#Kirkintilloch
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1 bedroom flat for sale on Thistle Street, Kirkintilloch
Asking price: £77,500
Sold price: £80,000
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If you know anyone looking in the Kirkintilloch/East Dunbartonshire area then our lovely flat is up for sale.
Great location for transport links and the local area.
https://www.rightmove.co.uk/properties/124956926
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Kirkintilloch in the early 1970s: Teenage Lust, Tragedy, and Love Lost (again)
Kirkintilloch Cross
Where do I start? I suppose Kirkintilloch Cross is as good a place to start as any. In the early 1970s, it had become part of our ‘cruising’ zone once we had grown out of Bishopbriggs, before we moved on to Kilsyth and, believe it or not, Banton. ‘We’ were my friends and me.
It was the late ‘60s - early ‘70s, I had left school a year earlier than most of my schoolmates, but despite making my own way in the world, I was still naive in many ways. Like many in their mid-teens, I was a bit cock-sure on the outside, unsure on the inside, and despite my demeanour and appearance, lacked self-confidence. This was especially where the opposite sex was involved. I was a bit gobby too, partly to cover up my unease and make myself look confident, and partly because I was in my apprentice stage of ‘your mouth will get you into trouble’ time, as may father often said. He was correct of course but at that time I never realised it.
Being chatty, the smallest of my coterie, and easily led, I was convinced, persuaded, or otherwise manipulated into being the chatter-upper whenever we ventured across young ladies. I had to do my mates’ bidding as they were older, had cars, and a bit more money than me, despite the fact that I was working full-time: £4 per week minus deductions didn’t go far. Without my friends, I wouldn’t have reached Kirkintilloch (aka Kirky) very often.
My task was easy. We (the car and driver, and up to three others including me) would drive up and down the main street of Kirkintilloch, Cowgate and into Townhead, going particularly slowly at the start near the Cross and its shops where young people hung out, and again after the canal which dissected the town. Coincidentally, that was where the local police station sat (now a pub). We sped up slightly in that middle part to make us look normal if there were any police present. How four young guys in a mini, noses pressed to the window on the look-out for talent, ever looked normal, I don’t know, but we were never pulled over. Once past the station we were in Townhead where there were older shops, including a café that was always a useful place to manufacture a stop.
Where do I start? I suppose Kirkintilloch Cross is as good a place to start as any. In the early 1970s, it had become part of our ‘cruising’ zone once we had grown out of Bishopbriggs, before we moved on to Kilsyth and, believe it or not, Banton. ‘We’ were my friends and me.
It was the late ‘60s - early ‘70s, I had left school a year earlier than most of my schoolmates, but despite making my own way in the world, I was still naive in many ways. Like many in their mid-teens, I was a bit cock-sure on the outside, unsure on the inside, and despite my demeanour and appearance, lacked self-confidence. This was especially where the opposite sex was involved. I was a bit gobby too, partly to cover up my unease and make myself look confident, and partly because I was in my apprentice stage of ‘your mouth will get you into trouble’ time, as may father often said. He was correct of course but at that time I never realised it.
Being chatty, the smallest of my coterie, and easily led, I was convinced, persuaded, or otherwise manipulated into being the chatter-upper whenever we ventured across young ladies. I had to do my mates’ bidding as they were older, had cars, and a bit more money than me, despite the fact that I was working full-time: £4 per week minus deductions didn’t go far. Without my friends, I wouldn’t have reached Kirkintilloch (aka Kirky) very often.
My task was easy. We (the car and driver, and up to three others including me) would drive up and down the main street of Kirkintilloch, Cowgate and into Townhead, going particularly slowly at the start near the Cross and its shops where young people hung out, and again after the canal which dissected the town. Coincidentally, that was where the local police station sat (now a pub). We sped up slightly in that middle part to make us look normal if there were any police present. How four young guys in a mini, noses pressed to the window on the look-out for talent, ever looked normal, I don’t know, but we were never pulled over. Once past the station we were in Townhead where there were older shops, including a café that was always a useful place to manufacture a stop.
Heading East in Kirkintilloch Town Centre: The Cruising Zone
On our trips up and down the street, if we saw any girls around our age, the horn would be tooted, hands would be waved, and, at times, the odd wolf whistle or ribald comment would be tendered from a now open window. Dependent on the response, a plan would quickly be put into action using a workable template that allowed for speedy decision making. Usually, I was the plan.
First, we would race ahead of the girls, in the same direction as they were walking. The car would stop about 200m ahead of them, I’d jump out, and my mates would make a somewhat noisy show of leaving me. This tended to involve some rubber been burnt, accompanied by the inevitable screech of tyres, and more toot-tooting… sometimes supplemented by very obvious handwaving again – this time at me. It all had the intention of drawing further attention to the car.
I would then be left, shaking my fist at the departing car. Or, if the girls weren’t near enough to see that, I would disappear into the café to buy some sweets. Either way, I would look lost and forlorn and make very obvious efforts to scan up and down the street as though looking for someone. In fact, this was enacted as conspicuously as possible. Inevitably, the girls would draw nearer. Now; the next stage.
As I ambled into their territory, still ‘searching’ high and low for my mates, I would make my opening gambit, uttering well-practiced lines in a tone that voiced my absolute disdain for my friends:
"Have any of you seen a maroon/grey/blue mini with some guys in it?"
The response was usually an intractable, "Yes," followed by, "they beeped their horn at us." Or similar.
"I know, I was in it at that time," I would state forcibly (to show my annoyance at the car’s occupants). Then I would utter disdainfullly my coup-de-grace, "They’ve pissed off and left me behind."
This latter part was said in the most pitiful manner, well at least in a tone that try to elicit some pity at best, or a laugh or two at worst.
