The Birth of The Stair and A Christmas Carol

Birth: 'the coming into existence of something'.

In the bleak mid-winter, Dickens' Christmas stories give the reader images of hope and light; warmth and joy; as well as transformation and resurrection. However, the light is tempered by the darkness and cold too which makes it even more life enhancing. 

The hope comes from spring, surely following winter and the renewal of life as Scrooge is restored to the good values of his boyhood and youth. 

Six decades ago in the deep mid-winter of 1958, the Hanlon family moved into the newly built Edinburgh Corporation flats at 6 Oxgangs Avenue to take up residence at ‘The Stair’; Charlie and Hilda were full of hope at the beginning of the exciting adventure ahead and novelty of bringing up their family in a new home.

Like the other young families at ‘The Stair’ they had their dreams and aspirations of the good life and raising their children as well as they could, with all the fun, joys and worries inherent.

At this time, only Michael, the eldest brother had been born; he would only have been around one year old; Brian, Colin and Alan would come along in the following years.

When the family took up their tenancy at 6/7, like the other seven families in residence at ‘The Stair’, they were issued with a rent book. It records their rent as being eighteen shillings a week.

Most remarkably, Hilda, the last remaining original member at ‘The Stair’, still has the family's first rent book. It records their date of entry as 15^th December, 1958.

In a way the document records the birth of ‘The Stair’, when one of the original inhabitants first took up residence there and is perhaps a unique document of its type. 

 

Brian speaks humorously about the family's first experience. Hilda recalled the Hoffmann family had already moved in downstairs to 6/2 slightly earlier. The coal-man was delivering coal to our family - Ken and Anne Hoffmann, the author (Peter aged two) and my brother, Iain (aged only a month).

Hilda wanted to buy some coal in too, to heat their new home. However, the coal merchant turned down her request as she lived on the top floor and he mustn't have fancied walking up another three flights of stairs. Given it was mid-winter and Michael, the eldest brother was still only a baby, the stone-hearted coal-man clearly wasn't full of the Christmas spirit.

He reminds me of Ebenezer Scrooge to Bob Cratchit, that '...there will be no coal burned in this office today...'  

Hilda must have found a way forward, not only to heat their new top flat home with its fantastic views to the hills and the sea, as well as the prominent Edinburgh Castle, as she and Charlie went on to successfully raise their four boys in a happy household, throughout the decades of the 1960s and 1970s. 

'Edinburgh in Snow' William Crozier

Spring and indeed summer followed winter. 

Swanston Reunion-'Boo-Boo'; Iain; and the Author

Iain Hoffmann; Brian 'Boo-Boo' Hanlon; and the author, Swanston Golf Club, 12 November, 2014

Lovely to meet up with Iain Hoffmann and Brian Hanlon, two of the stars of The Stair for a fun filled lunch at Swanston Golf Club today-first time we've all met up together for over 35 years when we used to walk the Pentlands as kids; sneaked up to Swanston to get our neeps from the farmer's field for our Halloween lanterns; visited Edinburgh Castle or a wild trip to the old Woolies on Princes Street! 

Oxgangs Library

Delighted to hear from Oxgangs Library that they intend to order a copy of 'The Stair' for their stock!

Edinburgh and Lothians Life Magazine Book Review

Very surprised and happy to see the November/December, 2014 issue of Edinburgh Life and the Lothians magazine list 'The Stair' 'As A Good Read This Christmas', not to mention it being on the same page as Alexander McCall-Smith, giving the great man some much needed publicity! ;-)

'Neep!'-An 1960s Halloween Boo-Boo and Iain style.

Iain Hoffmann and 'Boo-Boo' Hanlon

Back in the 1960s around Halloween passersby would get a musical surprise when walking past the sheds at the back of The Stair. The startled neighbours would glance up to see Boo-Boo Hanlon and Iain Hoffmann perched on the middle of the shed roof singing 'Once in China there lived a great man...! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tiuwMxre-8

They had just returned from a visit up to Dreghorn Mains Farm Supermarket where they had acquired a couple of neeps. If you looked a bit closer, they were sitting cross legged preparing their lanterns and clearly practicing their harmonies for going out guising later in the evening. According to Boo-Boo they used to eat the insides of the raw turnips, to get rid of the evidence!

