Reminiscences of Springburn - Recently Updated Pages

St Bede's

buntygal — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 07:27:29 CST

c 1946 St Bedes School - Red Road - original posted by JL Sullivan

John Quinn Top row 7th boy from the left. Syd Woods Front row 1st boy on the left

Springburn Centenarians

JLSullivan — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 11:51:08 CST

Springburn has been on the national news recently because of the recent parliamentary by election. As someone who was born and grew up in Springburn I was incensed by the negative comments about Springburn in the national press. The clips shown on television and the general content of the discussion seemed to highlight the poor quality of life and aspiration in Springburn. I am sure there is still much to admire about many of the citizens of my much-loved home district.
I decided to share with you a story about a lady who was a neighbour of mine in Avonspark St. in the 1940’s and 50’s. Mrs Marion Doyle was born around 1895, I remember her from the period after the war about 1947. She was the main inspiration of our street football team, the Avon Rovers. She like many of the other ladies who were my neighbours was important to me in my early years. My mother died when I was ten months old and many of these ladies were so caring that I think I was the original blue-eyed boy of the Street. I left Avonspark St in 1959 and eventually moved to England where I still live. Whenever I visited Glasgow during the ensuing years I kept in touch with her and any of the old neighbours who were still around.
I was delighted to be invited to her 100th Birthday celebration, which was held at the Brunswick club, around 1995.
Mrs Doyle was a munitions worker in the Atlas Works in WW1, and she would also play the piano in local cinemas for the silent movies. In her late nineties she was entertaining senior citizen at the Tron Church. Her recipe for her long life included a quarter bottle of whisky a day.
At the party she said to me, “ what is all the fuss about?” “I’m only a hundred, and I’m not going anywhere in a hurry”. Mrs Doyle died in 1997 and as I was out of the country I was unable to pay my respects to a wonderful, typical, Springburn lady. Does anyone know of any other Springburn Citizens who became Centenarians?
These are some photos taken at the party.

James Sullivan and Mrs Doyle

Alice Morrison ( nee. Sullivan) Gerry Doyle and James Sullivan.

Gerry Doyle and James Sullivan.

Tenement Tales Chapter -- 5. Fox Fur & Woolen Pants

buntygal — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 10:27:51 CST

Everyone in Springburn went to Kay Street baths whether to swim, bathe, or wash clothes. My association with the pool began at a very early age and as I now reflect on events in my youth, I am amazed that my parents would let me go to a public pool without any kind of life preserver or rubber ring knowing that I could not swim, DID THEY REALLY LOVE ME I WONDER??. I presently live in Canada and I enjoy taking my grandchildren to the local community pool, and as I sit there watching them go through their swimming lessons with an instructor, using every floatation device known to man, I wonder how I ever survived to become a grandfather. Their swimming learning experience is a far cry from the Kay Street pool of 1950 as it is so well managed and organized. When their lessons are finished, I join them in the pool for some fun as I still enjoy the relaxation that being in the water brings. When I am watching my grandchildren with their instructors, I run my youthful past experience at Kay Street back in my mind, and there always seems to be something missing, it dawned on me the other week that what was missing was NOISE !! .The sound of children screaming, laughing, shouting and the pool attendants whistling as they held some embarrassing article of your clothing, or a slightly less than white threadbare towel over the pond to make sure that you exited on time. I have a clear recollection of big George McKay or wee Johnny Duncan shouting numbers 32 to 64, (referring to your dressing stall) "yer times up, get oot now" and threatening to ban you from the pool if you failed to obey. I learned to swim by myself and over time spent whole days in the building doing odd jobs and earning a free pass to get in an out, an entrepreneur even at that early age. How many of our male readers remember lining up at the exit door of the pool to put a penny in the Brylcream machine. No self respecting cool young man would be seen dead walking down Springburn Rd without the required D. A. ( if you have to ask, what this means, your too young ) , and Brylcream was the magic glue to achieve one. I was one of the few kids that could not have a D.A. as my bright red hair was really a white mans Afro, it was so curly, really a mother's dream, and yes, I would kill to have it back today.

