Summer Has Gone

On Saturday 15 July, 1972, five of us set off for a camping holiday to Stobo, Peebleshire. The five were Alison Blades; Fiona Blades; Paul Forbes; Iain Hoffmann; and me. We got a lift down there from Douglas Blades in his red Austin pick-up.

Douglas's van could only seat two passengers in the cabin, so Alison and Fiona sat inside. Paul, Iain and I meanwhile sat in the back with all the camping gear and luggage; we were completely open and exposed to the elements, although fortunately the weather was set fair. It was a great feeling sitting in the back of the pick-up with the rushing breeze blowing our hair back. We felt cool, metaphorically and then literally, as the journey progressed through the wynding, open roads of the Borders. After we travelled through Penicuik we passed Leadburn Junction and made our way to Eddlestone where we turned right for the drive over the gentle Meldon Hills and then on through old Lyne Station, Stobo Castle, Stobo Kirk and the tiny hamlet of Stobo.

To keep sheltered from the wind we had to snuggle up together and kept as low down in the vehicle as possible. Fortunately we didn't come across any policemen en-route-although it was a laxer age, they might well have stopped us if they'd seen us sitting in the back of an open vehicle.

Stobo is a sylvan spot in Peebleshire set amongst the gentle and beautiful Borders landscape. It's little known unless you are perhaps familiar with the early works of John Buchan. Forty years before James Patrick McIntosh, the great Dundee artist painted a well known painting of the kirk; the painting is in the collection of Edinburgh's City Art Centre. Today, Stobo is a little better known because of the exclusive health spa at Stobo Castle.

Stobo Church (James Patrick McIntosh)

We had managed to borrow a large tent from the church - I think it belonged to Oxgangs Evangelical Church rather than Charlotte Chapel - I note from my diary that it was Fiona who got it for us. I had borrowed a sleeping bag from my grandparents and bought in lots of food from The Store, including a few flagons of cider - looking back it seems amazing that teenagers could buy alchohol and tobacco so easily.

Paul Forbes; Peter Hoffmann; and Iain Hoffmann trying to keep up!
(Heather Robertson)

The farmer gave us the go ahead to camp in his field. I note from my diary that after setting up the tent that evening (with a hand from Douglas) we thereafter managed a swim in the River Tweed followed by a good supper washed down with cider - a deadly combination! According to the diary we were tipsy - a rather quaint word. Paul had clearly consumed too much and was sick. I recall him swearing that he'd seen a shooting star during the night, but we were dubious, much to his dismay.

Normally the problem with camping in Scotland is the weather - people often get washed out and have to give up and go home. Ironically, we had some difficulty with the weather too, but for the opposite reason. We chose one of those very rare occasions when Scotland had a heatwave!

The week we'd chosen to go camping was the hottest of the summer. In the following days the temperature was mostly in the eighties. Indeed it was so hot that most of us began to suffer from heatstroke. By the following Tuesday our grandparents were good enough to drive down to take Alison and Iain back home to The Stair to recover. The group photograph shows how badly Alison was suffering. Again, from my diary I noticed that I too was sick that evening, noting that I was feeling crap!

Grandfather (William Robertson); Alison Blades; Paul Forbes; Fiona Blades; Grandmother (Josephine Robertson); Peter Hoffmann; and Iain Hoffmann
(Heather Robertson)

However, in between, we had a lovely time. We were up early with the light and stayed up late into the evening sitting around our camp-fire. Sometimes we'd cook a fish that had been gifted to us by local fishermen during the day. The bus-driver on the Peebles to Glasgow late night bus used to flash his lights at the happy young campers as he drove the country bus along the old B712 road. From the spring through to the summer we'd all enjoyed occasional card games back at The Stair, so before turning in for the evening we sat and played games of trumps. Before we all drifted off to sleep inside the tent, the craic was always good with much story telling, nonsense and hilarity. We'd be awoken in the morning by the sounds of birdsong. The only sound during the night was the gentle plashing of water as it lapped against the small pebbles, but once or twice during the night there might be a strange sound or screech which broke the silence - What was that? (or if it was Paul What the fuck was that!) was the usual refrain from one of us, but we felt safe and secure in one another's company and soon fell back to sleep.