If the conversation continued, well and good. My mates would pass by once or twice, making sure that they and the car could be seen and heard (full-bore exhausts were good for that). This gave me longer to chat about them and extract some pity, or at least pique the girls’ interest. When things worked well, they would be intrigued enough to want to see who these horrible guys were 😊 or at least they trusted me sufficiently to stay nearby when the car finally drew up. This final approach followed a pre-arranged signal from me that all was well (ish). Now, it was up to us all; to be charming, funny, complimentary, and generally nicer than any first impressions the girls had gained of the car’s occupants.
We all had to engage in this ’flirt’ without looking desperate. Not that easy, with three or four teenage lads with raging hormones chatting up some girls. Our hope always was that they would also have raging hormones and act like it, whatever that was. If we were lucky, and sometimes we were, we would ask if they would fancy a drive around.
On one occasion, the one that I will go on to narrate, the scenario played out well. In fact, surprisingly so. I did my bit, got out of the car in the middle of town, chatted to the girls, waved the car down, initiated the introductions, and then flirted as best as possible. The car owner, who I will call Alex for sake of his anonymity, another lad, who I will call Gordon, and me, were persuasive enough to entice the girls in. Actually, I’m ashamed to say that I did most of the enticing as I was the one that the girls had been speaking to for a while, and they seemed to (sort of) have confidence in me. Whatever was the precursor, three of the five girls that I chatted with did fancy a run. Let’s think about this.
A mini of the type that took 6 young adults!
Three teenage boys and three teenage girls is a tight squeeze in a mini car. I was relatively happy with that as I was now in the back seat, and that is where the girls had to squeeze. But it was tight, so tight that one of them had to move into the front seat and sit half in the lap and half off the lap of Gordon. That only lasted a short time before she asked to be dropped off to go and do her homework: A euphemism for get me out of here as I don’t fancy where it is leading. I assumed that she wasn’t sure about the gear stick or whatever it was prodding her leg. Whatever, three became two.
We dropped her off at the Cowgate end of the main road and then tootled around Kirkintilloch, onto the roads of Kilsyth, upwards to Lennoxtown, and Milton of Campsie, before heading back to Kirky again. We felt obliged to head back as the girls wanted to be taken home, but we were keener that they stayed with us. This made for a slow and roundabout journey. We chatted our best chat but as time moved on the girls definitely wanted to return to their hometown, or safety as they probably viewed it. I agreed with the girls but as yet couldn’t say so. Alex and Gordon were the eldest, more mature than me, and much less keen to go back. Nonetheless, I knew that it was the right thing to do and, in a way that avoided me losing face, I persuaded Alex to drive back towards Kirkintilloch. I think my quickly thought-out rationale was that “… if anything happened, we would be nearer home.”
We dropped the second girl off now as she was playing at being strong while being definitely a bit panicky. The last girl, let’s call her Elle (I know her name but would rather keep it a bit more private here), had been by far the chattiest of the three, the cockiest, the most comfortable in the situation, the most confident, and she liked me. I could tell. Well, she was happy to stay for a bit and we drove back out to the country. The last half-hour will remain branded in my mind until I die, for many reasons.
"Are you giving us it tonight?" said Gordon. Even I knew that ‘it’ was sex.
"You’re joking?" Elle replied.
At this point Alex pulled the car over into a quiet farm track and as it stopped, I could feel Elle tighten up as she was still sitting close to me.
"Well, no I wasn't joking. In fact I am thinking that you should cock it or walk it," Gordon said quite straightforwardly.
I went silent and thought that everyone would be able to hear my heart beating, it seemed so loud. Elle also went silent, either through fear, worry, or becasue she was trying to think her way out of the situation.
Gordon said again, "Cock it or walk it," but this time Alex echoed the statement.
Eventually, and to my surprise, Elle agreed but with a condition. She said, "Yes, but not out here. I’m not daft. You’ll just shag me and then leave me out here miles away." I was gobsmacked.
She continued, "I know a place in Kirky. Take me back and I’ll show you where it is."
Alex needed no further encouragement. He started the engine, flicked the lights on, and roared us off, in the direction of Kirkintilloch’s orange luminescence. True to her word, Elle directed us up the Hillhead Road, to a set of garages, if my memory serves me well, about 50m or so from Hillhead Road at the intersection with Whitehill Road or Fellsview Avenue (I’m not absolutely sure). Anyway, it all made sense as I found out later that she lived about 150 yards away in Meiklehill Road. Well chosen, near to her home, secluded, and with some built-in safety; she wouldn’t be left in the countryside.
East High Street. The road we drove along as we headed to Hillhead Road which started just to the left of the photo
We slowly drove into the darkened lane, continued about 25 to 30 yards along to its end, and drew to a halt. Alex cut the engine.
The two boys in the front turned round immediately. They looked like a couple of depraved lechers and were certainly up for it. Me? I was distinctly uncomfortable. Elle had agreed to have sex with us all, but my sensible mind overrode my hormones and I suppose my morality overrode natural teenage urges. The set-up wasn’t right in my eyes. First, I felt that she agree to it under duress. My feeling was that the situation could be easily construed as being coercive. It didn’t seem to me that Elle had been persuaded by our wit, glamour, or personality. She had been pressured into agreeing, not quite strong-armed but definitely, in my mind, bullied and intimidated into it.
My senses wouldn’t let me agree with this. I also had a moral code, and this was breaking it. Smashing it apart in fact. While sex is what makes the world go around, and I was still a virgin, this wasn’t how I imagined the first time would be. I didn’t want to be part of this. I had to think of a way out of it that would save Elle from a gangbang that I was sure she did not really want and yet save my face.
