Sheltered housing complex celebrates 30 years in Govanhill

To mark the occasion, residents shared their memories of Glasgow and of Govanhill - stretching back decades - for a special commemorative booklet.

From their first impressions as a homeless person arriving in Govanhill to the day French soldiers marched through the Gorbals, the stories paint a picture of times past.

John McLardie, Chairperson of Govanhill Housing Association and a resident in the area, said: “Just last year, we marked the 40th anniversary of the Association and now we celebrate 30 years of the Jamieson Court sheltered housing complex, both important landmarks that reflect the active role we have played in the community for many years.

“With a growing elderly population and a trend towards older people remaining in their own communities rather than moving into care, it is particularly important to provide suitable, quality housing.

“The Jamieson Court anniversary celebrations and Past Memories commemorative booklet – which includes the fascinating stories of some residents – were a great way of bringing older people and younger family members together as part of a shared community.”

Here, the Evening Times shares some of their memories.

Phil McCusker tells of his memory of a day in 1940, in the Gorbals, a few days following the fall of Dunkirk.

RAIN was falling from a grey sky. I was keeping dry by playing with a tanner baw in a close mouth of a tenement in South Portland Street, Gorbals. A wee pal shouted: ‘Hey Phil! Come quick, hundreds o’ sodjers are marchin’ up oor street’.

My wee pal and I joined a small crowd of civilians standing at the street corner. I blinked. The marching men were French soldiers. They looked tired and dirty and marched with downcast eyes. They looked what, in fact, they were, the ragged remains of a proud but defeated army.

Suddenly, without warning, an old Jewish gent among the crowd stepped forward. He cried out: ‘Vive la France! Vive la belle France!’

The old man’s voice echoed like the noise of a cannon. Then the crowd at the corner started shouting those words that few among them understood: ‘Vive la France! Vive la belle France!’

From somewhere among the ranks of the soldiers, a beautiful singing voice rang out - with the Marseilles - the French national anthem.

Other French voices joined in. Suddenly, the soldiers’ heads were held high. With pride they began to step out as if they were marching down the Champs Elysees on a victory parade through Paris.

I turned and looked at the old Jewish gentleman who had given part of the French army back its pride. There were tears in his eyes - but they were tears of joy.

It was a sight I shall never forget.

Agnes Smith remembers her time in the east end before moving to Glasgow's south side.

I WAS an East End girl – my first job was as a message girl in the Cantilever, an expensive shoe shop in Sauchiehall Street. Customers would come in and order shoes and when they’d been made they were wrapped up in brown paper and string. It was my job to deliver them to the customers’ homes and also of course to make the tea in the back shop.

I was paid 10 shillings a week and sometimes earned the odd three pence tip. I liked Rowntree's fruit pastilles and I would sometimes walk to deliver the shoes to save the bus or tram fare, so I could buy my favourite sweetie with the money instead.

My cousin worked in Truform on Dumbarton Road and persuaded me to go and work there too – the pay was four shillings a week better, although I had to take the train from Bellgrove.

I stayed till I was about 21 and then the war started. I got another job in a shop selling bicycles and prams at 25 shillings a week and worked there for about 14 years.

My last job was at Clyde Factors, wholesalers - supplier of electrical goods to shops like Pearsons on Victoria Road. I felt my experience was valued there.

My mother didn’t like me becoming a southsider, but then my husband was a Fifer, and we were going to move to Glenrothes – a prospect even worse than the south side. However, Glenrothes was all houses and no jobs, so the south side it was.

Me and my husband sublet a flat in Govanhill then were allocated a flat of our own by the new Govanhill Housing Association. It was part of the first block to be renovated by the Association, just across from the library.

Because of the renovations we had to be decanted to South Annandale Street. I remember moving out on December 23, going to the Unique fish & chip restaurant on Allison Street, on to the dancing at the Pavilion, and then to my mum’s in Carntyne, where we stayed till after Christmas. My bingo friends called me "housey housey" because of all the moves in such a short time. In the decant flat we piled all our furniture into one room, and just used the kitchen to live in - it was nice and cosy, sleeping in the recess.

This was the time in the late1970s of coloured bathroom suites and when we got back to our refurbished flat I remember being shocked at discovering that ours was lemon – I had been given our neighbours’ suite by mistake. I spent 36 happy years in that flat.

Irene Boyle remembers the days when bananas were an exotic fruit.

IN the 1950s my mother won the Queen of the Kitchen award and received a cut glass dish full of bananas. You couldn’t normally get them for love nor money in those days.