One summer day my younger brother Thomas wanted to come to the baths with me, he was four years younger and would definitely have cramped my style and carried stories home, so I was not in favor of this. I told him that he could not go as he was too young and he had no swimming trunks, so off crying to mother he goes. Mother says to me, "if he cant go with you, then you don't get to go either"," but mammy" I say , "he dis'nae have any swimming pants", so he cant come", With this sound logic it would appear that I had won the debate, not the case, "Don't worry Thomas says mother, I'll knit you a pair", and with that she whips out her knitting needles, a yarn of green wool, and abracadabra, 45 minutes later a pair of bright green hand knitted swimming pants have materialised. They were so ugly that I was embarrassed to be seen with my brother wearing them, but without them there was now swimming for me so I had to give in. "So now Brian, my mother says, take your brother to the baths and be sure to look after him" ( WHO LOOKED AFTER ME, I WONDER ), "be sure that nothing happens to him" are the last words that I hear exiting the house none too happy at having to drag my sibling along. When we get to the pond, I put him in the stall next to me and tell him to change into his new swimming trunks," wait here, and don't move until I come and get you" I say, as I go next door to put on my super slick red sateen swimming trunks, weeks of whining and saving to get these beauties. I come out of my box, open his door and he is gone. OMG, where did he go?, our changing boxes were under the diving board at the six foot deep end of the pool. I look around frantically, and there below the water I can see him in his bright green pants. I dive in and manage to get him to the surface, I grab the rail and hold on for dear life with my mothers last words " be sure that nothing happens to him" ringing in my ears. I manage to get him out the pool and ask him how on earth did he get in there in the first place,"well all the other boys just opened their doors and jumped in so I did the same" he says, so much for personal hygiene in those days. As I stand there talking to him with my heart going at 400 miles per hour, I notice that the wet woolen trunks have taken on a life of their own and are stretching almost all the way to the floor. I cant be seen with him like this , so I take him, both of us still in a traumatised state of shock to the hot tubs, sit him in one with instructions not to move until I come to get him. At the end of the session, I collect my brother and take him to the dressing stall, I tell him to wait here until I get dressed first and then I will help him. When I am dressed, I open his stall door and am really quite impressed to find that for a wee lad he has already changed, all of his clothes are on and his shoes are on the right feet. I pick up his towel and ask " where are your swimming trunks"?, "I hung them over the door he says, just like everyone else" "well they are not there now I reply", " someone must have stolen them he says", Hand knitted bright green woolen swimming trunks, I 'm thinking, who would be seen dead in them, let alone steal them, and then I remember how close my brother nearly came to being seen dead in them. I give him a big hug and promise to buy him chips and candy on the way home and I will tell our mother that his new bright green knitted woolen trunks were indeed stolen, whomever the guy was he has done us both a big favor. If you are a regular reader of my stories you will know by now that there is usually an ironic twist at the end that always prevents me from receiving my well earned redemption , and this one's no different. That evening, as my mother is getting my brother ready for bed, she takes off his outdoor short pants, and there beneath his under pants, he is wearing the now infamous knitted woolen swimming trunks, he has had them on all day. Once again I received an ear ringing jolt for my lack of attention to detail and not looking after my wee brother, I couldn't tell her that I had saved his life that very day as that would have been worse. The next day my brother developed pneumonia and was quite sick for about a week, now it just may have been coincidence, but I blame it all on the BRIGHT GREEN HAND KNITTED GREEN WOOLEN SWIMMING TRUNKS, if only they had really been stolen, but alas, there was nobody that dim in Springburn. So as much as I accidentally traumatized my brother, I also traumatized myself to the point where I cant look at green bathing trunks today without thinking of that day and how close to disaster we had been.

Now as much as traumatizing my brother was an accident and not really my fault, I also managed to do a pretty good job to traumatize my sister in an equally bizarre accident, which was my own fault, " HOW COME BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD WEE BOYS ??" . One evening, I was playing games with my brother in the bedroom while the rest of the family were in the kitchen, we had pretty well exhausted our imaginations and boredom was setting in. There was a huge double wardrobe in our room and it was generally locked as this was the only place in the house with a lock and key and our parents hid our Christmas gifts there. Sitting on the floor, I look up to find that the key was left in the lock and my curiosity gets the better of me, so I opened the door and started to explore the wonders inside. I came across a big paper bag, which contained a rather impressive large fox fur stole, my family had to be holding out on me, we cant be poor, surly we had to be rich to have one of these. My brother and I examine this fox fur in detail, it has realistic beady little eyes, a huge bushy tail, and four legs with real claws attached, this is quite a toy. I am holding it by the back of the neck and just above the tail which makes the claws dangle on the linoleum to produce a little clicking sound, that's when I get the idea to give my sister a wee fright, a brilliant idea, or so I thought at the time. We switch out the lights and call our sister into the dark bedroom, and when she steps through the door, I launch the stuffed moggy at her to give her a wee fright that we can all laugh about later, fat chance of that!! The fox fur lands on her chest and the front legs swing round her neck causing the front claws to lock together behind her, and this brings the foxes face with it's wee beady eyes right up to her face. A wee fright is perhaps an understatement, my sister goes into an absolute ballistic screaming fit and falls on the floor trying to detach this furry thing which she has never seen before from her neck. She is lying on the floor thrashing about, and the fur is coming off the fox in clumps, I am trying desperately to stop her and calm her down as I can read the tea leaves and I know that trouble is brewing for me. Hearing the commotion, my mother comes rushing in, switches on the light and there is my sister thrashing on the floor with a stranglehold on the fox fur, and my brother, the one that I had saved, standing in a far away corner with his finger pointing at me. Needless to say that I was in deep trouble for opening the wardrobe, and had compounded my stupidity by playing a wee trick on my sister, I can still see the stars today. As a result of this childish mishap, my sister has a strong aversion to cats to this day, she blames me whenever I bring it up to her, which I do often when I come home on holiday. I REALLY WAS A GOOD WEE BOY, though sometimes a little misguided. The roadway to hell is really paved with good intentions, a wee lesson that it took me some time to learn.