From somewhere, in the recesses of my teenage mind, a plan was quickly hatched. I was in the back with Elle and so I said to the other two, "Me first. I did the chat-up and she’s with me, so I’ll go first." The two other boys acquiesced, rather ungraciously but still enthusiastically enough as they wanted their turns quickly. So, they got out and gave me my ten minutes. Yes, ten minutes 😊
As the door shut behind the boys, I turned to Elle who was already unbuttoning her blouse. By the time I had made myself more comfortable it was halfway open, and she was sitting beside me with her boobs encased in a plain cream bra staring out at me.
I quietly said to her, "Listen, I’m not up for this."
She asked, "Don’t you fancy me?"
I told her that it was the contrary, I did fancy her but hated the situation. I didn’t tell her that I was also unwilling to perhaps be framed for a sexual assault a few weeks down the road.
"What about your pals?" Elle said. "They’ll still want it."
"Well, we’ll have to persuade them otherwise. You are too good for this." Thinking aloud, I said, "Can you sniffle or cry a bit?"
Elle nodded and sniffled.
"Good."
I told her to make sure that she kept her head down and tried to cry when we got out, oh, and to keep her blouse undone. That was a masterful stroke as it gave credibility to the next episode.
Opening the door, I got out and she followed me. The boys were at the end of the garages and turned towards us on hearing the car door open. They approached for their ‘turns’. I made a show of fiddling with the zipper on my jeans (which actually wasn’t down), then demonstrably pulled Elle towards my side and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her jacket around her but not closing it. That allowed the guys to see Elle in a state of partial undress and looking upset. Turning her face into me, she sobbed a few times and sniffled, while I looked at the astonished faces of the two guys, shrugged my free shoulder, and spoke into the gloom towards them:
"The minute I touched her she went rigid. By the time I got her blouse unbuttoned and my zip down, she was in tears."
The boys were still and staring at us both. Our act was having the desired effect.
I then said, "I tried to calm her down but couldn’t." Now for the final thrust, "She needs to go home. I’m taking her across the road to calm her down."
Thankfully, neither of the guys wanted to push it any further, realising (I hope) that it would only lead to trouble.
"‘Wait here for me and I’ll be back in 5 minutes," I said, and with that we were past them and heading out from the garages towards Hillhead Road, me holding Elle close, still tearfully play acting, or maybe not.
Just as before, Elle showed the way, but this time she was much more spritely. By the time we got to the main road she had buttoned her blouse and was thanking me for getting her out of that situation. By the time we got near her house, she was definitely more cheerful but still a bit tearful. I remember helping her to wipe away the tears. I like to think were caused by her realisation that she had met someone who cared but in truth were probably just through a sense of relief.
We walked slowly along Newdyke Road towards her house in Meiklehill Road, and as we approached the gate to her home, I remember being relieved. A gangbang with a slightly less than enthusiastic 15- to 16-year-old wasn’t part of my repertoire nor my raison d’etre. I was happy the way things turned out eventually. And, I had an ace up my sleeve, or I hoped that I did.
I walked up to her door with her, a little bit hesitatingly in case anyone came out and saw an obviously tearful girl with a strange guy. Two and two could easily make five in that situation. Elle assured me that nobody would come out as I wiped her last tears away.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
Elle responded positively and, by way of an additional thanks, grabbed me and hugged me close.
She looked up at me, into my eyes and asked in her husky, and as I noticed later in time, sexy voice, "Will you call me if I give you my number?"
"Yes," I replied. My trump card looked to be working. I was really keen to see her again, not to get inside her knickers quickly, but because I did like her.
At that she opened the door and dived inside, telling me to hang on. She returned with a pen and two small sheets of paper, stood in what I remember was a very brightly lit doorway, scribbled her number on one piece of paper, and handed it to me. Next, she sought mine, wrote it on the other piece of paper, folded it, smiled, and put it down her cleavage.
The journey home was relatively uneventful. I was glad the boys had waited on me as Kirkintilloch is a long way from my home and I had no money on me. Not only that, but the last buses had also been and gone. I was surprised that my mates seemed relatively relaxed about things, albeit that they were full of questions, mainly along the line of, "What the fuck happened?"
My explanation was simple, even if a bit of a fabrication. OK, a lot of fabrication.
I said, "Everything was going well, I had her blouse open and was kissing her and playing with her tits but when I started to open my zip… she started to cry." I paused for some effect.
The ploy of having Elle leave the car with her blouse still undone and her bra on show was truly a consummate ruse as they had witnessed for themselves that I had ‘tried’.
I continued, "She started crying and saying that she didn’t want to do it but only agreed as she was scared that we were going to rape her and dump her in the country."
My story was growing legs, but I stopped to let my last sentence sink in. The other two fell silent before acquiescing with my actions. Now, instead of being majorly upset with me, groupthink was that I had done the right thing to calm her down and get her home. They were sensible enough to realise any other action could have spelled trouble. Or at least it could have if it was true. Elle’s tears and our joint actions (acting) persuaded them that it wasn’t on for tonight. We trundled home in Alex’s mini with my two mates being more upbeat than I thought they’d be. After all, the initial stages showed that the ploy might work with other girls and that might lead to more productive results. Ever the optimists.
To this day, Alex and Gordon have no idea of what really happened that night and I’m not about to tell them.
The next evening. I was no sooner in from my work than my sister told me that an Elle had called and that she would ‘phone me later. I blanched at the thought. Although working and 17 years of age, I was still quite immature. I was fairly bright, sensible but not experienced with girls. Moreover, I was absolutely embarrassed that my sister and my family might be talking about me being with girls or even having a girl friend. not even a 'girlfriend.' Boy meets girls is the most natural thing in the world, yet I wasn’t ready to be open about the opposite sex with my family. They were nonplussed but I was majorly unnerved at that the idea of my teenage lust becoming public knowledge.