Abandoned Dreghorn Mains Farm buildings close by the Edinburgh city bypass. The site has been cleared recently, probably pending some development.

  © Copyright Callum Black and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

A Leap of Faith-Jimmy’s Revenge!

This is the long awaited (!) follow up to 'Jimmy's Green Van' published on 21, September, 2012.

Jimmy got his revenge some time later. Lots of the boys at The Stair used to wait for the Green Van to drive off and we would then leap onto the back steps of the vehicle for a free hurl. He always drove about two hundred yards along Oxgangs Avenue to his next stop. On one occasion it was only me who had quietly hopped on-well blimey he must have seen me in the mirror and known it was me.

Instead of stopping, he kept on driving along the Avenue. The van built up speed and was soon travelling at 30 mph so I couldn't leap off. I was terrified! What would I do? Very fortunately, when the van reached Greenbank, it struggled to maintain the speed up the hill and slowed down. It was now or never, because at the top of the hill it was all downhill to Morningside. With a ‘leap of faith’ I jumped off backwards taking a quick pitter-patter step, the way we did getting off a moving number 16 bus. I managed to stay upright. It was with great relief I’d absconded-I’d escaped and was free to walk all the way home back to the safety of The Stair. I had lived to fight another day and to enjoy further adventures. 

Scottish Field November, 2014, Book Review, The Stair

I was standing in Tesco's haeing a free read o' the magazines, when I stumbled across this-couldn't resist buying a copy! :-)

'The Stair' Book Reviews

Now available in illustrated paperback from Amazon.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Stair-Oxgangs-Edinburgh-Childhood-1958-1972/dp/149487413X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1406326189&sr=8-1&keywords=peter+hoffmann+the+stair

'Brought back many memories, a very enjoyable read, a must for all who were brought up in the Oxgangs area.' Vanessa Campbell 16 January, 2015

'Good read especially having been brought up in Edinburgh not far from Oxgangs in that time frame.' Pamocwylde 2 January, 2015

'Reading your wonderful book and loving it. I lived in the Crescent and have so many memories of Oxgangs.' Sandra Donnan

'A good read this Christmas.' Edinburgh Life and the Lothians, November/December, 2014

'Strangely compelling' The Scottish Field, November, 2014

'It's a good read.' Ray McMahon

'I am sure there is a movie in there, somewhere!' Ruth Kaye

'A trip back to the days when kids actually played outside. A great read whether you come from Oxgangs or not as it transports you to a time when you had ice on the INSIDE of the windows, hairy blankets in the pre-duvet days, hot water bottles, banana sandwiches at parties and roller skates on books.. Great job by Peter Hoffmann and would make an excellent Christmas present for any mum or dad who lived through 60s and 70s Oxgangs.' Jim Hunter

'As someone who was born in Oxgangs and still living there today, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. It transported me back to the good old days with great memories of Oxgangs as it used to be (a great community) – wish it was still the same. Everyone in Oxgangs should have a copy of this book and most definitely all those who grew up in the Oxgangs of old.' June Marr

'Beautifully written ,this book is a loving and nostalgic reminiscence of a boyhood spent on an Edinburgh Council Estate. Buy and read this charming book. You will not regret it.' Anne Duncan

'I couldn't put it down!' Louise Melville

'This is a great book which brings back so many great memories and friendships; every time I visit my mum and walk through The Stair door at no 6, you can't help but go back in time and remember all the mischief most of us got up to 45 to 50 years ago-thanks Peter.' Brian Hanlon

Haven't finished this book yet but enjoying it so far. Although a child of the 70s and so coming to the era slighter later than the cover title advises, I've found this an enjoyable read which chimes with many of my memories of growing up in Oxgangs. Nearly all my memories of living there are also happy ones, I must confess, despite the power cuts, the cold winters and the "relative" poverty experienced by many living in the area. Hunters Tryst, Bar Ox, Swanston, Morningside, Sandy's, the High Flats they are all here. An affectionate, if slightly rose tinted, look back at a simpler time. Highly recommended. Thanks to the blogger, Peter Hoffmann, for capturing the essence of life back then. This was the kind of book I always hoped I'd write, but never have...yet. G Craig

The Drum Major

One of the most colourful little scenarios that used to take place each teatime at The Stair throughout the summer evenings in the 1960s was the sight of the drum major who practiced throwing and twirling the regiment's mace at the side of 4 Oxgangs Street in what was the wee field. Looking back he was probably appearing at the Edinburgh Tattoo up at the castle later on in the evening.

