Figures On The Edge No 1-Gail Blades

As I move toward wrapping up the blog some individuals have featured more prominently than others. That's not necessarily because I've spent more time with them and certainly not because I've preferred some of the children to others. Amongst those who have only occasionally flitted in and out of the story are Gail and Esther Blades; Michael Hanlon; and James Duffy. I also want to make mention of a few others at neighbouring Stairs-The Sibbalds; The Douglases and a few others. As I mentioned in an earlier blog I was never close or friends with the Duffy girls, but neither was I unfriendly toward them either; indeed I liked everyone in The Stair, but as is the nature of day to day life in a tight knit community of eight families-sixteen adults and twenty five children there were ups and downs.

I liked Gail. I always found her to be very friendly. She was pretty. I think she showed an interest in the arts-was she musical and played a little piano? Did she also go along to the Patricia Brown Dance and Ballet School? She had a certain sensibility-she would praise the likes of Mrs Anne Hoffmann if she was going out on a Friday evening-Oh I doooo like your dress Mrs Hoffmann. Some others may have found this charm offensive off-putting, but I rather admired her style! I think she was the last of The Blades children who went to Boroughmuir Secondary School so she was clearly a bright girl.

At one stage I must have been quite close to her, because for a while we did papers together. After Douglas Blades left Bairds' Newsagents I inherited the City Hospital paper run. This was different from any any other run in the shop because one sold the newspapers rather than just delivering them. I can also recall selling cigarettes, tobacco and sweets, but that may have been more associated with the afternoon run when I delivered and sold the Edinburgh Evening News.

My primary memory of Gail at this time was that I had to cycle on Douglas Blades' bike up to the City Hospital with a very large pile of newspapers on the back of the bike-the bundle of papers must have been well over two feet high-well that was hard enough cycling up Morningside Drive and then the short but steep St Clair's Terrace, but bugger me I also had to give Gail a backie too. I was hardly Lance dancing on the pedals-I could manage Morningside Drive and at the end the slow climb up Greenbank Drive, but could never overcome St Clair Terrace-Ahem, excuse me Gail, but you wouldnae mind getting off the bike the noo wid you-ye've maybe no noticed but it's groond tae a halt and we're in danger o' toppling over! 

At the City Hospital we then loaded the papers on to hospital trolleys and did the wards separately. It was clearly a different era then-much more lax, but I found some of the experiences really quite unsettling-there were some bonny sights-I'll spare the detail. I did reflect however whether it was appropriate to be wandering about.

Once we were finished we met up again and it was great cycling back to The Stair-first because we were free and work was over for the time being and second because it was mainly downhill and on the flat-even with Gail on the back I had no trouble driving down on the pedals and sailing up Oxgangs Place. I'm not sure if Gail would have wanted me to carry her all the way up the stairs to 6/6...only joking Gail! Looking back I perhaps should have got into cycling!

The afternoon run was different and more enjoyable. The hospital was busier-it wasn't dark-the sun shone through the windows-visitors might be in-there was a friendlier more hopeful atmosphere and there were no untoward sightings! For the whole of the summer holidays of 1971 I did this job and perhaps beyond; I note from the 1971 Journal that Ali Douglas often came along to keep me company which made it more fun. From that journal I note the arrangement with Pamela Baird was to sell all the newspapers-sometimes I record this as being easy, sometimes it took ages.Pamela was always pleased for a sell out and I was always anxious to please. I must have been dedicated to her cause-I note that one Sunday I'd cycled out from Portobello at 6.30 am in the morning to sell the papers before cycling back down to my grandparents.

As with each and every one of us at The Stair we flitted in and out of one another's lives, depending on the time of day or the season of the year. On a cursory look through diaries there are only occasional references to Gail-Wednesday, 6 October, 1971 she was absent from school as was I; and on the following day ...Iain, Anne, Fiona, Gail, Ruth, Esther and me all out talking... The Stair was what kept us all together and facilitated these natural and easy going friendships-and as each of us left The Stair most of us went our own way, only occasionally or by accident meeting up in the decades since. I probably haven't seen Gail since 1978.