True to her word Elle called that night and we had a conversation of sorts. A conversation that went on for a few weeks until Christmas was past. She called again immediately after Christmas to invite me to a New Years Party in her home. I made up some excuse as I truly wasn’t secure about meeting her friends and family as a boyfriend, especially when I hadn’t met them at any other time. I was always worried that people would think of me as predatory, as opposed to being a normal boy. Also, there was a bit of pragmatism in my decision: I had no idea how I would get there and back on New Year’s Eve.
Early in the New Year, she called again asking if we could meet. I was desperate to do so, therefore, this time I said, "Yes!"
We duly arranged to meet under the clocktower at Kirkintilloch Cross on an early January Saturday in 1972. I had no idea what we were going to do other than perhaps walk around as the Black Bull Cinema across the road was closed.
The Back Bull Cinema in the '70s
Excitedly, I got prepared to go out. Smart but casual. I wore my best navy-blue Levi’s Sta-Prest, a shirt, and a light blue cotton jacket. Yes, light blue! And cotton! Not ideal for a winter’s night in Kirky but it was all that I had other than a suit that I used for work. I also reeked of Faberge’s Brut deodorant; the deodorant that had at last made it manly to smell nice, or should I say smell differently. On reflection, it was overpowering. I definitely used the deodorant and not aftershave as I still wasn’t shaving much at the time, if at all.
Looking up to the Steeple at Kirkintilloch Cross: The Scene of the Tryst that Never Was
I walked up to Springburn from the house and jumped on the blue bus that travelled out past the ‘Briggs, through the Torrance roundabout, and along Kirkintilloch Road until it deposited me at the top of the hill, close to our meeting place.
At school, I'd had a girlfriend, but that came to an unrequited and probably fortunate end – another story for another time. Other than that, I had only had a few other dates that never came to much; once more probably due to my lack of confidence/experience. So, I was both excited and nervous at meeting Elle, but salved my concerns with the fact that I knew that she seemed to really like me going by her persistent calls.
Arriving at the Cross, I got off the bus, and made for the steeple. There I waited, trying to look nonchalant amongst the other would-be-lovers who were also meeting there. And I waited, and waited, and waited until there was only me there. I was frozen to the core but wanted to hang on in case she arrived late. She never did. After two hours at the Cross, I walked along the Cowgate hoping to see some of her friends that I might recognise from that first night’s escapades. Nope. I used the local telephone box to call her house, a major step for me, but there was no response. By the time 9.00 pm arrived, I realised that I wasn’t going to see her that night and dejectedly awaited the next bus home. I was deflated. My ego was fragile enough, but now it had taken a bit of a battering. I felt sick.
Alexander's 'Blue' Bus: The Type that Took Me to Kirkintilloch Cross
On my way home, I sat in the bus and tried to rationalise things in the manner of everyone who has ever been stood-up. Why hadn’t she turned up? Was it a mistake? Had she met someone else? Surely not in the twenty-four hours or so since we last spoke. I knew that she liked me, and I knew that she was excited to meet up and show me off a bit in the town. I had no answers to offer myself for why I was ‘dizzied’.
For the next few days, I tried to get a hold of her but with no luck.
A few weeks later, in fact it might have been months later, I answered the telephone at my parents’ house and was met with the still husky but definitely sexier sounding voice, "Hello John?" (not my name but to preserve what little dignity I have, just like Elle, I changed it for the tale). I was taken-aback.
"Hi John? It’s Elle here. How are you?’
I was gobsmacked, remembering the date that never was. Probably a reply of "OK" was as much as I gave.
Elle came straight to the point. "Do you fancy going out? I’m sorry about the last time."
I was doubly gobsmacked. A question about whether we could meet up again, followed by an apology about the previous occasion. The next few minutes were like a scene from a play: a farce to be precise.
I answered straightforwardly, "No."
"Why not?"
"You stood me up."
She replied, "I couldn’t help it."
"Of course you could, or at least you could have had the decency to call and let me know what happened."
She went very quiet. I didn’t. I was in full flow.
"You left me at the Cross. I stood there like a tit freezing for hours. If you couldn’t have made it at least you could have got one of your mates to come and tell me."
She only answered with a much quieter than normal, almost reverent, "I couldn’t. I would have been there if I could have but I couldn’t."
"Don't talk rubbish. You just didn’t and I was left looking like a turd."
Elle didn’t try to counter my claims, just repeated, "I couldn’t make it. I really wanted to but couldn’t that night."
I stuck the barbs in further, "Were you grounded for being a bad girl or getting drunk or what?"
"No, that wasn’t it."
"Well, what was?" I asked her directly.
She said, "My wee brother was in an accident that day and was in hospital."
I thought that I had heard every excuse known to man for all sorts of things, but this was a new one. So, I did what any argumentative, less rational teenager who was trying to show how little he cared to save his damaged ego, would do, I laughed disdainfully and said, "I don’t believe you. That’s a rubbish excuse."
"It’s true!" Elle said in a hurt tone that I thought was trying to get a sympathy vote. "He was in a car crash. He hurt his leg and needed some stitches on his chin."
I think those were the two injured areas, but memories are a bit cloudy, it could have been his nose and ankle.
I just laughed sarcastically.
"I can prove it if we meet, if you come to my house. He has the scars to prove it."
I laughed again, thinking that this was another ruse to get me out to Kirkintilloch again to meet up. Elle never got angry, she just repeated, "I can prove it. Honest."
"You arranged to meet me, couldn’t do so ‘cause your brother was in a crash, had a sore leg and a cut, and that stopped you meeting me? And you weren’t able to get your mates to let me know? C’mon."
