for prestigious projects and as the town locksmith could open bank doors if the local bankers mislaid their keys.Willie Wight was also a miser. In his bedroom he kept a safe next to his bed - fascinating, if one had the bottle to sneak in - the difficulty came if he or someone else might enter his room - you would be cornered unless of course you were to dive under the bed!!

One Christmas down at Portobello at Grandma Jo’s he tried to slip me an old penny as a present. I looked at it, considered it, then returned it to him and said 'No thank you!' He laughed so he wasn't entirely without a sense of humour (returning the penny to his waistcoat pocket), although 1958 may have been the last time that he smiled; to me his de-facto demeanour was taciturn and silent. But he highly regarded my father Ken Hoffmann - because of his exploits on the seven seas I expect he thought he was a real man!

Our grandmother and grandfather (Josephine and Willie) visited them every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon to give them a hand, do some shopping, cook meals and check they were okay.

My Aunt Heather was usually always there on a Saturday and occasionally my mother too.. I liked spending any weekend I could with my grandparents so I quite regularly visited on Saturday afternoons when I accompanied them. 

I always enjoyed visits to Dalkeith -it's a small market town with an interesting history - it always has a nice feel to it. Many of the buildings were old and stone built - it was quite different to the grey housing schemes at Oxgangs. Between the years 1989 and 1996 I had an office in the town working for Midlothian Council.

On the Saturday afternoons everyone disappeared out shopping - buyng mixed sweets from Woolworths; triangle shaped scones at the baker's; and fish for the afternoon tea. I meanwhile sat in the sitting room with the silent one - we called him Pumpa - a great moniker eh! 

But really, he never spoke. Like Grandpa Broon, but without the whiskers, he sat under a great cloud of pipe-smoke. Similar to the smell of cigars which take me back to 1960s with Pumpa, Gaga and my father sitting in the front room on Christmas afternoons I similarly liked the smell of the pipe tobacco.

The boxes of matches he used always interested me because they weren't the Bluebell Matches we used at home or Swan Matches with which my grandfather lit his cigarettes with. I was fascinated by the different designs on the boxes. I suspect he bought them from his local pub, The Black Bull.

He always had sweets on him which, similar to the matches,  I hadn't come across at Ewart's Newsagents at Oxgangs Broadway.The sweets were liquorice Pontefract cakes - believe it or not he might very occasionally deign to give me one (thus at least acknowledging my existence) which I enjoyed, particularly the taste and the consistency. But more usually he would feed himself and simply ignore me - well he was born in the age of Queen Victoria - children should be seen and not heard!.

Although many people would have found it an unsettling environment I was quite happy - I knew where I stood with him - there were no surprises.  We'd settle down to watch the wrestling, listening to Kent Walton's  low keyed Canadian accented voice providing the commentary on Jackie Pallo; Mick McManus; The Royal Brothers, et al.

He would then switch over to BBC where we would get David Coleman talking as the teleprinter gave out the early football results. The full results were then read out by Tim Gudgin who had as memorable a voice as Walton's.

I enjoyed the wrestling and in our way we communicated - we both wanted the outrageous Mick McManus to get beaten and we both agreed not to speak to each other unless he offered me a sweet when I would say 'Thank you'..

Being Entrepreneurial No 2-The Chippy

One of the most extraordinary episodes from life at The Stair was when Ali Douglas; Paul Forbes; Iain Hoffmann and I ran a chip shop from our bedroom window. Extraordinary as it sounds it's absolutely true!

During one summer in the very early 1970s school lunches were held at Hunters Tryst Primary School. Perhaps this was a pilot, because I don't recall it being held before or since. When I worked for a Local Authority Education Department during the nineties and noughties under the Scottish Government's New Community Schools' initiative we were involved in something similar which incorporated this innovation-aye there's nothing new under the sun.

During that long ago summer all the kids from the local Stairs were soon complaining about how poor the lunches were. I did some lateral thinking-Many of the kids have got lunch money-school lunches are crap-can I provide an attractive alternative, that would beat the competition, make some money and allow us to have some fun too? Management gurus, beat that for a definition of marketing!

Anne Hoffmann Junior and Mrs Anne Hoffmann

Our mother, Mrs Anne Hoffmann was out working in the Civil Service, so we had the freedom of the house. Our sister, Anne, who would have been sensible and rightly informed our mother was away for the summer staying at relatives who lived in Edinburgh's New Town. We therefore had the run of the house. So, we had surmised we had a kitchen for cooking; we were situated on the ground floor, so we could use our bedroom as the shop-the window could be opened and used as a serving hatch; and all the meanwhile the back garden was where our customers would gather.

Much of our initial stock was purchased using the largesse of our unknowing mother. Part of our household duties were to buy in the week's messages-we had carefully planned this and one Friday bought a large sack of potatoes. Following or should I say, preceding, Malcolm Gladwell and Dr Inyegar we limited our customers' choices-it was either chips or mince pie or mince pie and chips!

We had reasoned that the pies had to be purchased fresh so we bought these in each day at The Store. Jock at the butcher's section didn't know what hit him when we bought twenty mince pies on Monday morning. Aye we're hungry boys, Jock! And the following day, Aye, real good pies Jock-we're back for more! And then on Wednesday it was Jock's turn, You'd think you laddies were running a pie business! An embarrassed titter from us. On Thursday, Jock says, Well you don't look any fatter boys. Come Friday, neither Jock or I said anything-we were both too embarrassed. Then I remembered the weekend was fast approaching...Ah think I'll gie the pies a miss tomorrow Jock, so dinnae order in ony extra for me!

Following  good business organisation theory we separated out each aspect of the business according to our strengths-Ali Douglas peeled the potatoes; Iain ran the kitchen and the cooking-he'd been frying Sunday breakfasts since the age of six; Paul served up the suppers-by the way we'd also bought greaseproof paper at The Store too and had saved up a ready supply of Daily Express; Sunday Express; Sunday Post; and Evening News newspapers for wrapping up the suppers.

My tasks meanwhile were to drum up business; form an orderly queue in the garden-the queue was snakelike; encourage secondary spend-we'd bought in lots of small sweets which we sold for a penny each; and last of all I handled all the cash transactions at the bedroom window.

To add to the authenticity of the venture we'd ordered in from Mrs Anne Hoffmann's catalogue a toy plastic register till, which actually worked and did the business-it made a very satisfying ring each time a transaction went through.

And of course and again ahead of the theorists we knew the importance of a relationship with our customers. I tried to ensure I spoke to all our customers in the queue-taking their orders in advance; letting them know how long it might take before they would be served; and encouraging them to buy a few penny sweets. I think we even allowed them to use our loo!

Paul meanwhile with his infamous wit was excellent in a serving capacity-not only did we do salt n sauce, but there was a choice-brown or tomato; and there was pepper and vinegar too. According to my diary, we were making 17/6 (seventeen shillings and sixpence) each a day-and it was braw fun.

Once we closed the shutters for the day the four of us made an excellent job of clearing up and completely airing the house to ensure Mrs Anne Hoffmann didn't find out. Of course, she did, but it was well over a decade later. She had been sitting on a Number 16 bus speaking to someone and reminiscing about the past-Mrs Hoffmann, do you remember the chip shop the boys ran one summer? The what! Aye, the chip shop-bloody good chips they were too! 

I received a call from my mother that evening!