Tenement Tales Chapter 3 - Benny & The Bird

buntygal — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 10:24:28 CST

"No offence Jimmy", a phrase often heard in Glasgow's better social circles. This phrase is generally used when one is about to say or do something incendiary that may offend the sensitivities of ones neighbour. I am using this phrase as an introduction to what is really two tenement tales both directed at my favourite uncle, a man with a wicked sense of humour who was always quick to laugh. In the interests of being P.C., something that all Glaswegians are noted for worldwide, in the old days P.C meant a Police Constable, my how times have changed. So being P.C. today, I have to acknowledge that although the latter part of this tale has clear sectarian overtones, they are being delivered with a pure heart and an ironic twist which should bring a smile to the face of real Springburnite, a rare individual who was never born without a keen sense of humour. So with all of this being said as an introduction, I now in advance say "No Offence Jimmy" to every class and creed who reads this true tale and manages a good belly laugh at the end. My fathers family were raised in the early 1900's in Turner St, just off Royston Rd, it was a hard and sadly depressed area often referred to as "The Garngad" or "The Road". "The Road" was a far cry from the scenic countryside of Bishop Briggs, it was said that if you ever saw a cat on "The Road" with a tail, it was a lost stray. My father Matthew, had a tear away younger brother named Bernard ( Benny). Apparently in the early days of their youth Benny had a penchant for attracting trouble, it just seemed to follow him around. Never anything serious, generally brawling in the street or at local dance hall after a few drinks. In those days the police had a zero tolerance program, so they had no compunction about to throwing the offender, guilty or not, in the van and of to the local jail. My father said that his task in life was to bail brother Benny out of Maitland St and make sure that their parents never knew about the after hours extra curricular activities of his brother. My father maintained that Benny was generally a quiet youth who got into trouble because of an unlikely tough reputation, which he really did earn, and like the gunfighters of the old west, faster guns and tougher men came to test his reputation. Uncle Bernard's nemesis was his nickname, he was known on "The Road" was as "Benny The Poker", a nickname sure to attract the demons from the dark side. I remember my uncle Bernard very well in later life as I was growing up ,a quiet man, with a boxers facial countenance, he was 5 ft 4" tall and 5 ft 4" wide, his feet barely reached the ground, clearly a wee man to step aside for, so here is the first part of uncle Bernard's tale.

Uncle Bernard and my father both worked in the Caley, a facility where top quality steam engines were made in good times, and when work was slack, particularly on the night shift, the men found other things to do to keep themselves busy. During one of these slack periods, uncle Bernard decided to make a brass poker as a present for his mother, such a thoughtful lad. Now I am sure that almost every home in Springburn had one of these pokers, a hand crafted brass stem with multi coloured rivet's acting as a handle, all smuggled out from Cowlairs ,The Caley or NB Locomotive. Although very decorative in appearance, these pokers were quite useless in relation to the work that they were designed for, as heat from the fire rapidly travelled up the brass stem and burned the hands of the unskilled user. On this fateful Friday (pay day), uncle Bernard was proudly making his way home from work across the football pitches at St Rollock's and approaching his home on Royston Rd. His prize, the hand crafted poker, smuggled out of work, securely hidden up his sleeve, ready to present to his mother for her birthday, sadly not to be. Close to home, uncle Bernard was approached by three well known corner boys who apparently had some thoughts of separating uncle Bernard from his hard earned pay packet. Uncle Bernard was no fool, he was a Union man and he knew that there was no room for negotiation or arbitration with these individuals. He had two choices to make rapidly, run or fight, and running was never an option because as I have previously stated, his feet barely reached the ground. So as the group of three surrounded their intended victim, making their demands, and brandishing their weapons of choice, Uncle Bernard whipped mothers brass poker out from his sleeve, and rapidly made short work of his assailants with quick decisive strokes of the purloined poker.The would be robbers who were caught completely off guard quickly withdrew from the field of battle with no prize, no honour, but much the wiser in their choice of next victim, and so the legend of "Benny the Poker" was born. This 'Poker in the Park" extravaganza earned uncle Bernard a reputation that attracted the wrong attention from the wrong people and made his life a little tougher in a neighbourhood that was fuelled with poverty and deprivation. Eventually the brothers and sisters of the family got married and moved to new locations, Uncle Bernard had five children and he moved to a terrace house Barmulloch , a far cry from The Garngad" and a new life begun.

One of uncle Bernard's sons Matthew, named after my father was coming home from school one day, when he saw a cat in a field with a blue budgie in it's mouth. He ran home, dropped off his schoolbag and was rushing out of the door when his mother asked "Matt, why are you rushing, where are you going"?. "I just saw a cat in the field with a budgie in it's mouth and I am going to rescue it said Matt". His mother replies, "Matt the bird will be long dead by the time that you get there, leave it alone" she says not wishing for her son to be disappointed by failure. " No said Matt, I know where it is, and I'm going to save it", and with that he is off and running. About ten minutes later, Matt returns triumphantly to the house proudly holding the rescued blue budgie in his hands,"see" he says to his mother, " I told you that I would save it". "Oh that's great, well done son" says his mother," just put in the cage with Joey", a green budgie that had been in the family for several years. At this point dear reader, I should make you aware that uncle Bernard was an avid Celtic supporter and over the years he had taught Joey to sit on its perch and say " UP CELTIC", " UP CELTIC" in a most convincing manner. It was his party piece, and uncle Bernard took great delight in saying "Sing my song Joey, and Joey would reply with "UP CELTIC ", "UP CELTIC" The rescued budgie was put into Joey's cage and for several days it looked like it was not going to make it, they even gave it a name, Frankie. The bird was in a state of catatonic shock from being in the cats mouth and having the cat play with it for so long before having it for a snack. The whole family including tough uncle "Benny The Poker" looked after the sick bird even though they all fully expected the poor wee budgie to pass on. It just sat in the cage, not a chirp, totally dumb, occasionally taking some water and a little seed, but for all the world it was like a stuffed bird in a cage.