I tried to make this sound as sarcastic as I could, presumably as a way of getting back at her for not meeting me. "Come on, be truthful."
"I was in hospital with him and couldn't leave."
"All because he had a sore leg and a cut lip?" I questioned, "That’s a bit much."
"No, he got a badly broken leg in the crash and needed loads of stitches."
The conversation went on for a bit and to me it seemed to get more and more ridiculous as she was putting her side of the story. The injuries moved from a sore leg to multiple fractures, from a cut chin to loads of stitches. I was just unwilling to accept any of it. I thought that I was being strung along.
Eventually I asked, "Who was driving?" Elle had only said that it was an accident. So I was intrigued as to who had caused his apparent mayhem.
Eventaully she said, "It was in my dad’s car. He was driving."
"So, what happened to him" I asked mockingly, "did he end up with two broken legs?"
Elle was very quiet at the end of the ‘phone, then, with a catch in her breath she whispered, "He died."
"Aye right. That’s a terrible thing to say. Imagine making that up."
"It’s true. He died in the crash. He died," she said.
Her voice now betrayed her emotions as she relived that night.
I was shocked, deeply apologetic, and now wished that the griund would swallow me up. Elle was in tears, not sobbing but enough that I could make out her crying. And, I had no idea what to say. Here was I acting the tough, couldn’t care less guy: an act. But I was now caught like a politician being questioned at a hustings, mentally ducking and diving, trying to think what to say that would be right and proper and not dig a deeper ditch. All I could say was that I was sorry.
Elle was upset, rightly so, and said that she would have to get off the ‘phone now as someone else needed it. I knew then that I had hurt her badly, opened old wounds, and shown no empathy when it was necessary early in the conversation. I wished that I could change things, but I couldn’t.
Like many of us, life moved on, Elle and I continued to speak on the ‘phone at times but things were different. She left school to start nursing (I think at Lennox Castle Hospital) and I was working in Glasgow City Centre and then Govan. Without a car, a relationship would be difficult, and I think we both knew it. She called a few times, regularly at first, and was always polite and never pushy. I remember another New Year being asked if I wanted to go to a party with her. I did, but travel was the problem for me, or that was what I told myself.
A few years later, I called her and asked if she would like to go to a party in Edinburgh with me and two friends (who were long-term boyfriend/girlfriend). I had every intention of using that party night to mend broken bridges and show her that I cared. The night started well but finished less well. Disastrously so.
I had borrowed a car, picked up my friends, then went out to Lennoxtown for Elle. All was well until we reached the party. Most of the partygoers were university students from Glasgow or Edinburgh, many were my friends. I wasn’t a big drinker but felt that I had to show off to Elle, so I got absolutely rat-arsed before I knew it.
The night was a blur but, at the end, I remember collapsing into a bed with her, and as she helped me to undress, I felt the room spinning, and made a rush to the loo, just in time. I remember cuddling close to her in bed, and apologising for my condition, but also for the fact that in this state there was no way she was going to have any fun with me. I just slept fitfully and awoke the next morning with a hangover from hell. Unfortunately, I still had to drive us all home. It was a quiet journey, and an even quieter moment when I dropped Elle off. We promised to call. I didn’t as I was seriously too embarrassed to do so. I think that she was just fed up with me sort of stringing her along and she needed someone who cared for her more than I had been able to evidence.
The next time that I tried to contact her, she was married and had a child.
This story was written in part for some catharsis, to get things down on paper and off my chest. It has helped organise my thoughts and although some parts might be clouded by the lapse of time, for the great part, I have been true to myself, my mates, and especially Elle. If she ever reads this, I’m sure that she will recognise herself and her story in it. If it was being published, I would dedicate it to her. Dedicate it to a young girl’s life blighted by tragedy, exacerbated by her fancying a young boy who was too stupid to reciprocate as warmly or as fully as she wanted.
I hope that you have had a great life Elle. You will undoubtedly have a fabulous story to tell. Go for it but please send me a copy at [email protected] when it’s published. 😊 If anyone recognises the 'cast' of this story get in touch, it would be of real interest to know how things worked out in the end.
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A wcdonalds uniform in kirkintilloch (Scotland)
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January 23rd is National Pie day, what's your favourite pie?
Is it the traditional New Years day fare, of a muckle steak pie, or the humble Scotch Pie filled with mutton? It could also be a macaroni pie, possibly a favourite with the vegetarians Scots out there. Or maybe you have sought out the Breakfast pie that I posted about previously is made by Table 13 Express takeaway deli in Kirkintilloch. The Haggis and Steak Pie by Bells is also up there, although I preferred the haggis mash and beans pies we used to get from our local bakers growing up in my hometown of Loanhead.
Perhaps the most famous of our pies here in Scotland is the award winning Killie Pie made by Brownings Bakery in the town since 1945.
Just last week Scotlans best pie was announced at The World Championship Scotch Pie Awards, with a beloved Perth and Kinross butcher taking home the top prize at the ceremony. More than 50 bakeries and butchers from around Scotland were shortlisted in a range of categories, with their bakes assessed anonymously by a panel of experts and independent judges.
This year, the top World Champion prize was given to James Pirie & Son of Blairgowrie, who previously won the competition in 2018, 2020, and 2022, as well as taking the title of World Scotch Pie Champion of Champions in 2021 with their iconic Scotch Pie.
Elsewhere, fellow winners included James Aitken Butchers in Alloa, The Little Bakery in Dumfries, and Beefcake Cafe in Glasgow, who took home prizes in the Sausage Roll, Bridie, and Vegetarian Savoury categories respectively. Among the other categories were Steak Pie and Haggis Savoury, which were awarded to Brownings the Bakers Ltd in Kilmarnock and WeeCOOK in Carnoustie.