I was reflecting on the upcoming end of the blog and how it might be used in a positive way. I'm in Edinburgh every few months in an average year-there's a host of well reviewed coffee and cake shops I want to visit-I thought-why not develop a cake trail-put out a general invite to former residents at The Stair and others who have featured saying, At Mimi's; (or Love Crumbs; Tea at 94; Cafe Blush; Patisserie Jacob; Falko's, etc.) on Saturday morning at 10.30 am and see who turns up! I know that after Fiona Blades; the two former Anne Hoffmanns and I met up, Paul Forbes said let him know the next time we're meeting up because he wants to come along too. Iain Hoffmann would be up for it, no doubt.

Who knows, it would be lovely to see Gail and others again!

Moving On To Pastures New!

Being a milkman wasn't fun, so how come you could have a good laugh about being a milkman?

During the very early 1970s Edinburgh Corporation initiated a massive building project at Clovenstone and Wester Hailes. They created hundreds of new flats for families from throughout the city to move into and make a life for themselves the way we all did at The Stairs.

Douglas Blades saw an opportunity there and deployed a perfect marketing stance-he identified customers' needs-milk-which was a daily requirement for all families and determined how he could meet their needs

As families began to move in he dropped further leaflets advertising his milk business. A significant number of kids from The Stair helped Douglas to distribute the fliers to each flat and then revisit the house a few days later to see if they were keen to sign up. These included Boo-Boo Hanlon; Alison and Ruth Blades; Iain and Peter Hoffmann; and also Paul Forbes.

It wasn't straightforward and Douglas had some significant competition from other milkmen including Murchies Dairy, who rather ironically he got his milk from at Leven Street, Tollcross. 

Whenever we got a new customer signed up it was a red letter day. We made dozens of visits with him in his red Austin, which he must have chosen for this very purpose to accommodate  the crates of milk in the back. Looking at old diaries I assume he was going about with a girl called Ali at that time, because I reference that name regularly-or was that Ali Douglas or Ali Blades?

When the business was up and running I used to help Douglas with the milk deliveries early in the morning for six months or so in 1972. If I couldn't make it Iain took my place; on occasion Paul came out too. It wasn't without its teething problems however-there were occasions when the pick-up broke down and we weren't able to deliver the milk-I mention that on 1 August, 1972 Milk a disaster...van broke down!.

Each Friday evening I used to go out with Douglas collecting-I assume that was customers paying their bills-on a few occasions others came along too-17 March, 1972 Paul, Iain, Ali, Gail and I went out with Douglas collecting money. We were clearly along for the fun and craic-I assume the boys were in the back of the pick-up. Boo-Boo sometimes helped on a Friday too. Sometimes I record that it was wet or freezing, but there were compensations-on Friday 5 May, 1972 ...after collecting money in the pouring rain Douglas, Boo-Boo, Iain and I went to the chippy...

Full credit to Douglas for being so entrepreneurial and also atypically hard working-he could be a tough boss to work for too, but I generally enjoyed being out with him. Despite the jokes being a milkman isn't an easy life-the author Raymond Briggs speaks of this in his book Ethel and Ernie his lovely pictorial biography of his parents-he also brings out similar themes of loneliness, the cold, the unsociable hours in his classic The Snowman about poor old Santa having to do the same, but even worse going down chimneys-rather appropriate analogy at this time of the year.

Douglas eventually went on to sell the business to Murchies, before, if you'll forgive the pun, moving on to pastures new!

So how could you laugh at being a milkman? Well we've all heard jokes about the milkman-here's my contribution:

A milkman comes across an order for 45 pints of milk. Puzzled, he decides to ask the customer if this is a mistake. When he knocks on the door, a woman comes out with just a bath towel around her.

She confirms that she wants 45 pints. "Milk baths are good for your skin," explains the woman.

