The Sunday Post #3 On the Cusp of the Year and the Return to School

Whilst summer is not quite yet on the heels of early autumn, still the above scene signifies the dreaded return to school after the summer holidays and the start of a new autumn school term. 

The photograph taken up at Swanston Road with the T Woods in the background on the lower slopes of the Pentland Hills and a local farm worker atop a cart and horse carrying hay making gentle progress up the slope on a golden afternoon hints at the cusp when summer very slowly moves toward autumn.

It was on such afternoons throughout the 1960s and on to 1972 that I along with the other twenty four children from the stair at 6 Oxgangs Avenue contemplated our return to the classroom. 

And yet perversely, quite often the weather remained similarly fine and sunny which made it a struggle to return to stifling classrooms at Hunters Tryst, Firrhill and Boroughmuir schools. Those of us with an awareness of the English system would be envious that our peers across the border wouldn't return until September, which seems much more sensible.

For most of the kids we didn't really want to go back, even if by the back end of the holidays being off school had perhaps lost a little of its sparkle. 

I've no doubt though that a few others like Gavin Swanson (6/1 Oxgangs Avenue) who were more studious actually looked forward to the start of the autumn term and the new school academic year. I don't think I ever did, but there was always a certain 'buzz' about going back. 

The boys had visited the hairdresser at Oxgangs Broadway for a Ben Mackenzie haircut - Michael; Boo-Boo; Brian and Alan Hanlon will have had their number ones, whilst Iain Hoffmann and I had our hair plastered down with Ben's famous jungle juice. 

For those with new schoolbags (and that unforgettable smell of leather) or new school clothes and ties or perhaps those going up to secondary for the first time, many will recall these days with a mixture of excitement and pleasure, but pain might be too extreme a word choice!

Many of us were keen to squeeze the last drops from the summer fruits and as the countdown began we managed to play amongst the hay in the fields at Swanston; have grass fights with the mown grass in the front garden of 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue; or late evening games of kick-the can or British Bulldog up at the field.

Bike runs were still taking place - I note that on the 11th August 1972, Paul Forbes (Oxgangs Place); Boo-Boo Hanlon (6/7 Oxgangs Avenue); Iain Hoffmann and I cycled from Oxgangs down through Arthur's Seat to Portobello whilst young Colin Hanlon cycled so far. 

Photograph, Wullie Croal

There was still a certain continuity in our lives as milk runs and paper runs were still being undertaken, because not many of us from the stair went away on holiday.

For a few summers we enjoyed our mini-Olympics at the army's former running track at Redford Barracks which were great fun. We might even manage a final visit to go jumping the burn at Colinton Mains through to the Braid-Burn Valley, but by then the grass and wild flowers and weeds and nettles had perhaps become too overgrown. 

And if it was wet, Iain, Paul and I would enjoy card games with members of the Blades family or play mischievously with their giant tape-recorder with Paul blowing great rasps onto the tape.

Four of the six Blades girls and Anne Hoffmann circa 1963

The cusp of the year was further illustrated and articulated through the school calendar.

But on reflection, what was truly lovely about the summer was that it brought many of us at the stair together whilst school would unfortunately divide us. 

At the start of the autumn term the Duffys (6/8) returned to St Augustine's whilst the Hanlons (6/7); the Hoggs (6/4); Norman Stewart (6/3); the Swansons (6/1); and the Hoffmanns were divided up between Boroughmuir; Firrhill; the Royal High; and of course Hunters Tryst. 

The cusp was thus metaphorical and literal.

Oxgangs-A Pastime From Time Past #16 Mrs Penny Forbes and baby Paul

Paul Forbes: Getting a bath in our pre-fab at Oxgangs Gardens from mum Penny Forbes. My dad used to light the coal fire in the morning before he went off to work. My grandchildren, literally, do not understand the concept of a living fire in the house. Great days, when performing community service meant helping your neighbour out!