The easiest way to learn to juggle is to stand quite close to a wall, so perhaps that was why he stood so close to the building when he practiced his art.

Whilst we were in the living room at 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue eating our beans on toast and watching Robin Hood on the telly, for quarter of an hour or so, he used to go through his whole repertoire. He was quite amazing to watch as the mace weaved its way through his hands, especially given the size and weight of it - it must have been around six foot in length.

The routine began in a slightly conservative way with the mace at a diagonal across his body.

Then it would begin to wend its way through his hands, twisting its way from side to side and round and round followed by the mace spinning on its axis through the air.

After some cycles it would then fly sky-wards up into the air and as it dropped down he would deftly catch it.

Sometimes he might pause with the mace held horizontally under his nose, but mostly there was almost constant movement unless he made such a dramatic pause; then the cycle began once again, yet he never seemed to move from the one spot, unless he did some stationary marching.

He was incredibly efficient and minimalist in his movements, indeed the only part of him which appeared to move most of the time were his hands and lower arms.

As he completed each cycle, the mace would be thrown higher and higher into the air until it was at around stair level two. 

The performance would build and build until the mace was heaved high into the air which signalled the dramatic end to a truly mesmeric and dazzling performance. 

In all the years of witnessing him practice I never ever saw him drop it - well if he had it was probably a court martial offence, plus I suspect he took a real pride in his craft!

Comment From Gerry Frew

Hi Peter,
I stumbled across your site the other day and have been totally wrapped up in it since. I grew up on Oxgangs Road North opposite the Park and just down from the store. I went to school with the Duffys (St Mark's then St Augustine's) and though John Duffy was in my brother's year we used to hang out together on occasion. I think Mary was in my year and I must confess I harboured a secret crush on her for a while. You mentioned the Dibley family and I recall trying to get off with Lesley at a party but like most things when you're that age, it didn't last long. I must say thanks for evoking so many happy memories.

Regards, Gerry Frew

'The Stair'

‪#‎nottheediburghbookfestival‬ First book signing(!) in Edinburgh, this morn. :-)

Colinton Mains Parish Church and the Pentlands 19 August, 2014

Down in Edinburgh for the Festival this week-a wee snap on the coffee walk on a fresh, late summer morn at Colinton Mains Park.

Life Changing Event, August, 1971

Lost in the Hills

Ronnie Browne and Roy Williamson aka 'The Corries'

Outwith our camping holiday to Stobo, the first real holiday which Anne and Iain Hoffmann and I ever had was a wonderful autumn week at Ettrick Valley with the Browne family. 

In the family tree the Brownes occupied the same spot as ourselves - 'Pumpa' and 'Wee Nana' were grandparents and great-grandparents. 

At the time, 1970, Ronnie Browne of ‘The Corries’ fame had a lovely old farmhouse set within the Border hills.

Anne, Iain and I were driven down there by our grand-aunt, Violet, along the old country B roads from Dalkeith to Ettrick Valley. 

Great-Aunt Violet was over seventy years old at the time and a real character. 

She had a ‘baby Austin’. 

We sailed down on a golden early autumn Saturday afternoon which was lovely and sunny. In the middle of the road I recall us seeing a dead grass snake.

The Browne’s farmhouse was quite magical and quite different from life at grey Oxgangs. 

There was a snooker table; Ronnie’s lovely paintings were on the wall; and there was a fascinating upstairs room, which you reached by entering what appeared to be a cupboard door in the kitchen - straight out of CS Lewis.