This happened around 1949-1951, I cant recall the exact year, but I can tell our readers that we only had one BBC channel on the television at that time, and the highlight of every weekend was to watch the Sunday night play right after "What's My Line" on the BBC. I am sure that we all recall the procedure, draw the curtains, all the lights in the house went off, watch the picture and wait for the intermission to make a cup of tea or take a bio brake. On this very special Sunday evening, uncle Bernard and his family were gathered around the TV watching the play and waiting for the intermission, nobody dared to speak in case you got sent to bed, the room was deathly quiet. Suddenly, a very clear voice rang out across the darkness of the living room "F the Pope" it screamed. Uncle Bernard jumps up and puts the lights on," who said that" he asks looking at his five kids, no takers, what on earth was that he says. As he passes the bird cage, Frankie, the recently rescued blue budgie, let's go with multiple shouts of "F the Pope" at him, and his own bird Joey is chirping in with "UP CELTIC"."UP CELTIC" as a chorus. Uncle Bernard with his quick wit and good humour says to his son, " Matt, this is what you rescued? take that damn bird out and give it back to the cat, it will never amount to much with a mouth like that on it", and with that he then bursts into loud laughter. From that evening on, Frankie was re-christened as one might suspect and named Billy, and the two birds became uncle Bernard's party piece for quite a few years. Sing my song Joey uncle Bernard would say "UP CELTIC, UP CELTIC" and Billy would rapidly follow up with multiple calls of "F the Pope" , till the day it died. After recovering from the shock, the only way to shut Billy up was to cover his cage with a towel, this came in very handy when the local priest made house calls on the family, god forbid that Billy should talk then. Uncle Bernard maintained that Billy had a Belfast accent, say it isn't so, at the end of the day, Benny and the Bird both had a good home where laughter was the order of the day.

Tenement Tales Chapter -- 5

BrianDiamond — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 15:01:29 CST

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

Elmvale Street Primary

Jeanmccrae — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 13:06:27 CST

Mrs. Grace

Elmvale Woodworking Class 1916
(Source Virtual Mitchell)

Elmvale Domestic Science Class 1916
((Source Virtual Mitchell)

1948
Class with Jessie Scott in it.

c1949
Photo source rstewart61

c1949

Moira Caird at the end (right)of second row

c1951 Miss Purdies class
Photo source rstewart61

c1951/52
Photo source Betty Bell

From left to right - Teacher ?
Back Row: Alfred Lawrie, Billy Taylor, Robert Andrews, Jim Brown, Alistair ?, Billy Fairly, Sandy Lovey,
Billy Wylie, Andrew Eccles, ??
3rd row: Colin Brown, James Green, Fiona Wallace, Susan Nelson, Margaret Cook, Ann McMurdo,
Margaret Love, Rosemary Paton, William Stewart, ??, John Plunket
2nd row: Hugh Wylie, Andrea Murdoch, Joan Bell, May McCallum, Mary Tollan, Margaret Walker,
Margo Young, Joyce Hill, Frances Bell, Irene Morrison, Betty Bell, Margaret Shanks, Jackie Picken
Front row : Jim Craig, Stewart McLean, John Black, Billy Lorimar, Andrew Swinton.

1952

Miss Taylors Class 1952

At Back Left is Billy Harris, Back Right is unknown

Back Row - Archie Green,Sidney Johnstone ? Carson, Richard Purcell, ? , Ronald Wilkie, Victor Thomson, Jim McEwan, David Lavall, and Peter Nicholson. 2nd Back Row. Stanley Sargent, ? Simon Williamson, Jim Hay , ? Archie Tom, Raymond Carrol, Archie Cameron, Jim Croal , Ian Davidson. 2nd Front Girls, Catherine Woods, Margaret ? ,Mary McKenzie, Jean ? , ? ,Olive Telford, Francis Waters, Jean Wallace, ? ,?, Mary Robertson, and Sandra Miller, Front Row. Malcolm McCrae

, ? , Alex Aikman, Fiona Taylor, Ann Melville, Sheila Wheatley, ? , ? , ?

1953

Photo courtesy of Boundrybar

E Young J Rennie D Seivewright K Reid S Ross D Sutherland B Bruce J Reid G Fay J Calder E Young E McAuley Me 2nd row 6th from the left J Ross F Wotherspoon D Crichton F Flint A Woodrow G Busheroll S McLeod :Teacher Mrs Livingstone

1953

2nd row: Agnes McMillan left in front of the teacher, Agnes Fahy 4th from left,Margaret Hitchen 8th from left

Taken around 1956

2nd Row 3rd from right Marion Wallace.

(late sister of jeanmccrae)

195?

Elmvale 195 ?

Not sure of the names here help!

back row second right Robert Aitken?Third row second right and front row second right twins.

Girls row from left Irene Murphy Jaqueline ?from France 5th left myself Rita Dewar (stillgame).

Front row second left Joe Bullock?Teacher was German name unknown.

Twins surname was Whitehall one called colin the other Stuart thanks dot21.

BackRow ? David McKenzie ,James Finlayson, ? Fleming Stein, ? Richard Carr. ? ? Alan Morton,Miss Wilson
3rd row Robert Parker, Billy Davidson,Jim McCue, ? Clifford Turnock, Ewan McMaster,Bobby Blades, Gordon Green,?
2nd row Eleanor McTeer, ? , Jane McMillan,?,?,?Moira Caird, Catherine Coote,?, Helen Bain, Susan Stewart
front row Jane Brown, ? ? Catherine Woods centre stage, the guy as usual is Duncan Abernethy ? ?Fiona Taylor ?