Vanessa Campbell: Great pic Paul, I was born in a prefab, 1 Oxgangs Place. My mother was great friends with Penny; I have fond memories of the Forbes.

Paul Forbes: Thanks Vanessa. If I’m honest, I’m not sure if we were the Place or Gardens as we were right in the corner. Is Campbell your maiden name? Vanessa rings a bell, but the Campbell bit doesn’t.

Vanessa Campbell: I'm sure you were the Place, maybe Veitch will bring a bell?

Paul Forbes: It had to be Veitch! I remember you well. Oor wee end of the street was paradise!!

Vanessa Campbell: It was indeed Paul, glad you remembered. Such happy times.

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early

and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labour in the weekday weather made

banked fires blaze. No one thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

Of love’s austere and lonely offices?

Robert Hayden

Oxgangs - A Pastime From Time Past #13 1982 Commonwealth Games

Sports Heritage Scotland

Recognise the Scot in select company?

Ronnie Cutt: Paul Forbes

Peter Hoffmann: Indeed - Paul winning the first semi-final at the 1982 Commonwealth Games, Brisbane, Australia. There were widely reported problems over accommodation at the games village with many unhappy sportsmen - Paul Forbes provided me with an update!

Oxgangs - A Pastime From Time Past #4 The Stairs

From Graeme Robb: 'The best thing about living in a stair was no matter the weather you had some where to play - 2/4 David Robertson, 4/4 John Ritchie, 6/3 Alan Smith, 7/6 John Kay Oxgangs Park and all the others a bit older - Johnny McQueen, John Rumbles, Andrew Ritchie, Andrew Bruce. Off up the Pentlands or Braids first thing and back just before dark. The building of the gas houses - what a playground, we drove the watches and the police mad - daily warnings at school of how dangerous it was. Jumping from third floor windows in to sand pits. All great fun.

Comment from Paul Forbes: 'I remember some bastard had put bricks under the sand we used to land in at one of the sites. Unbelievably , I can’t recall anybody getting seriously hurt'.

Oxgangs - A Pastime From Time Past #3 Village In The Sky

From Christine Vincenti: 'This is a link to the booklet 'Village in the Sky: High Rise Living in Oxgangs' which may be of interest to anyone with an Oxgangs connection. We published this booklet with funding from Dunedin Canmore when the flats were demolished. George Williamson wrote and directed a play on this theme which was presented at Pentland Community Centre. We also had an exhibition in Pentland Community Centre and Oxgangs Library. I believe that the exhibition boards are still in the Library.'

http://www.digitalsentinel.net/2015/09/village-in-the-sky-high-rise-living-in-oxgangs/

Comment from Paul Forbes: 'When the Pre-fabs were demolished , my family were moved along the road a bit to Oxgangs Medway. The gable end of the building in the middle of the photo , bottom flat , became our new home for a while.'

The Sopranos Ride Again

Whit a feckin' laugh at Swanston Golf Club on Sunday morning, 44 years after the original photie at Woolworths circa 1972, 'The Sopranos' aka Boo-Boo Hanlon; Paul Forbes; Iain Hoffmann and 'the author' all ride again; next photo-shoot is scheduled for 2060! Thanks to the talented Louise Kennedy for conducting the photo-shoot and Alan Brown for the idea.

'V Signs' at 'The Stair' 1971

The first two are easy, Messrs. Iain Hoffmann and Paul Forbes, but what one of the six Blades girls is at the window of 6/6?

'A Moment in Time': A Small Montage of Photographs of Kids from The Stairs circa 1971

Yesterday, I came across these photographs of some of the kids from Stairs 2, 4 and 6 Oxgangs Avenue, circa 1971. :-)

Paul Forbes; Iain Hoffmann (6/2); Brian Hanlon (6/7); and Peter Hoffmann (6/2) at Woolworths, Princes Street

Stephen Westbrook (2/6) and 'Sparky'

The Scott sisters (4/8)-I clearly think their dog is a sheep invited in to save me cutting 'the lawn'!