We loved that holiday playing happily with their children Lauren, Gavin and Maurice. 

The family looked after us brilliantly; we were well fed and we had such great fun. We played outside during the day and when darkness fell, played spooky games in the evening. 

I recall thinking how clever Ronnie was when he was creating a new rose garden. 

He cut out a large circle in the lawn by placing a stick in the ground in the centre; attached to this was string, pulled tight, with a knife on the other end; he thereafter stretched it out and marked out a perfect circle which he used as the perimeter of the border before lifting the turf.

Ettrick Valley

However the most abiding memory was me getting lost in the hills. 

I’d borrowed Gavin’s bike in the early morning and before anyone was awake slipped out of the farmhouse and ended up following a Forestry Commission lorry deep into the forest and hills. I lost my way and cycled around lost for six or seven hours. I of course ran out of energy and was getting quite desperate and panicky. 

God knows what the Browne household thought and Ronnie wouldn't have been looking forward to conveying the bad news to my mother. ‘Anne, I've got some bad news and good news. The bad news is we've lost one of your kids, but the good news is that it’s Peter!’ 

Anyway, after wandering around hopelessly in circles for hours, around tea-time, I heard the whine of the lorry’s engine that I’d tried to follow first thing. I chased after it and managed to stop it. After relaying my tale to the forestry worker he threw the bike on the back of the lorry and took me into the cabin. He gave me the remains of his piece - Gales lemon curd and margarine sandwiches - nothing ever tasted so good again. 

Fortunately I’d remembered the house phone number (Ettrick Valley 320); with the heat of the cabin and my exertions, I quickly fell asleep. Once out of 'the lost valley' the Forestry workman stopped at a telephone box and phoned Ronnie, who was just about to call out the Mountain Rescue and the police! 

The next thing I knew was awakening, to the welcome and happy sight of Pat and Ronnie and my siblings and cousins.

Helen Blades and the Commonwealth Games

The 2014 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow are almost upon us.

Fifty summers ago, Helen Blades (6/6); Marion Dibley (4/4); and Anne Duncan (Hoffmann) loved to sit out in our back garden, which was a little sun-trap. It was a rare interlude from the drudgery of the everyday lives of the mums. They enjoyed the sun and the craic over a Kensitas or Players Number 6 cigarette.

Marion and Helen were such optimists, so there was always much laughter. With their children around them, sitting on chairs and blankets with their backs against the shed wall, they enjoyed the moment as they soaked up the sun's rays.

Peter; Anne; and Iain Hoffmann with their mother Anne circa 1962

Gail; Fiona; Liz; Ruth; and Esther Blades

On one occasion, I was showing off as usual, by sprinting around the four blocks. Helen said to me, 'Peter, one day you'll be in the Commonwealth Games.' I felt a million dollars, until Liz Blades (not unrealistically) said 'Don't be SILLY, mummy.' I was immediately deflated and my pride was stung.

Helen Blades

Helen died on 20, October, 1978. We attended her funeral, four days later on 24, October. I wore my Commonwealth Games blazer as a mark of respect, because she had helped light the spark.

1978 Scotland Commonwealth Games, Athletics Team

(Peter Hoffmann back row, third left; Paul Forbes, second row, fourth right)

World Cup, Mexico 1970

One of the very few occasions I felt I had a relationship with my father, Mr Ken Hoffmann, was when the 1970 World Cup was on. I recall the Brazil v England match being transmitted to Oxgangs in the evening. On 7 June, 1970 he allowed me to stay up to watch the game. The two of us sat together. It felt strange because I wasn't used to being alone in his company-everyone else had gone off to bed. Also, aged thirteen, I was getting a little older and it was an early staging post in an evolving relationship.

My appetite for the tournament had been whetted in the weeks leading up to it. Esso were running a promotional scheme whereby World Cup coins of the England team were being offered with each visit to buy petrol. As ever, my grandfather looked after my interests. Whenever he gave me a few packets of the free gifts it was so exciting to open them up to see what player was inside.

The coins were lovely and very collectible with attractive designs and true to life depictions of each player. The full set of coins were set in a blue board.