Here's a recipe for the Scotch Pie, although they will differ from source to source.
EQUIPMENT NEEDED TO MAKE THIS RECIPE
Four 4-inch springform cake pans (or equivalent)
Rolling pin
Small skillet
Knife to cut onion
Saucepan/s
Measuring cups, spoons
Kitchen scale (optional)
Mixing Bowls and spoons
Pastry Brush (for egg wash)
Stove and Oven (obviously)
INGREDIENTS
Hot Water Pastry Crust
2 cups flour (240 grams)
1/2 cup lard or shortening
1/2 cup water
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 egg yolk, beaten (for egg wash)
Meat Filling
1 small onion, chopped fine
1 – 2 teaspoons lard, butter, or shortening
1 pound lean ground beef
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1/2 teaspoon mace
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon Italian spice (optional)
Quick Beef Gravy
1 14 oz. can low sodium chicken broth
2 cubes beef bouillon
1/4 cup cold water
2 tablespoons corn starch
2 tablespoons corn starch
DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 350° F or 177° C. Grease four 4 inch springform pans and set aside.
Put flour in a medium mixing bowl and create a well in the center.
Place water, salt, and lard in a saucepan and bring to a boil.
Carefully pour hot water and lard into well made in the flour. Mix with a spoon until all the flour is wet.
When the flour mixture is cool enough to handle. Knead just enough to mix completely. Set aside one fourth of the dough and divide the remaining dough into four balls.
2 tablespoons corn starch
DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 350° F or 177° C. Grease four 4 inch springform pans and set aside.
Put flour in a medium mixing bowl and create a well in the center.
Place water, salt, and lard in a saucepan and bring to a boil.
Carefully pour hot water and lard into well made in the flour. Mix with a spoon until all the flour is wet.
When the flour mixture is cool enough to handle. Knead just enough to mix completely. Set aside one fourth of the dough and divide the remaining dough into four balls.
Place all of the dough in the refrigerator while sautéing the onions and preparing the meat mixture.
Sauté the chopped onion in 1 to 2 teaspoons of lard, butter, or shortening, until soft.
Thoroughly mix ground beef, onion, and spices, including salt and pepper, in a bowl and set aside.
Remove dough from the refrigerator and roll each of the four big dough balls into round shapes big enough to cover the bottom and up the sides of the springform pans stopping about 1/4 inch or 6 mm from the top of the pan.
Roll out the large piece of dough, (the fourth you cut off from the whole dough mass in the beginning), into one large shape a little thinner than the bottom shells. Using one of the springform pans, cut four circles out of the rolled dough. These will be the lids (top crusts) of your pies. Lay them flat and cut a small hole in the center of each lid.
Add one fourth of the meat mixture to each pastry lined pan. Filling to about 1/4 inch or 6 mm from the top of the dough. Be sure to push it down into the corner round the bottom of the pan.
Cover the pie with the pastry lids and press the edges of the lid dough into the shell dough to seal. You may crimp with your fingers or press with a fork to make them pretty or just leave them plain. Just make sure the tops and sides are sealed together.
Brush each lid with the beaten egg yolk and place the pies in the oven for 35 to 40 minutes. You can stick a meat thermometer into the lid hole to ensure the meat is cooked through. It should be 160° F or 71° C.
While the pies are in the oven, make the quick gravy. Put the chicken broth in a saucepan along with two beef bouillon cubes and bring to a boil. Mix 2 tablespoons of corn starch into 1/4 cup cold water and stir until smooth. Slowly, add the corn starch mixture to the broth while stirring. Turn down the heat to a simmer and allow the gravy to thicken, stirring occasionally.
Remove the pies from the oven and allow to cool for 5 to 10 minutes before removing springforms. Serve with gravy, potatoes, and vegetables, top with beans, or, just eat them on the go.
NOTES
If you want to put a tablespoon of gravy inside each pie before baking them, just make the gravy before assembling the pies.
Scotch pies will last 3 days in the refrigerator and can be frozen after they have cooled for an hour. They will taste best if eaten within two to three months of freezing. Once you have thawed the pies, don’t refreeze them.
Recipe taken from https://travelinginmykitchen.com/2022/01/03/make-your-own-scotch-pies/
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19 October 2022
The Princess Royal, Patron, Seagull Trust Cruises, re-commissioned Canal Passenger Boat, 100 Southbank Road, Kirkintilloch, Dunbartonshire.