"Oh, OK," says the milkman. "Do you need it pasteurized then?"

"No," says the woman. "Up to my tits will be fine."

How Can Sundays Be Saturdays?

How can a Sunday be a Saturday?

Traditionally Sunday was a quiet day of rest and religious contemplation for many people.Certainly the atypical Sundays which we spent in the 1960s are a quickly disappearing thing; not quite extinct, but not far off...

The 1960s were a crossroads-at the end of the decade the culture was rapidly moving on and changing-fewer people were attending church; one or two shops were starting to open for longer; and young people in particular were keen to break away from what for many people could be quite a stifling day.

The Hoffmanns had a general Sunday pattern for many years which revolved around being collected at The Stair by our grandfather any time after 11.00 am to be taken down to Portobello for the day. We didn't have a telephone and of course mobiles weren't even dreamed of back then. Anne, Iain and I used to stand at our parents' front bedroom window to look for our grandfather's car coming down the hill at Greenbank. It's uncanny to think we could see that far, but this was when the prefabs were still there and before the new blocks of flats were built which replaced them.

Oxgangs House development and the last remaining prefabs at Oxgangs Avenue
(Photograph Douglas Blades)

We couldn't be entirely certain that it was his car, but there were relatively few cars on the road there on a Sunday. A cry would go up That's Gaga! and we'd all rush to get ready. Sometimes of course it wasn't and we'd go back to our waiting stations.

Over the years we attended church services intermittently before going down to Portobello. When we were very young we visited  the Bellvue Church with our father at the west end of Edinburgh.

In the late 1960s and early 1970s we children went along to the new Oxgangs Evangelical Church which we generally enjoyed. I remember two spinster sisters-the Darnleys who took separate bible classes. I attended the elder of the sister's class. I liked her. I note from a diary entry of Saturday, 9 January, 1971 I went to a party at Miss Darnley’s (Bible Class teacher) at the bungalow she shares with her sister at Craiglockhart. Not bad. Good night. I think some of the Blades girls were at the party too-I vaguely recall Fiona and Gail being there). The sisters were kind-Miss Darnley gave us all a small present. She gave me a copy of King Solomon's Mines by Rider Haggard-a thoughtful present for a fourteen year old boy. I was clearly disappointed with myself and it was most unlike me not to be up early, but I noted in my diary of the following day (Sunday 10 January, 1971)...I got up at 10.30 am. I missed Bible Class. I was annoyed as Miss Darnley  had thrown a party the night before. I clearly felt guilty. 

In the summer-time the family often went for an outing in the car with our grandparents. It was a traditional thing for the expanding British car owning population. If it was a run down the coast of East Lothian and home through the rich red soils of the farming landscape, we always stopped at Luca’s Café, Mussleburgh to enjoy their spectacularly good ice cream. My grandfather would treat us and buy each of us a cornet or wafer-he was a very generous man. We all ‘oohed and aahed’ at the creaminess of the flavour; today they have a very modern, fashionable up-market branch at Churchill where I give my custom every day of any visit to Edinburgh. The ice cream is still as good, particularly when it’s been freshly made.

We also went for regular picnics, but these tended to take place at Lauder Moor or Peebles.

Sometimes we were so full of food and had such an active day at our grandparents' house that on the way home to Oxgangs and The Stair we fell asleep as we cuddled up to each other in the Ford Zephyr or whatever car our grandfather had. The combination of the quiet drone of the engine, the car heater warming up and a dark winter’s night were a powerful sedative. At Christmas time, we managed to stay awake and played a game-we counted the number of Christmas trees we could see in house windows. In the summer, because of the light it, was easier to stay awake and on many occasions we had competitions to see who could count the most Mini cars.

Throughout the 1960s for the other members of The Stair and also the Stairs at numbers 2.4 and 8 too Sunday was a very quiet day. Oxgangs resembled a ghost town. Out-with a few people collecting Sunday papers and rolls the streets were very quiet. The roads and the traffic were quiet too. The field out the back was empty of kids with no games of football played. The pre-existing culture from previous decades continued and dominated. Was it difficult for families to keep in and contain energetic young children?