Paul Forbes; Peter Hoffmann; and Iain Hoffmann
(Heather Robertson)

During the day we used to spend a great deal of time in the River Tweed. It was a glorious spot. Adjacent to our tent was a small still pool which kept our submerged drinks cool and which we also used for bathing. We used the opposite side of the bank, which was a good four or five feet higher up for diving into the main body of the river. Here the water was around eight feet deep. It was wonderful to begin the day with a dive into the pure clean water. Throughout the day, whenever we sizzled with the heat, we'd stroll across and dive and dive again into the water.

Paul Forbes and Peter Hoffmann diving; Iain Hoffmann watching, learning and admiring-not! Iain was the diver par excellent!
(Heather Robertson)

On most days a few families came for picnics and were often friendly. Entertained by our exploits they were often kind offering us some of their food. Half a mile away there was a tiny wee shop in the little hamlet of Stobo. Paul and I usually wandered down early each morning to pick up a pint of milk, some bread and lemonade or coke to keep the fluids up.

Peter Hoffmann (Heather Robertson)

The lovely county town of Peebles was six miles away. On one occasion Paul and I began walking there but it was terribly hot and exhausting. We stuck our thumbs out to a couple of passing vehicles but without any success. Being a quiet country lane there was very little traffic on the road. Of a sudden we heard a car in the distance. I immediately lay down on the road whilst Paul leapt up and down and waved down an older, charming English couple and told them rather dramatically that I'd fainted with the heat. They kindly offered us a lift into town. Rather like Stanley Baxter in The Fast Lady I of course made an immediate recovery and we were soon conversing happily with them on the drive into town!

Peebles for pleasure runs the old motto and we sauntered around enjoying games of putting and of all things playing with swans down by the River Tweed. I assume we got a country bus back to Stobo as I suspect walking the six miles back to our camp-site would have been beyond us. Fiona, Paul and I stayed on for the rest of the week. We gathered firewood from the local wood, swam, conversed, played cards and generally lapped up the sun and the experience, before Douglas kindly came down to collect us and drive us back to The Stair.

When that summer of 1972 came to an end it marked a point in time - a line in the sand - the bell was ringing for the last lap and the end of my boyhood. It wasn't long afterwards, indeed only a few weeks later that I decided to leave school. A few months later, at the start of winter I left The Stair, only to return for occasional visits.

Summer Has Gone’ 

I have tidings for you,

The stag bells;

Winter pours;

Summer has gone

Wind is high and cold;

The sun is low;

Its course is short;

The sea runs strongly…

Cold has seized

The wings of birds;

Season of ice.

These are my tidings

       (Early Irish Lyrics, Oxford 1956)

Ten Photographs From The Mists Of Time At The Stair

As the blog begins to come to an end, ten photographs from the mists of time.

Iain and Peter Hoffmann

Iain Hoffmann and Ali Douglas-The two nicest boys at The Stairs and best friends for many years

Same as above-just couldn't work out the right way around!

Eilleen Hogg; Alison Blades; Ruth Blades at front-I was always pleased with this photie-I thought it artistic-Alison clearly humouring me! 

Iain Hoffmann with Candy 

Maureen Hogg with Simon-brilliant to find a photie of Maureen at this late stage of the blog!

Les Ramage

Colin and Alan Hanlon

Alison Blades; Heather Swanson; Eilleen Hogg; Ruth Blades and Anne Hoffmann at front-again, great to find a photie of Heather!

Peter Hoffmann and Ali Douglas

Good Time?

Good time?

In the summer of 1971 that was a question often on the lips of the younger residents of The Stair, as well as kids from numbers 2,4 and 8 Oxgangs Avenue and also for others from Oxgangs Street. 

In June, 1971, Paul Forbes, Iain Hoffmann and I visited a pawnbroker in the Grassmarket with the express purpose of buying a stopwatch. It cost me a fiver (£5). I had decided that my latest wheeze for the summer would be to organise athletics over the school holidays. Little did I know that it would attract over thirty kids as active participants. Today the relatively useless Active Schools Coordinators scheme pay officers £30k a year for doing less work with less success! Supplementing the stopwatch, was a measuring tape that I had managed to borrow from Bill Walker at Meadowbank Sports Centre and a little notebook and pen.