📸: Seagull Trust Cruises Kirkintilloch
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Kirkintilloch Gazette | 4 November 1932
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Young People
4th century BCE
“They think they know everything, and are always quite sure about it.” -- Rhetoric, Aristotle
“[Young people] are high-minded because they have not yet been humbled by life, nor have they experienced the force of circumstances.” -- Rhetoric, Aristotle
1st century BCE
“The beardless youth… does not foresee what is useful, squandering his money.” -- Horace
20 BCE
“Our sires’ age was worse than our grandsires’. We, their sons, are more worthless than they; so in our turn we shall give the world a progeny yet more corrupt.” -- Book III of Odes, Horace
1330s
"Modern fashions seem to keep on growing more and more debased … The ordinary spoken language has also steadily coarsened. People used to say ‘raise the carriage shafts’ or ‘trim the lamp wick,’ but people today say ‘raise it’ or ‘trim it.’ When they should say, ‘Let the men of the palace staff stand forth!’ they say, ‘Torches! Let’s have some light!’” -- Tsurezuregusa (Essays in Idleness), Yoshida Kenkō
1624
“Youth were never more sawcie, yea never more savagely saucie . . . the ancient are scorned, the honourable are contemned, the magistrate is not dreaded.” -- The Wise-Man’s Forecast against the Evill Time, Thomas Barnes
1771
“Whither are the manly vigour and athletic appearance of our forefathers flown? Can these be their legitimate heirs? Surely, no; a race of effeminate, self-admiring, emaciated fribbles can never have descended in a direct line from the heroes of Potiers and Agincourt…” -- Letter in Town and Country magazine republished in Paris Fashion: A Cultural History
1790
“The free access which many young people have to romances, novels, and plays has poisoned the mind and corrupted the morals of many a promising youth…” -- Memoirs of the Bloomsgrove Family, Reverend Enos Hitchcock
1843
“…a fearful multitude of untutored savages… [boys] with dogs at their heels and other evidence of dissolute habits…[girls who] drive coal-carts, ride astride upon horses, drink, swear, fight, smoke, whistle, and care for nobody…the morals of children are tenfold worse than formerly.” -- Anthony Ashley Cooper, the 7th Earl of Shaftesbury, Speech to the House of Commons
1904
“Never has youth been exposed to such dangers of both perversion and arrest as in our own land and day. Increasing urban life with its temptations, prematurities, sedentary occupations, and passive stimuli just when an active life is most needed, early emancipation and a lessening sense for both duty and discipline…” -- The Psychology of Adolescence, Granville Stanley Hall
1925
“We defy anyone who goes about with his eyes open to deny that there is, as never before, an attitude on the part of young folk which is best described as grossly thoughtless, rude, and utterly selfish.” -- The Conduct of Young People, Hull Daily Mail
1938
“Cinemas and motor cars were blamed for a flagging interest among young people in present-day politics by ex-Provost JK Rutherford… [He] said he had been told by people in different political parties that it was almost impossible to get an audience for political meetings. There were, of course, many distractions such as the cinema…” -- Young People and Politics, Kirkintilloch Herald, 1938
1951
“Many [young people] were so pampered nowadays that they had forgotten that there was such a thing as walking, and they made automatically for the buses… unless they did something, the future for walking was very poor indeed.” -- Scottish Rights of Way: More Young People Should Use Them, Falkirk Herald
1995
“The traditional yearning for a benevolent employer who can provide a job for life also seems to be on the wane… In particular, they want to avoid ‘low-level jobs that aren’t keeping them intellectually challenged.’” -- Meet Generation X, Financial Times
2017
“Millennials are lazy and think basic tasks are beneath them.” -- A generation with a huge sense of entitlement, Daily Mail
#young people#young adult#generations#generation gap#old people being old#old people#younger generation#quotable quotes#quote of the day#i'm just saying
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Christine McArthur was born in Kirkintilloch, near Glasgow in 1953 and studied at The Glasgow School of Art.
https://scottish-gallery.co.uk/artist/christine-mcarthur
http://www.thackeraygallery.com/christine-mcarthur
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Next solo exhibition is called ‘Flow State’. It opens 1st October at @thelemondgallery in #Bearsden This one is called ‘Etive Flow’ 150 x 150cm oil on linen. #glenetive #kingshousehotel #glencoe #buachailleetivemor #buachailleetivebeag #scottnaismith (at Kirkintilloch) https://www.instagram.com/p/CiAgQwrtcFb/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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First Roofing & Building Services
First Roofing & Building Services are Glasgow’s trusted Roofers and Builders. We have over 20 years of experience making our customers happy and all of our work is carried out by time-served roofers and builders. Great customer service is a priority for us and we achieve this through fantastic workmanship and punctual communication with all of our customers. Our roofers and builders in Glasgow carry out all aspects of roofing and building work including roof repairs, slate roofing, tiled roofing, flat roofing, new roofs, house extensions, landscaping and roughcasting. Our roofers are based in Glasgow but we serve all of the following areas. Newton Mearns , Giffnock , Pollokshields , Clarkston , East Kilbride , Paisley , Renfrew , Johnstone , Barrhead , Bearsden , Milngavie , Kirkintilloch , Bishopbriggs , Lenzie , Milton Of Campsie , Cumbernauld , Dumbarton , Hamilton , Motherwell , Wishaw , Coatbridge , Airdrie and everything in between. Contact Which recommended roofers in Glasgow for your free quote today!
First Roofing & Building Services
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2 bedroom house for sale on Kenilworth Road, Kirkintilloch
Asking price: £115,000
Sold price: £136,297
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Did a thing today - told my hairdresser to get rid of most of my hair at the back and on the sides and do the messy look on top. So happy! First photo it’s a bit windswept as we went to Kirkintilloch Gala Day to spent time with my in-laws and Mark’s brother and sister-in-law even turned up with our nieces for a bit!
Then came home to amazing things from the mailman!