As previously mentioned The Duffys attended St Marks RC Church; I never recall The Hanlons going to church or The Smiths; The Blades were regular attendees at both Oxgangs Evangelical and at Charlotte Chapel; neither The Stewarts or The Hoggs attended church; The Swansons attended the Colinton Mains Church of Scotland at Oxgangs Place opposite The Store.

In the late 1960s things began to change for us very slowly. We started to go to our grandparents' house on alternative Sundays and therefore got into the habit of playing outside. Very gradually some other families were the same. Michael Hanlon arranged football matches against other local street teams; despite being at Boroughmuir I still occasionally turned out for his Red star team. However, Sundays still remained quiet-I sense there was still a reluctance to allow Sunday to become just another holiday when children could run free and wild.

Even today, if I'm in Edinburgh and on a Sunday I retrace the route which my grandfather took to Portobello-down Greenbank; past the old tenements and large houses at Morningside, Churchill and the Grange; and from there though the Queen's Park and past the 12th century Duddingston Kirk, one can still see and get a sense of that weekly Sunday trip which we took throughout the decade of the 1960s-there are still well heeled and well groomed people, albeit fewer and fewer making their way to these large old churches.

Change came slowly, but steadily-a change in the culture-a change in values-and the children were getting older and less keen to be contained. In the early 1970s Paul Forbes and I went along to Charlotte Chapel-we must have been introduced to the church through the Blades family-I note from a diary a church barbecue at Gullane Beach, in the company of Fiona and Liz Blades amongst others.

The minister then was the rather engaging Reverend Derek Prime who we liked very much. Often Paul and I would arrive for the evening service carrying large bags of sports kit which the minister hid behind the pulpit for us!

We'd been training in the morning and then hanging around Meadowbank Sports Centre in the afternoon. John Anderson had an international squad there, but for some reason he allowed two scruffy and cheeky kids from Oxgangs to join in, much to the surprise of our contemporaries-perhaps he saw something there which few others did.

Thereafter we would chat up any girls who were around-usually Petrina Cox and Fiona McCaulay who were good fun. Once they'd left to do sensible thing-like homework, we'd remain there and either sneak in to the table tennis room and play at table tennis until we were thrown off. Sometimes the great Boroughmuir Basketball team were playing against the likes of The Hornets-again we'd slip in without paying and soak up the atmosphere cheering on 'Muir.

All the while we'd stretch out our limited finances, sometimes having to share a single plate of chips.We developed a very mixed reputation-the names Peter and Paul tended to ring too easily and too often off the tongue! We were certainly regarded as characters and had our ups and downs. We were often chastised and told off, but we kept coming back Sunday after Sunday as well as regular evenings throughout the week. Although I'm happy to say we were never mature, by attending week in week out, we began to get fitter and fitter, better and better.

If we weren't going to Charlotte Chapel from Meadowbank Sports Centre then it might be on our way back from an athletics competition at Perth or in the Borders.As this blog only covers the period to 1972, I can safely say that I certainly never achieved anything athletically at this time, although I did manage to break the school record in the 200 metres that summer and be part of an Edinburgh Athletic Club team which won the East of Scotland Championship relay. Paul meanwhile was relatively better than me and getting some good results at cross country picking up East of Scotland and National team medals.

.

Boroughmuir School Sports Day 1972 200 Metres Final. In the background the great and legendary TAS Taylor
(Photograph by Miss Anna Beattie, Mathematics School-Teacher)

A big attraction of Charlotte Chapel were the lovely girls there. In my memory, the girl who stood out was Moira Cameron who was beautiful. I'd see her on church outings and at the Youth Fellowship which was held in the minister's house at Morningside on Sunday evenings. I never plucked up the courage to ask her out. I notice in my diary of 14 June, 1972...I won the 200 metres in a new school record time...scived the afternoon...went orienteering with the YPM...Moira Cameron very nice looking...got a run home....