1955

This photograph of Mrs Grace's Class is from the Evening Citizen 1955 and was taken for

for some special occasion. (unknown).

c1956

Above: Elmvale Street Primary 1956

Top Row Catherine Wood, Jean Wallace, Susan Stewart , Moira Caird, Elizabeth Warren, Olive Telford, Jane McMillan

Third Row Margaret Nelson, Fiona Taylor, Margaret Lynn Mary McKenzie, Ann Melville,

Anne Crichton, Sandra McLeod, Janet Rennie, Rena Bruce Mary Robertson

Boys Names Second Row: David Hay, Ronald Wilkie, Stanley Sargenson (or Sargent)

Billy Davidson, Clifford Turnock, Roger o,Neill, Raymond Carrol, Ian Davidson, Ian Fraser.

Boys Names Front Row:Duncan Abernethy, Jim Graham, David Lavell, Archie Cameron, Sidney Johnston, Archie Green, Jim Rennie, Malcolm McCrae

Names courtesy of Jean Wallace

The teacher was Mrs. Grace.

c1956/57

Front row left to right ? Dorothy Conway ? ?
2nd row ? Nan Skorpen, Jessie Campbell, ? ? Helen McMillen, Doreen Early, Jane Maxwell, Margaret Wood.
3rd row ? Betty Fisher, ? Myra Anderson, ? Janette Cassells, Ann Nelson, ?
4th row George Easdale, Robert?, ?,?,?,?, John Murray
5th row Ian ?, ?, ?, ?, ?, Robert Wilson, ?.

Below frame grab from a Springburn museum video. Date 1961? (siccar)

Tenement Tales Chapter 4

buntygal — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 02:24:45 CST

Another Tenement Tale, and once again I have to assure our readers these stories are being told as observations on reflections of my youth growing up in Springburn, the tale is written with no malice and a pure heart. As most of you know by know, I was raised three stairs up in Keppochhill Rd, and for the residents who live on this lofty landing, this is a blessing. All the noise from the houses above travels downwards, so with no one living above you, tranquillity reigns on the top landing, or so it wold appear. My family lived in the centre room and kitchen with an inside toilet, a luxury for some, but a terrifying inconvenience for my mother as she was always afraid that any one of her three kids would cause the toilet to back up and flood the notorious "Mrs G" who lived directly below us.

Mrs G. was a very interesting woman, a toffee nosed lady whom I suspect married below her class, at least that was the image that was portrayed in everything that she done. Mrs.G. had without a doubt the nicest front door in the close, it was one of those front doors that was finished in a such a high gloss varnish that you could see your face in it. The door also had a beautiful grained finish as it had been combed with one of those artistic metal combs to create a series of extremely exquisite designs of scrolls, circles and squiggles.To top it off she had adorned her door with more brass than you would find on two coffins and a five star USA General combined, all polished to perfection every day. To say that Mrs. Gordon was house proud is the master of understatements, not that this is a bad thing, she was the queen of clean and everyone had to know it. Now as any good Springburnite will acknowledge, a door like this was like a magnet to the street urchins that lived in the close, and up the stairs. God forbid you ever went near her door, hellfire and brimstone if you touched it and left a fingerprint. Mrs G. just seemed to spend her days polishing her door and lurking behind it waiting to open it if you happened to be breathing heavily as you passed it. She never needed CSI to check for fingerprints, she knew all the culprits by name. Mr G. worked in the railways, and every evening when he came home from work he performed the same ritual. He would scrub his boots or shoes on the outside doormat , then sit on the stairs and remove them, and then enter the house, it was rumoured that Mrs G could spot and catch fly droppings in mid air on a shovel before they landed on her rug. Now with this as a background here is the tale, Oh by the way, did I tell you that Mrs G. was Free P and my family was R.C. That being said, I have to assure our readers that this has nothing to do with the event that happened, but it plays a large part in the paralysis that I caused my parents. This catastrophe was so embarrassing that my mother and father were mortified at what transpired, isn't mortified a great word.

Mrs. G. should have never been living up a close, especially in a house where people lived above her as her hearing was much to sensitive, she could hear things that only dogs can hear. As a result of this hearing impediment, Mrs G. was constantly hammering her broom on her ceiling, "knocking up" at the three kids in the family above, namely me , my brother and sister. Our parents made allowances for Mrs G,'s eccentricity, "live and let live they would say ".They always made us take off our shoes at home, and kids rough house games were never permitted when they were around. The radio and TV were on limited volume control, so all in all I would have to say that my parents were very considerate neighbours under the circumstances. My father maintained that Mrs G. could hear a ten bob note fall on our rug and she would start hammering up, on reflection that may well have been true as our rugs were pretty threadbare and paper thin. One day she complained to my dad that his kids were noisy that day, only to find that no one had been home except the cat, and it was only a kitten. She would run up two flights of stairs, hammer on our door, run back down before the door was answered, and call out her grievance from the stair landing below. She even resorted to calling the police who paid no attention as apparently they knew her from the numerous complaints of the previous tenants of our house. So when my parents were home, all was quiet on the western front, but when my mom and dad went to the Princess to see a movie, leaving me, the older brother in charge , all bets were off. We did not try to annoy her, we were just kids playing at home, but the very minute that Mrs G knocked up, I would promptly reply using the families handy dandy brass poker, the same one that every family had if your dad worked at the Caley, Cowlairs or NB Locomotive, what a great wee tool it was. Mrs G. and I would play "Jingle Bells", she would go Bump, Bump, Bump, I would re ply with Bump, Bump,Bump, and she would respond with Bump, Bump, Bump, Bump,Bump, at least that's what it sounded like to me L O L. As I reflect on these actions, it occurs to me that I was not perhaps the cherubic angel that my mother wanted in a son and I clearly thought myself to be. Regardless of my shortcomings, I can honesty say that what happened was an accident, a horrible accident that earned me a thick ear at the time, and much laughter from my parents as I recalled it for them in the years to follow.

