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