Moira Cameron
(Photograph Douglas Blades)

Along with the ever changing culture the most dramatic factor which essentially changed Sundays into Saturdays was the Sunday Trading Act, 1994 which permitted large retail shops to open on Sundays. People no longer had to rush to pack everything into a Saturday. People could now shop on a Sunday. The public could watch a Premier League football game-even a game of international rugby on a Sunday.

Sundays would no longer be quite the same; in my mind a Sunday still feels slightly different to a Saturday-gone is the Victorian suppression of the Sundays of the 1960s, enabling people to shop, work, play, but also to participate in religious worship and contemplation if they so wish-a halfway house which works for us all? Although I suspect some followers of The Stair may disagree!

There Is A Time For Everything

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

I thought I'd give followers of The Stair a wee heads up that I intend to bring the Blog to an end on the 30 December, 2012. 

I feel there's a nice synchronisation to this. By then I'll have written about 75,000 words which I intend to marshal and edit slightly into a purely print version. When I've done this if anyone would like a copy please let me know and I'll be delighted to forward you a download.

I could continue well into the future in a similar vein, but I've always been a big fan of David Daiches lovely book Two Worlds set in Edinburgh in the 1920s and 1930s. It's approximately 70,000 words long and I think it's a good model.

I've still got much to write about so will have to prioritise what goes in and what stays out over the next three weeks or so. If there is anything that any reader would like to see featured or edited or mistakes rectified then please let me know.

Also is there anyone missing who really should be included? Of the themes covered are there any glaring gaps? My approach has been to do little vignettes whereby key themes have ebbed and flowed throughout the Blog-particularly work, life and play, with sub themes of class; economics; health and well-being; education; rights and wrongs; etc. as displayed through the quirks of the way we all behaved or situations we got ourselves into.

I'm concious for example that there has been little if anything on boy/girl romances and relationships; love and sex; also religion hasn't featured enough; politics has only been touched upon at the fringes; and similarly death too. I also feel I should have made an effort to meet up with others to get their stories-in particular the Hanlons-I did once arrive with some cakes on the doorstep of 6/7 and knocked on Hilda's door-Hilda being the very last remaining resident at The Stair-Hilda was out-I wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. There's a wonderful book called Akenfield by Ronnie Blythe which records the way of life of a small English village in Surrey which simply records the various members of the community's own stories. I'm very aware that this is a significant gap in the Blog. I had hoped otherwise thinking that others might have got in touch-again I haven't been proactive enough. If I'd been based in Edinburgh I might have tried harder; is it too late?

In the occasional comments exchanges I've mentioned that I've taken more of an instinctive approach rather than an intellectual one, whereby I've partly allowed it to almost take on a life of its own allowing it to go off in certain directions but always coming back to the core concept of life at The Stair. This has led to it being much more weighted toward others, but perhaps that has been because they featured more prominently in my life at The Stair. That said, individuals such as Michael; Colin; Alan; Gail; Esther; Les; the Sibbalds-remember them?-and even my sister, Anne, were all children who I played with and were important in my day to day life at The Stair.

One last thing, which Liz Blades suggested several months ago is a Where Are They Now column which would bring the Blog to a natural conclusion. I would need a little assistance on this-especially as I'm not on Facebook-so I may well be in touch with one or two of you!

Working At Bairds' Newsagents-The Darkness and The Light-The Darkness

Mr Andrew Baird, the son of the founder of Baird's Newsagent
(Photograph courtesy of Louise Baird)

From behind the keyboards it's too easy to romanticise the past. And it's ridiculously too easy to romanticise getting up early to do a morning paper run and reflect upon its character-building qualities. 