I was perhaps about nine years old, and one Friday night my parents took us to the Kelvin Hall for rides on the shows and a visit to the circus, a special treat in those days. I remember sitting in the circus watching this clown swinging a bucket of water by the handle, round and round, over his head, and then throwing the water at his intended victim, only to miss and soak some other unsuspecting individual, all great fun for a kid. Well the following day, Saturday, my parents were painting the house and they were running out of paint, so my father sends me out to pick up another can as he gets on with the painting. I had to walk all the way down Keppochhill Rd, and on Springburn Rd, just round the corner from R S McColls, on the same side as Hoeys was a small store that sold everything in the known modern world at that time. It was a magical store, I cant remember it name, but it always smelled of paraffin when you went in, and if that wee store failed to have what you wanted it was never available to begin with. This was my second trip to the store that day, the first time I bought white paint for the doors and woodwork, what a good boy I was. So I get to the store and buy the can of green paint that I was sent out to pick up, and start to make my way home. I think that my dad was painting our in house coal closet and coal bunker with this green paint, an inside coal bunker, wasn't that a thing of beauty in your home. As I pass Springburn Public Hall, I remember how the clown was swinging the bucket of water at the circus the night before and I emulate what he was doing. I swing the paint can around and around, over my head, and by now our more astute reader can probably see where this is going, a disaster in the making, an accident just waiting to happen. I am totally thrilled that I can do this, and continue with it all the way home, in the close, up two flights of stairs, still swinging, right until I get to Mrs G.'s door. I am only one short flight of stairs from safety and home, so I give the can one last big swing around, and at that precise moment, the wire handle decides to separate itself from the can. I watch in total horror in slow motion as the detached can on the big upswing takes off and hits the ceiling above me, crikey!!. I am now trying desperately to get out of it's way in case it hits me on the head on it's way down. I step back, miss my step and roll down the stairs clutching the detached wire handle in my fist as though it will save me, nothing could save me now. I hear a crash, get myself up and run back up the stairs keen to attach the wire handle to the paint can and no one will ever know. OMG, the can had burst open when it hit the ground and Mrs G.'s beautiful door was liberally splattered in green paint. The paint was all over the landing and running everywhere, how am I ever going to explain this??. I wait with baited breath for the tongue lashing that I am sure to be getting from Mrs. G, I have already managed to squeeze a sympathy tear from my eyes at the enormity of my crime, and at this moment I would have given anything to be somewhere else, even hell was looking good. I wait a few more seconds, it's a miracle, nothing happened, she's not in, I'm safe, oh god's looking after his good wee boy today. I run up the stair to tell my parents what had happened. I am reciting the accident to my dad, definitely the soft touch of the two, when my mother catches the tail end of the story,". AHHHHHHHHH, NOOOOOOOOOOO" she screams, green paint on Mrs.G.'s door and in the same breath delivers a slap to my ear that rings bells. My parents of course cleaned up the mess before Mrs G. returned home, at which point they took me downstairs to apologise for my misdemeanour. Mrs.G. could see by the broken plaster in the ceiling that this was indeed an accident and nothing of malicious intent. I think my parents had to pay to re-varnish Mrs.G's. door as the Turpentine paint thinner used in the clean up had taken it's toll on the high gloss finish. It was a few years later before I discovered out the significance of sectarian colours, and at that time I fully understood the rationale and urgency of my mothers cry of "OH!!, NO THE GREEN PAINT".

SAVE THE PUBLIC HALLS & WINTER GARDENS

buntygal — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 16:34:34 CST

Go to ; www.my-cause.com/springburns_heritage
To show your support.
Once proud Public Halls
Then.........

And now..........

Winter Gardens then...........

And now...........

Old Photos of People 3

Harrymc — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 06:27:05 CST

(Photo below posted by FlyingStewart)

Betty Stewart at 8 years old
on the Bridge in Springburn Park

Below MaryBJunnor At the Rockery Springburn Park 1960.

This was my/our passport photo.When the war started we were living in the customs house in Grangemouth
docks and watching the soldiers embarking for places unknown .
A good story ...my gran made the sentry a dumpling for the billet and we got rationed stuff in exchange Grin
Elinor (granimac)

My wee sister and me ,en route to Balornock via the "Dummy "line.
Wonder who the scallies were ? (1950?)

Crichton Street

The Dancing Girls rehearsing for the Jeanette Bassett's farewell Party & Concert in 1948.

They are part of a troupe of about 12 girls and the are: Viola Jarvis, Jean Milne, Norma Taylor,
Nancy Davidson, Martha Dickson, Jean Bookless, Moira Watson. All Crichton/Gourlay St.