Sorry boys, size does matter-the Caramac bar!

How can something be bigger, yet smaller?

This was the conundrum faced by many children on their visit to Ewarts Newsagents at Oxgangs Broadway during the 1960s in relation to the Caramac bar.

The Caramac seemed gigantic in comparison to any other bar of chocolate; indeed it must have been at least twice the size in terms of width and height. This was a clever marketing ploy, because many wide eyed children would have made their selection based on size. However, its depth was very slim compared to the other bars on the market.

I occasionally bought them; not because I was bamboozled by how much chocolate was in the bar, but because of the novelty of the taste. It had a creamy, slightly sickly taste to it. It wasn't a chocolate that one could eat a lot of, so often a few squares were enough. It was made with condensed milk and was a pale yellow in colour-again a novelty of the bar.

It was produced by Mackintosh's-sadly no more. They were absorbed by Rowntrees, who were subsequently taken over by the giant Nestle company. The Caramac was created in my first year at Oxgangs in 1958, with production beginning the following year. The name of the product was determined in a competition. The competition was held in what was the Norwich factory of the company and won by Barbara Herne. It cleverly combined the caramel in the bar with the Mackintosh name.

I've mentioned it before, but if you're interested in chocolate, business and the Quaker movement I'd recommend Chocolate Wars by Deborah Cadbury. 

And, sadly, at least in business, size does appear to matter! 

Sunday Family Lunches and Arcari's Ice Cream

http://www.edinburghnews.scotsman.com/news/end-of-an-era-as-99-ice-cream-pioneer-dies-1-3428849

Every Sunday during the 1960s, the highlight for The Hoffmanns was going down to our grandparents' home for the large, family Sunday lunch-sometimes with double figures at the table. Just before lunch was served our grandfather used to take Anne Hoffmann Junior, Iain Hoffmann and me down to Arcari's Ice Cream Shop in the Ford Zephyr for a large tub of his delicious ice cream, to accompany the Del Monte tinned fruit (my grandmother favouring me with the sole cherry!) and perhaps a drop of cream. I had no idea that Eddie Arcari had continued to work until recently. He was a real 'Porty' character as was his shop too. I always enjoyed going in there-partly because he could be quite unpredictable, which of course, was part of the charm.

The Pulley

It's strange how things that one hasn't thought of for decades take a little nudge from somewhere and something long forgotten bubbles up to the surface.

I was reading a copy of the 2 May 2014 edition of 'The Lady' (don't ask!) where I came across a query from a reader looking for a clothes rack that could be suspended from the ceiling. 'It's called a pulley' I shouted at the magazine-we had one at The Stair, as indeed did each of the eight families. And what a boon it must have been to all the mums-not stereotyping here-just the way it was back in the 1960s (see earlier Aye Working blog); in particular where the families were quite large including the Duffys; the Hanlons; and the Blades.

It was a rather clever idea. If one couldn't hang the washing out the back at the washing green because it was raining or snowing, then instead it could be hung up on the pulley indoors with a view to trying to dry the wet clothes inside. 

Whilst the theory was splendid, in practice it had some drawbacks. Between 1958 and 1972 there was no central heating in each flat-only the small coal fire in the living room. Large items such as sheets would have to be hung up around the fire, but a member of the family always had to stand guard, in case the sheet became singed.

The other items of clothing would be hung on the pulley which was located on the kitchen ceiling. It was sited in the kitchen because any drips would fall onto the linoleum floor. It was a very clever device because the flats were quite small and space was limited. 

The pulley was fixed to the ceiling and a rope lowered the frame down or pulled it back up. Whilst the clothes were loaded on, the rope would be tied to a wall hook. Thereafter, the rope was untied and the pulley hoisted back up to the ceiling.

Being able to haul the clothes up above meant it took up no floor space. However, the two drawbacks were that it must have taken days to dry. And perhaps more significantly any cooking smells would impregnate the clothes-a major drawback. 

Looking back I guess the bathroom may have been a slightly better option. However, being creatures of habit and devoid of lateral thinking, we at 6/2 Oxgangs Avenue never considered relocating it.