Anne Hoffmann (6/2); Lynn Steer (2/5); and Gillian Westbrook (2/6)

Keith Robertson (4/2) on a fancier bike than we were accustomed to see (outwith Ali Douglas/Les and Derek Ramage; and Iain Hoffmann Raleigh Choppers)

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.

On The Cusp Of the Year

Today is Thursday, 15th August, 2013. It's the last day of the year since, on a whim, I first started the blog, The Stair, on Thursday 16 August, 2012. On the cusp of the year, both for the blog and when late summer is just turning to early autumn I thought I would display this lovely photograph of the season. 

The photograph has been taken up at Swanston Road with the T Woods in the background on the lower slopes of the Pentland Hills. A local farm worker is atop a cart and horse carrying hay; they are making gentle progress up the slope on a golden afternoon at the cusp as summer turns to autumn.

It was on such afternoons throughout the 1960s and on to 1972 that I along with the other twenty four children from The Stair contemplated our return to the classroom. Quite often the weather remained similarly fine and sunny which made it a struggle to return to stifling classrooms at Hunters Tryst, Firhill and Boroughmuir Schools. Those of us with an awareness of the English system would be envious that our peers across the border wouldn't return until September.

For most of the kids we didn't really want to go back-even if by the back end of the holidays being off school had perhaps lost a little of its sparkle. I've no doubt though that a few others like Gavin Swanson who were more studious actually looked forward to the start of the autumn term and the new school academic year. I don't think I ever did, but there was always a certain 'buzz' about going back. 

The boys had visited Ben Mackenzie for a haircut-Michael; Boo-Boo; Brian and Alan Hanlon will have had their number ones, whilst Iain Hoffmann and I had our hair plastered down with jungle juice. 

For those with new schoolbags (and that unforgettable smell of leather) or new school clothes and ties or perhaps those going up to secondary for the first time many will recall these days with a mixture of excitement and pleasure, but pain might be too extreme a word choice!

Many of us were keen to squeeze the last drops from the summer fruits and as the countdown began we managed to play amongst the hay in the fields at Swanston; have grass fights with the mown grass in the front garden of 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue; or late evening games of kick-the can or British Bulldog at The Field. Bike runs were still taking place-I note that in August 1972 Paul Forbes; Boo-Boo Hanlon; Iain Hoffmann and I cycled through Arthur's Seat to Portobello whilst young Colin Hanlon cycled so far. On another occasion Boo-Boo, Iain and I watched a world record at the Edinburgh Highland Games-little did I realise that a few years later I would take part myself. 

There was still a certain continuity in our lives as milk runs and paper runs were still being undertaken, because not many of us at The Stair went away on holiday other than Liz Blades to Stonehaven; Anne Hoffmann to our New Town cousins; or Alison and Fiona Blades; Iain; Paul and I camping at Stobo, Peebles. 

For a few summers we enjoyed our Mini-Olympics at the army's former running track at Redford Barracks which were great fun. We might even manage a final visit to go jumping the burn at Colinton Mains through to the Braid-Burn Valley, but by then the grass and wild flowers and weeds and nettles had perhaps become too overgrown. 

And if it was wet, Iain, Paul and I would enjoy card games at The Blades with Fiona and the girls or play mischievously with their giant tape-recorder with Paul blowing great rasps onto the tape.

The cusp of the year was further illustrated and articulated through the school calendar.What was truly lovely about the summer was that it brought many of us at The Stair together whilst school would unfortunately divide us. At the start of the autumn term The Duffys returned to St Augustine's whilst The Hanlons; The Hoggs; Norman Stewart; The Swansons; and The Hoffmanns were divided up between Boroughmuir; Firhill; The Royal High; and of course Hunters Tryst. The cusp was thus metaphorical and literal.