More nostalgia from the back court of 42/44 Crichton Street and the two closes in Gourlay Street,this tenement abutted the infants school on one side and the school yard on the other. Who are they. Back Row from the left. Lillian Jarvis (me) with arms round my wee sister Irene, Alistair Haynes, Jack Taylor, Neil Mathieson, John Gregg, Alfie Moffatt, Angus Hutchison. Next row from the left Margaret Hutchison, Helen Lockie, Moira Watson,Viola (my other sister), Norma Taylor, Raymond Corner and Ian Hutchison.
not all from this back court but the majority are.

This photograph was taken before I was born the wee lad on the right nearly in the back row is my brother Kenneth Jarvis, the girl in the back row 2nd right is Betty Patterson.

Paddy Orr's Looking Towards Midton Street

The Clyde and Kennedy family 270 and 272 Springburn Rd me on the right.

Picture by clydey.

My dad and pals taken in a house in Adamswell Street 1949 (posted by JMTaylor)

L-R Donald McPherson, Johnny Meikle, Robert Langan, Edward (Eddie) Mackay - my dad

My dad Eddie Mackay 1949
(posted by JMTaylor)

My big brother Alex taken in the Blocks, part of the Railway Mission

and the back of Elmvale Street in the background. Betty Bell

Springburn Park

Harrymc — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 13:59:01 CST

Spot the bridge in the over grown rockery (June 2009)

Springburn Park June 2009

Pond with clock tower in background Springburn Park June 2009

Springburn Park pond June 2009

Mosesfield Memorial Garden
Springburn Park Nov 2009
(source h- Harrymc Nov 2009)

(Source - Harrymc )

James Reid statue
(source - siccar)

Springburn Park Boat Pond - 2002
(Source: siccar)

New Mosesfield House

The magic of Springburn park over the last century in pictures.
If you wish to share your memories start a thread
at the bottom of this page.

Statue of the Unicorn with James Reid statue behind.
(source - harrymc)

Winter Gardens - Then...............
(Source: Virtual Mitchell)

and Now - June 2008

(source - harrymc)

Boating Pond Queue c1950's
(Source: Springburn Museum Trust)

Summer in Springburn Park in the 1950's
(Source: Springburn Museum Trust)

50 Years later (June 2008)

The queues,the boats and the kids have gone ??????

(source - harrymc)

The clock tower

The small duck pond

A Sunday afternoon in June 2008
Anglers enjoy the sunshine at the small duck pond
(source - harrymc)

Sequence of pictures in The Rockery which has been,at least in part,
beautifully maintained.Can you spot the wee rabbits in the first photo?
(1 to 6 Taken by Harry Mc Cormack Sept 2007)
1

2

3

4

5

6

Taken by Wullie Carrigan in the mid-60's

Taken by Wullie Carrigan in the mid-60's

In its heyday. Crowds surround the famous bandstand made by Macfarlanes of Possil.

Springburn Park 1946-7

In the 50s. The Rockery.

Boating Pond 1950's

Boat Pond In Winter - mid 1950's

(Source: Springburn Museum Trust)

The Hothouse in it's original state.

Hothouses In Summer 1950's
(Source: Springburn Museum Trust)

Springburn Park Cricket Pavillion 1973
(siccar's eldest daughter)

Bagging Minnows.

Tennis courts

Cricket Pitch

(Source: siccar)

Cricket Pitch Sept 2008

(Source - Harrymc)

Boating Pond - 2002
(Source: siccar)

The Duckpond - 2002
(Source: siccar)

Remains of the Hothouse - 2002
(Source: siccar)

View From the Gates - 2002
(Source: siccar)

View to gateway on Broomfield Road
(source - harrymc)

View from Gates in Broomfield Road
June 2008
(source - harrymc)

Churches

jimmorion — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 13:33:42 CST

This Gospel Song was taken from Cliff College Choruses it was written by Mr. and Mrs. Seth Sykes notice their address in very small print at the bottom of the picture.
Mr. & Mrs. S. Sykes had links with the RAILWAY MISSION in Vulcan Street

Please list the names of all churches in Springburn until 1979

Sunday School, Scouts, BB companies etc.

St Rollox
Sighthill
St James episcopal church mollinsburn st
Cowlairs parish
Ferguson Memorial( Palermo st)
Johnstone
Hillkirk
St Aloysius
Springburn North Church
Springburn Salvation Army
Wellfield
Wellpark
Somerville Memorial (Blenheim St)
RAILWAY MISSION (VULCAN STREET

GOSPEL HALL (HILLKIRK PLACE)

Cowlairs Parish Church (1898)

Gourlay Street

Before we get to the history something modern:

THE SPRINGBURN TAPESTRY

THis was created by a number of ladies
of the congregation to Mark the Tenth
Anniversary of the present building
of SPRINGBURN PARISH CHURCH
in May 1991.

The tapestry is situated in the vestibule
of the church.

Wellpark Church - June 2008
(Source - harrymc)

Last Hours Of Wellfield Church - 1983

Sighthill Church (Below) the corner of Mollisburn Street and Springburn Road (opposite the Kinema)

St James Church Mollinsburn street

Cowlairs Parish Church

Below: inside of Cowlairs Church

Springburn North Church

Springburn Parish Hillkirk Street

Harvest festival decorations at Springburn Parish Church.