Paul Forbes and Peter Hoffmann at Meadowbank Sports Centre asking Bill  Walker for a wee loan of the measuring tape!

Within the notebook there was a section for each participant recording their best times and their best jumps. As Ruth Blades (Kaye) mentioned in a previous comment the events consisted of: Fence (Hoffmann garden) to Lampost (outside No 8 Oxgangs Avenue)-a pure short sprint: Bus Stop (outside No 2 Oxgangs Avenue) to Lampost (outside No 8 Oxgangs Avenue)-the classic sprint distance; Once Round The Two Blocks-a lap (or loop) of Nos 6 and 8 Oxgangs Avenue-three short bursts and two longer bursts with four left (right angles) turns; and finally the classic distance of Once Round The Four Blocks-The Stair's equivalent of one lap of an athletics track. We were quite happy to accommodate other requests too e.g. twice or three times Round The Four Blocks.

Some of the Oxgangs Mini Olympics competitors.
Esther Blades; Iain Hoffmann; Ali Douglas; Ruth Blades
Alison Blades; Boo-Boo Hanlon; and Eileen Hogg

Paul Forbes; Peter Hoffmann; and Iain Hoffmann 'jumping for joy!'

We also used to put on long jump and triple jump competitions too, which were held across from The Stair on the other side of Oxgangs Avenue on a grass strip beside the bus stop. These events could easily last for over an hour and more; they must have been quite entertaining for those queuing for a bus!

Triple Jump Venue Oxgangs Avenue

To help make everyone feel involved a relatively short distance would be marked out. I knew everyone could make the distance-even those as young as say Esther Blades. Each participant would have three attempts at each set distance to be able to advance to the next round and distance. The distances would be incrementally increased, but only gradually-this meant that everyone was involved for a good length of time, because each person had to complete the challenge. For those who were younger it would take a big effort to progress; if you were older or quite athletic one might show off or fool around in the early rounds and it served as a good warm-up.

As the distance became more challenging everyone was very supportive encouraging their pals to make a big effort to try to reach the distance and progress to the next round-if a younger child made it, a big cheer went up-if one didn't make the mark, there was commiseration that you'd make it next time!

Willie Taylor; Derek Ramage; Mark Robertson; John Duffy; and Stephen Westbrook

Because everyone was so involved from the start, even once you were eliminated, everyone tended to stay on to see how the event progressed; to see who would eventually jump the furthest; and how far each person actually leaped. Also if you were knocked out you might become a judge or set the marker distances. And, although it was a competition, ultimately everyone, both won and lost-this was because you would usually get a personal best, but eventually we all failed at some stage to reach the marker.

Similarly, by running and timing each of the set distances, these were mainly done individually, so one was competing against one's self trying to improve one's personal best; if you were competitive, you could compare your times against your peers.

I kept the notebook for decades-I think it was stored in my grandmother's attic, until she died, when it became lost. It may still be amongst my own papers, but I don't think so. I was always tempted to take Will and Tom out to Oxgangs Avenue to see how they might compare to our generation's times. They would certainly have been game.

Will Leading Tom, National Gallery of Modern Art, Edinburgh
(Peter Hoffmann, 2009)

Until relatively recently when we visited the National Gallery of Modern Art in Edinburgh, I always had to time them on a lap of  the Charles Jencks Garden. Will started to outpace 'the old man' two years ago (but only up to 200 metres!)-it's taken Tom (16) until this year-I think!

Will (1st) (Second right, black T shirt) age 16 finally beats  The Old Man (3rd)
Final Open 100 Yards Strathconon Highland Games 2010

Bonus Post for Ruth Blades (Kaye)-As if by magic?

Ruth-as if by magic I've conjured up a photograph from the past of the famous shed jump which you referred to-this time it's being completed by Iain Hoffmann.

Iain Hoffmann jumping from the shed roof (Photo by Peter Hoffmann)

As a bonus I've included a group photie especially for you-you've not changed!

Back Row: Esther Blades; Iain Hoffmann; Ali Douglas (holding the Blades' cat, Candy); Ruth Blades;
Front Row: Alison Blades; Boo-Boo Hanlon; and Eilleen Hogg (Photo by Peter Hoffmann)