Getting up early in the dark was rarely easy; even if you had gone to bed early the evening before. However, once you had got over the initial shock of the Big Ben repeater alarm going off and got a bit of tea and toast into your system, the travelling down to Baird's Newsagents, Morningside Drive for our paper rounds on the 6.00 am Number 16 bus wasn't too bad in the winter months - the bus was cosy - the company of Liz, Fiona and Gail Blades and Christina and Maureen Hogg was good and the craic between the conductor and the cleaners was funny. 

Once inside  the shop you were out of the cold, the wet and the dark. For half an hour it was quite Dickensian - like a small factory through the back of the shop where we folded the newspapers on the worktop in preparation for Pamela Baird arriving later to make up the paper runs.

Being Morningside most of the newspapers were broadsheets. Liz and Fiona were like robots - the speed at which they folded the papers was uncanny - they were like lightning. I could never keep up with them. When they weren't about I enjoyed appearing fast to the novices. When we had finished, our hands were dark and dirty from the ink.

Pamela Baird

I liked Pamela and warmed to her; I also admired the way she assumed responsibility for the business after her father died. She wasn't an early morning person so it was a struggle for her too; and running the business must have placed a heavy burden upon her at that time - in the afternoon she could be fun. I wonder what became of her in the decades after the shop was sold?

She came from a different class to us; Fiona and I would give one another knowing smiles and glances when Pamela answered the telephone and put on a posh accent for the benefit of her customers - there would be exaggerated pauses as she said 'Mmmh, yaass....mmmh yaass...mmmh yass'. 

I liked working for Baird's, however, the thing which brassed me off slightly was that although we arrived at the shop half an hour earlier than the children from Morningside Pamela would make up their runs first - I always felt this was class discrimination; I assumed they were the children of friends and neighbours and who attended more local schools such as George Watsons School. However, Fiona was smart as a whip and actually memorised her run so she didn't have to hang around.

I did the Morningside Drive run which was one of the biggest runs at the shop - I had to collect a second bundle of papers from Pamela's brother, Stuart, who dropped it off on the garden wall at St Clair Terrace from his little Triumph Herald car; what was even more irritating was that he was always late!

The Baird family with Stuart and Angela at the front

Although this was effectively a double paper round, Baird's paid well at a pound a week it was double the going rate and our bus fares were paid for too. We also felt a certain ownership too - despite the size, length and time taken I regarded the Morningside Drive run as mine, (until I took over the City Hospital from Douglas Blades) and took a certain pride in ensuring the post got through no matter the obstacles. Was it Tuesdays or Fridays that were the worst because the Daily Telegraph had a magazine insert in it which considerably added to already heavy bags.

Saturday bags were also heavier, with a weekend magazine, but somehow, Saturdays were never a struggle.

Once you had set out from the warmth and company of the shop we cut lonely, solitary figures - the winter mornings were dark and often quite bitter - Morningside Drive was quiet; the graveyard was on the opposite side of the road for a stretch - lovely mansion and town houses by day were surprisingly spooky and shadowy in the dark, especially when the wind blew through the swaying, leafless branches of the big old trees that lined Morningside Drive.

Looking back it was certainly character building - athletics training in such conditions in later years I took in my stride, probably because I had been steeled and inured in those earlier years working for Baird's. And whilst I do see a certain value in the overall experience, it was not conducive to performing well at school and reaching one's potential - when d'Artangnan asked me a few years ago if he could do an early morning paper run I admired his chutzpah and work ethic, but I said no, because I wanted him to get as much sleep as possible to grow and to be fresh for school; and today I guess we're more aware of the health & safety dimension too.

More in later blogs on life at Baird's and observations and reflections - under The Light where I also want to mention a poem Happiness by Raymond Carver.

Postscript

Much to my delight, on Saturday, 17^th March, 2018, I met up with Pamela Baird for coffee at Burr & Co, George Street, Edinburgh for the first time in at least 46 years. She looked very well - vibrant and chatty - it was absolutely lovely to see her once again and to catch up on what happened to Baird's Newsagents in the years after I stopped working there.

