The Wednesday Profile #7 Mr Forgan; Sandra Catterson and Mrs Davidson

For all the years I recall living in Oxgangs between 1958 to 1972 and beyond the chemist's shop at Oxgangs Broadway was run by Mr David R. Forgan. Ann-Marie Bain recalls that his displayed certificate showed that he had qualified as a chemist as early as 1939 at the start of the Second World War.

I assume he was one of the original shopkeepers.

As might be expected this was a well-run shop and always had a classy feel to it.

You somehow felt secure in his shop - it exuded a certain confidence and professionalism, something which you would look for in such an important profession.

If you needed to wait for a prescription there was a seat, however there was always such a mix of interesting goods in the shop and other customers that sometimes you didn't mind waiting.

It sold an interesting array of perfumes, salts, talcum powders, cough sweets and small penny lollipops - to help the medicine go down? The chemists' shops at that time had a certain pleasant smell about them. As Karen Reid said ‘I can still remember the smells!’

Mr Forgan was a patrician sort of a chap - with his balding head and remaining white hair he seemed old to me then, but I guess he was much younger than I am now, 62 years of age.  

He was courteous and pleasant and had a distinctive presence - in my memory he looked a little like the Colonel Blimp character portrayed by Roger Livesy; but on seeing a photograph of him recently there is only a very slight resemblance.

Many local girls enjoyed their first Saturday job there including Linda Hamilton, Ann-Marie Bain and Karen Macleod as well as holiday jobs. And judging by the positive comments it was a good place to work. Karen said ‘I loved all the old ladies coming in to choose a new lipstick!’

Several members of the Oxgangs A Pastime From Time Past Facebook group comment on what a lovely man Mr Forgan was and how helpful - if you needed some advice rather than a visit to the doctor’s he always had the time for a quick chat.

Sandra Catterson said ‘My old boss and very dear friend; I was very lucky to have the privilege of working with him for eighteen years until his retirement.’ 

Others including Susan Henderson recall how it’s changed days – it was to the chemist’ that we ventured in to, to have our camera spools developed - that prominence can be seen in the Kodak advert in the shop window. Extract from Retep Nnamffoh's diaries:  Friday, Hogmanay, 1971 '...It was a boring last day of 1971. The only wee excitement was going up to the chemist's shop to collect my photies...' 14th February, 1972: '...I also looked in to Forgan's the Chemist at Oxgangs Broadway to buy a spool for my wee Kodak Brownie camera...'

Douglas Cutt commented ‘Good God, another memory! I bought a 2/6d plastic Diana camera from my paper round money and took some photos of my Jackie Stewart Formula 1 car model that I had just put together and painted. I took the photographs on the street. He (Mr Forgan) was asking how I had managed to get such good photos... he thought it was the real car!’

Because we lived closer to The Store, where as part of the overall building, there was an additional two separate shops, one of which was a paint and decorator's shop, (which couldn't possibly survive today) and t'other a chemist (where the chip shop is today) we tended to share our custom between the two chemists shops. The chemist here was actually part of St Cuthbert's Co-operative Association Ltd.

It had the same feel as Forgan’s Chemist shop, but was smaller, less inviting and there was less freedom to roam and as a customer you were kept at a distance.

Sandra Catterson and Dorothy Davidson

There was a link between the two shops because Martin Davidson’s mother (from further down Oxgangs Avenue) worked there; she was a glamorous lady with blonde hair - she was a very friendly woman, but someone who could also be sensitive combined with great customer care - an asset to the business. Although I haven't thought of Mrs Davidson in over four decades it's strange the impact and impression that people can make on you even as children and still remain with you after all these years. It was rather lovely to see a photograph of her with her colleague, Sandra Catterson, taking a short break on a sunny day outside Forgan's the Chemist's shop - I hadn't realised that she had worked there too - perhaps after The Store chemist closed down?

106287 106748 Divi-Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being Entrepreneurial No 2-The Chippy

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

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

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

Anne Hoffmann Junior and Mrs Anne Hoffmann

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I received a call from my mother that evening!

Forgans The Chemist, Oxgangs Broadway

For all the years I recall from 1958 to 1972 and beyond the chemist's shop at Oxgangs Broadway was run by Mr Forgan.

I assume he was one of the original shopkeepers.

As might be expected this was a well-run shop and always had a classy feel to it.

You somehow felt secure in his shop - it exuded a certain confidence and professionalism, something which you would look for in such an important profession.

If you needed to wait for a prescription there was a seat, however there was always such a mix of interesting goods in the shop and other customers that sometimes you didn't mind waiting.

It sold an interesting array of perfumes, salts, talcum powders, cough sweets and small penny lollipops - to help the medicine go down? The chemists' shops at that time had a certain pleasant smell about them.

Mr Forgan was a patrician sort of a chap - with his balding head and remaining white hair he seemed old to me then, but I guess he younger than I am now, 62 years of age.  He was courteous and pleasant and had a distinct presence to him - in my memory he looked a little like the Colonel Blimp character portrayed by Roger Livesy.

Because we lived closer to The Store, where as part of the overall building, there were an additional two separate shops, one of which was a paint and decorator's shop, (which couldn't possibly survive today) and the other was a chemist (where the chip shop is today) we tended to share our custom between the two chemists shops.Was the chemist here actually part of  St Cuthbert's Cooperative?

It had the same feel as Forgan’s chemist shop, but was smaller, less inviting and there was less freedom to roam and as a customer you were kept at a distance.

Martin Davidson’s mother (from further down Oxgangs Avenue) worked there; she was a glamorous woman with blonde hair - she was a very friendly woman, but someone who could also be sensitive combined with great customer care - an asset to the business. Although I haven't thought of Mrs Davidson in over four decades it's strange the impact and impression that people can make on you as children and still remain with you all these years later.