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[ad_1] I’m closer to the archipelago’s main urban centre than my own home in Kirkintilloch is to Glasgow, but as the fields and farms and scattered settlements roll off in every direction, and the sea rests quietly in the sunshine, that relatively small distance seems to grow ever larger in my mind. I’ve come here to visit St Andrew’s Primary and nursery, and am barely in the door of the latter before I’ve made a friend – not that I was given much choice about it. My new pal is the youngest person in the room and has decided that he is going to be showing me around. Or maybe he has decided I look like a useful toy. It doesn’t really matter either way because I’m certainly not going to argue, and he’s not old enough to speak in sentences. Read more: Education secretary Jenny Gilruth on earning the trust of teachers He walks me around, periodically pointing to tiny chairs as an instruction that I sit down. He’s clearly not here to negotiate with me, but I’m so honoured by the whole experience that I don’t even try to explain why a thirty-six year old with a bad back might be better off standing. The building around us is pretty much brand new, having been opened after the Easter holidays earlier this year. A quick look on Google Maps confirms that a little over a year ago this was a building site featuring temporary cabins, a big stack of scaffolding, a lot of mud and not much else. It’s still not quite finished, with some of the outside space to be fully landscaped to allow for even more outdoor activity in these beautiful surroundings, but even inside it feels remarkably bright and open. Most importantly, it’s immediately clear that this is a place full of very happy children. In its previous incarnation, the nursery’s operations were limited by simple size constraints, but in this new and vastly improved space, things have changed. This has benefits for the children that are immediately obvious, but has also allowed them to start thinking about running events bringing in parents and even external agencies. All of this is a reminder that early years provision is often a vital component of protecting and developing rural and, relative to urban areas, remote communities: one of the easiest ways to make somewhere hostile to family life is to fail to provide high-quality nursery services that people trust and can afford. For St Andrew’s, there’s a strong sense that their post-Covid reality in this new, purpose-built space is one that offers a range of new opportunities to support the people who live in this part of Orkney. Read more: The two smiles of education secretary Jenny Gilruth and the job ahead During my short visit, I even get to see what some of those opportunities look like. I speak to one member of staff who, I think, rather sums up the atmosphere I felt from the moment I arrived here. Moira had spent years working for the council in an administrative role, but reached a stage where she felt she needed to do something else. Having requested a transfer, she was offered the chance to move into nursery work, which is something that she tells me she had never considered beforehand. Obviously, I never saw her tapping away at a keyboard in an admin office, so a full comparison isn’t possible, but something in her voice, and the energy she exudes, tells me that she is far, far happier now than she had been before her career change. “I just wish I’d done it sooner,” she smiles, before turning her attention back to the kids who have, I think, rather changed her life. Back inside I see another worker, Emily, setting up a woodworking space for three of the children. I’m told that she started out on the lowest rung of the early years employment ladder but is now in the process of completing a degree. She has also carried out the training required to take charge of activities like this one. Safety glasses are put on, a barrier is put in place to stop other kids from running through the area, and then out come the hammers, nails and vices. They’re not building anything in particular, or being given instructions other than those intended to keep them safe. There isn’t a list of learning intentions being ticked off. Nobody is worrying about how all of this will help them with standardised tests or ‘three Rs’. What matters is that they’re enjoying themselves. They’re playing, and in doing so are also learning, which is exactly as it should be at this age. Read more: Glasgow City Parents Group: Giving parents a voice in education I’d have happily spent days learning about, and from, the young people here, but my schedule is packed. I say goodbye to my new best friend and head next door to see the primary school into which these kids will transition in the coming years. Whereas the nursery has been built from scratch and attached to the school building through a shared reception area, the primary school is instead being refurbished. Much of the work is already completed, but there is still more to do. They have a new gym hall, for example, which comes complete with the fold-away climbing apparatus that I can still remember from my own time at primary school. It’s big and bright and welcoming – but right now it is also doubling as a dinner hall while that part of the school is put back together again. The former-and-soon-to-be dinner hall is having underfloor heating installed (because it was always too cold) and has had the ceiling lowered (because it was often too noisy for some pupils) – exactly the sort of relatively small, well-considered changes that could end up having an enormous impact on the lives of some young people, but which generally aren’t flashy enough to attract much, if any, attention. Unlike in some other settings, the refurb doesn’t appear to have been used as an excuse to ‘rationalise’ spaces. The dedicated music room remains in place, and I’m told that this is a reflection of the importance of music in Orcadian culture. The upgraded, upstairs art room would leave some high school teachers jealous. And, crucially, the library and reading area is where it should be: right at the heart of the school. They’ve also taken the opportunity to think about how current and future pupils will develop once they move here from the nursery next door. I visit a primary 1 class that feels a lot like the environment I’ve just left, and then a primary 2 class where many of those early years threads are still visible, but where the overall style of education has subtly shifted. Read more: School of hope caring for Scotland's most vulnerable children As with the nursery, the money that is being spent here feels like it is meant to do more than just spruce up some learning environments and take the edge off the worst of the winter weather. For families, high-quality services are everything. It’s not just that people won’t move to places where they think their kids will lose out – they actively leave them. The end result of that process is a slow, lingering death for a whole community as the life is drained from it. But I don’t think that’s what will happen here. [ad_2]
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Cafe and hairdressers, Townhead, Kirkintilloch
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youtube
Happy Birthday one of Scotland’s best known traditional singers, Moira Anderson.
Moira Anderson was born on 5th June 1938 in Kirkintilloch, Dunbartonshire
After leaving school, Anderson quickly established herself at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama in Glasgow before getting her big break in the media after a successful audition at the BBC.
Her initial media exposure led her to be widely regarded within her native Scotland as merely a Scottish Singer (i.e. a singer of Scots songs), and was the cause of her being grossly underrated here at home.
She landed her first job in the media, presenting the radio programme Can’t Help Singing where she sang with some prestigious names from the world of opera. She went on to make many appearances in the TV series The White Heather Club hosted by Andy Stewart.
Moira then hosted her own television show, the vastly popular Moira Anderson Sings which ran for several years. By 1970 she had signed up with the Decca Record Company, performed at the London Palladium and was hosting yet another show Stars On Sunday which ran from 1969 - 1977. Anderson has gone on to create many albums and is renowned for her charity work.
In her early career Moira made frequent appearances alongside fellow Scottish music stars, Kenneth McKellar and Andy Stewart. In the early 1980s she made a highly successful album of duets with Sir Harry Secombe.
She was one of the most sought after and highly paid stars of the world’s leading cruise liners, especially the QE2, and her London cabarets are legendary within that sphere. During these she proved herself to be a sparkling wit, a gifted mimic and impressionist as well as an accomplished pianist.
She lives in virtual retirement on the Isle of Man, and only makes infrequent and special appearances, usually for television, radio or prestigious cabarets.
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