Miss Elizabeth Sulley-The Creme de la Creme

Thanks for the reminiscences about Elizabeth. She was my aunt, and my mother now lives in her old flat in Trinity.

Ralph 

Ralph,

Thanks for the e mail-a good chunk was based on me surmising and making leaps of faith, so I hope I didn't get too much wrong. I re-read it for the first time in a long while and don't think I quite did her justice. She was a very positive influence on me; a very fine teacher too and a wonderful character.

Best.

Peter

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.

Comment From Richard Cropper, 2B Oxgangs Green

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From: RICHARD CROPPER <noreply-comment@blogger.com>
To: peter.hoffmann@btinternet.com
Sent: Thursday, 17 April 2014, 20:36
Subject: [Edinburgh Scotland 6 Oxgangs Avenue 1958-1972 'The Stair'] New comment on Dr Motley-An Update.

RICHARD CROPPER has left a new comment on your post "Dr Motley-An Update":

Hello, my name is Richard Cropper and I`m so glad to have found your page via Lost Edinburgh. I was brought into the world by this lovely man on 29/10/62 at 2B Oxgangs Green. My younger brother was also delivered by Dr Motley on 29/1/65. My late Dad remembers rushing along Oxgangs Avenue when my arrival was imminent,knocking on the door of Macalester Cottage. Always unhurried, "Calm down Mr Cropper, I`ll be there in a few minutes!" I continued as his patient up until about 1978 I seem to recall (We relocated to Murrayburn Park,Wester Hailes in July 1970 but still continued with AP as our Doctor). Always referred to us boys as "Professor", as perhaps to all young male children in his practice? I remember him fondly as the archetypal kindly family Doctor "How are your Parents? And your Brothers and Sister?" but I recall his diagnoses could be somewhat hit-or-miss. On other subjects on your site my first P1 teacher was Mrs Berwick, my second was Miss Gibson. My elder brother Jack was taught by Miss J M Meharry, my elder sister Lesley was taught by the same Mrs Berwick and then Mrs Rosie, and I remember the Headmaster was indeed Mr Mackenzie. I can recollect the flamboyant Miss Sulley vaguely. The Rev Jack Orr from Caiystane I remember (his son Calum was in my class. Happy Childhood days, ours was the house with the rose garden at the front. masterminded and maintained by my Grandad Joe Cropper. Anyone out there remember us? Neighbours I remember were the Colquhouns, Mrs Kersel, the Donlevys,the Bells and the Hunters.Brilliant site Peter, well done!!

Richard,

I enjoyed reading your comments; it's always a pleasant surprise when someone stumbles across the site a while after it was first put up. 

Mrs Berwick was my first teacher too-she had a kindly nature, but I believe I was the first pupil she ever had to belt after decades in the profession! I suspect you were probably in the year before my sister Anne? I tried to do justice in the two long pieces on the two key teachers for me i.e. Sulley and Hoddinot-both somewhat different experiences. Mr Mackenzie, I only mention briefly; unfortunately my occasional visitations to his office were to receive the belt-and boy could he deliver! Reflecting now forty six years on I wonder how much the approach back then was the stick rather than the carrot? I certainly didn't receive any recognition from him/the school when I won the 1968 Edinburgh Primary Schools Inter-Scholastic 100 yards championship!

I assume you saw the earlier, longer blog on Dr Motley (16 December, 2012)? He was a real character and as you say an atypical family doctor. Your wee epigrams give an added insight about him. Like you I kept him as my doctor when I moved to Portobello in 1972-changed days!

One theme which comes through is my interest in the difference between 'relationships and transactions' which have evolved over the past forty years; Dr Motley is a good example. It's a pity 'AP' never penned a small memoir. (By the way, there's a lovely, small book called 'Leaves From The Life of a Country Doctor' by Clement Bryce Gunn which is worth a read-buy the charming 1947 version with the charming green dust jacket with the doctor on the cover wading through the snow.) 

I'll post your comment so that it appears as a recent post rather than being buried away back in October, 2013.

All the best.

Peter