'A horse!, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!'

In earlier blogs I've commented on the relationship that many families within The Stair had with the various Pedlars, Hawkers and Salesmen who visited regularly.The opposite of a relationship in the exchange of goods and services is a transaction.

It's an interesting concept particularly when looking at social change over the decades. In the past we had a relationship with the grocer; the doctor; the bank manager-today it's been replaced by a transaction at Tesco's; the health centre; or by telephone banking.

The upside, in our busy lives, is that we are able to speed through the checkout, without having to bring the person at the checkout up to speed on news about the family. The downside comes when one visits the health centre- it's a different doctor, who doesn't know you and who always has to check your notes on the computer screen.

Surprisingly, one vendor who we had no relationship with, was the milkman-no joke intended! The Hoffmanns got their milk delivery from St Cuthbert's Co-operative. A few other families in The Stair were the same-The Swansons were one such family, but the majority of families had other arrangements.

The reason why we didn't have a relationship was partly because of the incredibly early time in the morning at which the milk was delivered-was it around 2.00 am? Indeed the milkman was almost a ghostly presence, with the milk appearing like magic-one would open the door in the morning to bring it in for our cornflakes and there was our three bottles of milk standing erect like soldiers or bowling pins.

However the main reason why we had no relationship with the milkman was because of the interesting system which St Cuthbert's Co-operative operated. There was no billing or weekly money collections by the milkman so he didn't arrive at your doorstep on a Friday evening, which was how Edinburgh & Dumfrieshire operated. Instead a token system was used. whereby milk tokens were left inside the empty bottles which were left out for return. It must have been messy for the milkman and milk-boy-our empties were always very clean, but along with the tokens there must have been a mix of water and even milk on their hands. Saturdays with a double delivery would have been very tiring.

The tokens were purchased each week at The Store at Oxgangs Drive North. There was a separate section in The Store where ladies sat behind glass panels-a bit similar to the old banks-and distributed the tokens-for us it would be twenty one tokens. I can still recall the face of a woman with dark hair and glasses who worked there for decades-I wonder if she was a spinster who had to look after herself?

There were black tokens for when the milk price had risen and red tokens for normal use; there was also half pint tokens too, which was a nice touch if one were an old aged pensioner living alone-something which the supermarket giants wouldn't dream of running today!

The price of milk evidently often went down in the summer and back up in the winter. If customers were not informed it meant they could be spending an extra penny a pint, which over a period of time could mount up, for hard pressed families. Although one could see the Co-op's logic, surely like today's 1st class postage stamps, would it not have been easier just to have operated a single token?

Probably because Oxgangs was such an outlying area, we never enjoyed the pleasure of having our milk delivered by horse-drawn cart the way it was in the centre of town at Marchmont, Tollcross or Stockbridge. Instead it was always a lorry which delivered the milk. As many people are aware Sean Connery was the Co-op's most famous milk-boy and he loved the horses. He worked for St Cuthbert's for many years. Indeed his employee records turned up recently from the archives and were displayed at the National Library at George IV Bridge.

Sean Connery payslip from St Cuthbert's Dairy
(Being A Scot, Sean Connery)

Sean Connery with Archivist at National Library
(Being A Scot, Sean Connery)

A horse!, a horse, my kingdom for a horse! Aye if only we'd had our milk delivered by horse and cart, we'd have had a relationship with oor milkman, rather than a transaction!

Photograph Douglas Corrance

The Oxgangs Diet

I'm thinking of promoting the Oxgangs Diet-the ultimate answer to those seeking to lose weight. Fifty years on it’s only just dawned on me how relatively sparsely we ate, but probably relatively healthily.

When we were quite young, each day and each week hardly varied, unless with the season-breakfast was corn flakes, sugar and milk (hot milk in winter) served up with a mug of sweet tea (from a pre-school age)-sometimes we varied the cereal with a slice of toast; my children didn’t have tea until they were well into secondary school! 

Lunch was either school lunches (free if my father was out of work) or a visit home where we were served up, in a small Buchan’s Pottery bowl, stovies or stew and potatoes (sometimes Irish stew), or mince and potatoes or tripe. 

At tea-time, this time on a small Buchan’s Pottery plate, we enjoyed a slice of toast with Stork margarine and a small helping of either scrambled eggs, tinned Heinz spaghetti or beans, all washed down with a single mug of sweet tea. 

Out-with these meals there were no extras or nibbles-in later years a treat was a small cheap two shillings pack of custard creams bought at the Store (St Cuthbert's Cooperative, Oxgangs Road North) on a late Friday afternoon and finished before evening came. I suspect the average calories consumed each day could only have been around 1200 to 1500 absolute maximum.

I was an energetic kid and it didn't seem to hold me back. Each of us (Anne, Iain and I) could be described as being slightly below average in height-I was 1.78 (5'10") until I lost my hair a few years back and old age crept up on me-however compared to my two young sons who are six feet and six feet one, the boys regularly remind me I’m the smallest male in the household.

The only tweaks to this were on a Sunday when we visited our grandparents at Durham Road, Portobello-much more of this in a later blog; also for periods of time my father's mother, known to us as Nana Hoffmann visited us on a Wednesday afternoon and brought fish along. Also from her work as a housekeeper or at a school there would be a coffee cake which we hated and biscuits, which out-with the Empire biscuit were inedible too.

I'm unsure what other families served up-Mrs Hanlon served up a treat for her four boys Michael, Boo-Boo, Colin and Alan of treacle pieces-if I were in the vicinity she very kindly gave me a piece too, but I could never manage to eat it and used to slip it down the chute when no-one was looking!

Chute provided  on each landing for rubbish to descend to large wheeled bin (Peter Hoffmann)