She really knew her spices and was great with preparing and cooking fish. You had to be able to gut and clean a whole fish in those days…I’m glad we don’t have to now.

When I was 15 I worked in a chemist shop owned by two elderly ladies. Those were the days before the little blister packs of pills you get today - the chemist had to weigh out medicines and pills.

I was just a dogsbody really; I would deliver prescriptions and polish the brasses. While I was cleaning I noticed that the owners would leave coins all over the place and I had to dust underneath them.

My sister told me it was a test of my honesty.

I got married, and my husband was in the RAF so we travelled around the different bases in Britain. After my family were grown I went back to night school and at age 53 I got my Higher English and O grades in Arithmetic and Anatomy, Physiology & Health - it’s never too late to learn.

Patricia Murray was homeless when she arrived in Govanhill.

WHEN I came to Glasgow in 1955 I was aged 23 and homeless. There had been family difficulties at home in Stepps. The city was all new to me. I wondered where people were going with prams full of clothes. When they said: "To the steamie," I had no idea what they were talking about - I’d never heard of a steamie.

My sister and I tried to get a house from the Corporation, as Glasgow City Council was then, but they wouldn’t help us because we were under 25, even though I was working – I got a job as a receptionist at a GP surgery in Dennistoun.

So we had to take a private let and found one on Robson Street, which was a wee cul de sac off Aikenhead Road. It was an old tenement building and we had a two apartment on the top floor sharing a toilet with the neighbours next door – big Irish "navvies". It could be a bit rowdy.

The building had very rudimentary electrics but I remember a spate of housebreakings - the thief was after the electricity meters so there must have been money in them.

I stayed there for 10 years until the property was due for demolition.

Mary Snow

I was born in Clydebank but moved to Glasgow when I was very young. My early memories are of living on my uncle’s farm in Ireland. We were evacuated during the war. We were very lucky in fact.

I remember we were accompanied by two seaplanes during the crossing. Our boat narrowly missed being blown up by a German U boat. Two others were not so lucky.

Of course there were no mobile phones in those days so our worried relatives had to wait for news of who had survived.

I stayed on the farm for six years and you would not know there was a war on. The Irish kids made fun of my Scottish accent so I soon lost it but back at school in Glasgow the kids made fun of my Irish accent, so I soon sounded Scottish again.

I left school at 14 and my first job was at Fancy Box Making on Commerce Street. It was quite a dangerous place to work - there was cardboard stacked up to the ceiling, even near the door. If there had been a fire I don’t know how we’d have got out.

My next job was at Gray Dunn’s, the biscuit factory, making Blue Ribands. I never want to see another Blue Riband. We used to get two bags free on a Thursday and every week there would be a group of boys waiting for us on the street corner calling in anticipation: "Here they come with the biscuits!"

My brother-in-law used to ask me: "Can you no’ get some Wagon Wheels?", but they were for export only, to the USA, and there were never any left overs for our free bag.

Winifred MacLean casts her mind back to her 10th birthday.

IT was a cold but brilliant day in late December. Weak winter sunlight shone down on the silvery frost on the grass and the leafless trees in the broad streets of Pollokshields. I was all of 10 years of age - and it was my birthday.

Wearing a blue velvet dress with a white ‘Peter Pan’ collar and white ankle socks and shoes, plus a huge white silk bow on my short, dark hair, I thought I was a little princess.

I was standing in one of the biggest buildings in Pollokshields; but no, it was not a mansion - it was a huge private school. This is where I was born and brought up.

This private school was where the rich children of Pollokshields were educated. The school was run by two people, the headmistress who looked after all things academic; and the head janitor, my father, who took care of security and all things domestic.

My lovely mother – a real lady in every way – had been the manageress of the famous restaurant in Lewis’s huge department store on Argyle Street, Glasgow; but she had been forced to retire due to ill health, which meant she was always at home to look after me – a rather spoiled wee girl named Winifred Margaret.

One of the highlights of my birthday party was the sound of a piano playing and the sounds of my little guests singing "Happy birthday to you."

When the singing stopped and the last note of the piano died away there was silence. The air was electric. Then, through an open door, came my mother and father carrying a huge birthday cake with 10 brightly burning candles. The air was filled with the "oohs" and "ahs" of my excited young guests.

But the best was yet to come. My parents then presented me with a beautiful birthday doll. She had blond hair and big blue eyes. She was dressed in a pink dress and white shoes. I named her Suzanne.

All too soon, my wonderful 10th birthday came to an end.

I felt so very happy and proud of my lovely hardworking parents for giving me a day to remember - and a day I shall never forget.