And on this last day of the year of the blog whilst it should perhaps be a time for reflection I'm not inclined to go down that road, and for whatever reason I'm not inclined to quite bring down the curtain on it-and certainly not before I do a Where Are They Now blog-and even that of course is unlikely to be a final hurrah.

So, on the cusp of the year after a golden 2013 summer good luck in your adventures-and I look forward to meeting and hearing from old acquaintances and making new. And by way of update, one former member at The Stair, Fiona Blades has been accepted to undertake a PhD whilst I'm joining Iain Hoffmann on holiday to Portugal. Any updates from others would be welcome!

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."

Milk; Fags And The NHS

Over the years to make money I had many paper rounds and also delivered milk. However, I always considered myself to be more of a paper boy, than a milk boy. You tended however to make more money as a milk boy and also received better tips. And if one was on a milk float it was better fun-less solitary because one was in company.

That said, I had a number of milk rounds over the years, including working for Douglas Blades, more of which in a future blog. At times I worked for a small dairy shop at Boroughmuirhead, Bruntsfield and also Berry's Dairy at Falcon Road West. These shops were there for decades and were family businesses. For delivering the milk I had a two wheel metal barrow. It was a solid, heavy old thing; Sean Connery had probably used the same one back in 1940!

Delivering The Milk
(Peter Hoffmann)

On weekdays there were four to five crates of milk to deliver; on the Saturday there was an extra crate which also accommodated some cream and butter. My round encompassed the old tenement flats around Bruntsfield Place; whereas the Berry’s Dairy job covered Morningside Road and the streets off. 

On some occasions in the New Year whilst we were still on holiday Iain Hoffmann, Les Ramage, Ali Douglas and Paul Forbes sometimes accompanied me-for a laugh and to liven things up we would drop one of the tetra packs from the top floor of one of the tenements. It had to be dropped in a certain way, so that it fell like a stone with a corner taking the impact-the noise broke the deep silence in the building and of course there was milk everywhere-we raced down the stairs quickly before disturbed residents opened their doors.

What was better fun was working for Edinburgh&Dumfrieshire Dairies on their battery powered three wheeled vehicles. These were open sided, to allow the milk boys-usually three of us, to hop on and off the vehicle, with our little four or eight pint carriers. We’d dart in and out of the Morningside houses collecting the empties and replacing them with gleaming full bottles of milk. Up until then I presumed all that one could buy was silver top milk; however, some of these fancy houses received red top and also gold top-the latter, being Jersey milk.

This work was more fun because one was in the company of others, rather than being on your lonesome. That said, on icy cold mornings my hands would get painfully cold, almost reducing me to tears. What was deadlier however was going down the incredibly steep Craighouse Avenue with its right angle turn into Balcarres Street. I always thought the vehicle was going to over-turn; especially when the roads were covered in ice. To counteract the threat of this happening, all the boys had to stand on the driver’s side or else vacate the vehicle.

A good friend who worked regularly for the Dummy was Geoff Hunter.He lived at Oxgangs Farm Avenue. I worked on and off at different times with him-often after he had inveigled me away from the loneliness of the long distance paper-boy!

Geoff Hunter

I haven't seen Geoff for almost forty years. He was a nice lad-a very able student in our class at Hunters Tryst School where he was never out of the top three and who went on to Boroughmuir Secondary School too. I hung about with him on and off over the years. We scived off school together-being in different classes at the Junior School we had to fabricate headaches and temperatures at the same time! On another occasion we scived off school to go the Radio 1 Roadshow in Princes Street Gardens; we'd visit the Pit Stop Cafe at Chesser where my grandfather footed the bill for our bacon rolls and orange juice; we played table tennis together at the after school club; and also attended Boys Brigade together at Barclay Church, Bruntsfield each Friday evening retiring with others afterwards to Demarcos Cafe at Tollcross to enjoy their fabulous coke floats and hamburger rolls. Geoff was a smoker and got me into the fags too for a few months. Today he's Head of Personnel at NHS Edinburgh and is still a talented table tennis player and goalkeeper.

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)