Pamela left the year after I finished working there (1971) to get married in 1972 and she moved away to West Lothian where she has lived since. The shops (there were three adjoined - a toy shop and a card shop too) were sold on to an American, who only ran the businesses for a year or so afterwards.

In many ways Pamela was glad to move on as managing the newsagents placed a heavy burden on her young shoulders - she was only nineteen years old when her Dad died in 1966 and she had to leave working at the bank to take up the reins and the hours were long. Prior to this, she used to give her dad a break from the shop for an hour to allow him to nip home to watch the wrestling on a Saturday afternoon, so she gained some experience then of running the shop.

It was very gratifying for me to be able to convey my thanks to her for being able to work there - I loved working for Baird's - they were good employers - it was an important part in my young life for three years - it left a deep impression upon me and taught me much about the values of discipline, hard work and resilience and depending upon yourself as well as being part of a team and of course the importance of earning your corn.

ps Pamela mentioned to me that one of her younger sisters, Angela, who lives in Australia, said she recalled me taking her out to see the film, Grand Prix, at the Dominion Cinema and being young, nervous and naive that instead of taking her for a coffee afterwards, spotted a number 16 bus saying ‘Oh, here’s my bus home’ and leapt on - I don’t recall our date, but it sounds just like me!

6/4 The Hoggs

The Hoggs lived at 6/4-above us (The Hoffmanns) and below The Blades. They were a lovely family. The father, George, was a joiner - he was a very quiet man. His wife was the home-maker and seemed to be the more dominant figure.There were three daughters - Christina, Maureen and Eileen. Christine and Maureen were quite close in age, a few years older than me, whilst Eileen was a lot younger-there must have been at least a seven year gap. They took after George in that they had red hair, but none of the traits often associated with red hair!

One couldn't but help like the girls. Christina and Maureen shared a bedroom which was above ours-sometimes we had fun tapping out signals on the ceiling above. Christina was a very likeable, pleasant and sensible person-she seemed quite tall in appearance at that time; Maureen was closer in age to me. I always thought of her as being quite handsome, quite fashionable and good fun-she reminded me a lot of Fiona and Liz Blades at 6/6. I remember the cool way she used to wear her Firhill School tie low down on her blouse, in a large knot.

Maureen Hogg

Eileen was very thin and white-initially she may have appeared plain, but was actually quite beautiful-as she got older with her red hair set against white skin and being very slim, she looked like an artist.

Eilleen Hogg

Sindy

Probably because of the age gap, they were quite motherly toward Eileen and looked after her.The girls were fond of my sister Anne and had a lot of fun dressing up both Eileen and Anne in exotic outfits-it was as if instead of Barbie or Sindy dolls, even better, they had live dolls of their own  to dress and play with. My sister has very fond memories of these times.

Barbie

Along with the Blades we used to all work together at Bairds Newsagents at Morningside Drive. Whilst Douglas Blades used to cycle down earlier to open the shop, we all got the six o'clock  number 16 bus. Liz, Fiona and in later years, Gail Blades, the girls would come rushing down the stairs from level 2, to be joined by Christina and Maureen Hogg from level 1, to thereafter be met by me on the ground floor to cross Oxgangs Avenue to get the bus. It was good fun and made the early rises much easier. I enjoyed being the only boy in the company of four or five girls and felt part of a pretty cool gang!.There was good crack on the bus with the early morning school cleaners who were setting out to work too; they were a sparky, humorous bunch.

                                 

The Hoggs had cousins-two boys who were at Oxgangs Primary School who were renowned footballers and good runners. I recall them being at the Hoggs one Monday public holiday and hearing The Beatles track Yellow Submarine being played in the background. It's a very haunting track which immediately takes me back in time.

As mentioned, I think George Hogg was part of a cooperative of tradesmen who all built their own houses at Oxgangs Green; when they moved, it was a sad loss for The Stair, but they will have loved moving to their own house with upstairs and downstairs.