Cowlairs Parish Church (Gourlay Street)

25th BB company also met here originally

Photo taken July 2008 by Harrymc

St Aloysuis Church Hillkirk Street (also below)
The oldest surviving church in Springburn.
Managed to escape the structural mulitlation of the surrounding area
in the early 80's

Immaculate Heart Of Mary
Broomfield Road
(Source ;- harrymc Sept 2008)

Tell Your Story

buntygal — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 04:14:36 CST

This section is to recall Springburn in those great old days. Simply click 'add new page' at the PAGE TOOLBOX section to the right of the page. Then click the easy edit button above left of this panel and either paste or type in your story here. Remember to click the save button.

If you are unsure how to start,check the navigation pane to the left for existing accounts that former residents of Springburn have given about their time there.

Shirley Donnelly

buntygal — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 04:13:25 CST

Hi,My name is Shirley Donnelly.I was born and lived in Gourlay Street in 1968 but moved to Nairnside road in 1971.My granny Mary Hamilton lived in Elmvale Street and I have nothing but lovely memories of walking down to her house.I can remember the milners in Springburn-anyone remember the name?Would be great to hear from anyone who remembers me-went to St Bedes,my favourite teacher was Mrs Black-then went on to All Saints

Tenement Tales- Chapter 1

buntygal — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 12:58:51 CST

It was in August 1952/53, I was 9 or 10 years old, school had finished weeks ago, the sun was up and another wonderful day was about to dawn, or so I thought. Today, with my mothers approval, I am going to Springburn public park with my friends for a day of fun and adventure, and somewhere around mid morning we set off. We went bird nesting looking for eggs, fished in the duck pond, got on the paddle boats, played football in the grass with visions of Hamden Park in our heads. I took of my shirt revealing my natty string vest and lay down on the grass to try to get a suntan, no one ever told me that fair skinned, red headed kids don't tan well. It was mid afternoon, the sun was scorching, and within minutes I was blissfully asleep having used up so much energy in the course of the day. When I awoke, I was quite surprised to see that my skin was red and starting to tingle some, none of this was quite as bad as the criss cross pattern that I had over the front of my body, so we all laughed and off to play more football. I don't remember eating much, but the day seemed to pass in a flash and suddenly hunger and sunburn pain kicked in, time to go home. I had no idea of time, who had a watch?even then I doubt if some of us could tell the time, so off home I went, a sore but happy camper looking for a mothers sympathy and a hot supper, fat chance of that. I lived three stories up at 184 Keppochhill Rd, I ran up the stairs, got to my door and knocked to get in. In a blinding flash of movement, the door opened, a hand shot out and grabbed me, while the other hand cuffed me solidly on the ear. Seeing stars, I yelped, "what was that for" only to hear the motherly reply "Do you know What time it is" followed rapidly by "And where have you been all day". I was playing in the park all day I cried, the pain in my ear rapidly replacing the pain on my criss cross chest, clearly sympathy was on short call tonight. I don't know what time it is I say, it's still day light outside, I was just playing in the park and never done anything wrong I say. Now this is the point in the story where my motto "The truth always wins" becomes applicable. Your telling a lie my mother says, no it's the truth, I was at the park all day, no, you were not was the curt reply from my mother, I was, I was , I was I say. At this point my mother says "You were not at the park because your father went up there looking for you and the park gates were locked, so your father started to climb over the gates and the police came, caught him doing this (awful thing) and arrested him, he is now in jail because of you, gag. So I was packed of to bed, nothing to eat,certainly no sympathy, crying my eyes out that my father was a jailbird because of me, and all through this I had told the truth, done nothing wrong and was consumed with the injustice of it all. Little did I know that mother had lied to me, my father of course was not in jail, he was working the night shift at the Caley , hence his absence from the house. If only I had been smart enough to realize this I could have avoided my second ear bashing which was yet to come, but who would ever have thought that your mother would lie to you. After a disturbed nights sleep picturing my father in jail, I got up the next morning determined to be a "GOOD BOY" , I wanted to get back in mothers good books so I was receptive to doing anything that my mother asked without question. She asked me to go down to Mrs Davidson's, the shop at the close and buy rolls and milk for the family breakfast, I was up and down the three flights of stairs like a shot returning with the messages as she called them. At this point I should provide the readers with a little background on Mrs Davidson. Mrs Davidson was Springburn's answer to the Spanish Inquisition, she was super nice to kids and had an MBA in extracting nuggets of information from unsuspecting kids and broadcasting the news simultaneously. In today's world, Mrs Davidson would have been bigger than the Internet, Facebook, and Twitter combined, at that time she was bigger than the BBC, her only competitor. You can no doubt see where this is going. About now, my mother was starting to feel a little sorry for me, I was just so contrite and clearly repentant for sending my father to jail, so in place of the frosty faced thousand yard stare that I had been getting, my mother started to talk to me. Did you sleep well?, no, well don't worry everything will be just fine your dad will be coming home today OK son. At this I brightened up considerably, so did you meet anyone when you were out for the rolls she asked, no only Mrs Davidson I reply , and what was Mrs Davidson saying this morning she asks, nothing much I replied. She asked me why I was looking so unhappy as I was generally such a happy cheery wee boy, so I told her that my father was in jail, AHHHHHHHHHH you did WHAT !!! screams my mother, smack, there goes my other ear. My mother then impersonates a rocket launch by doing a vertical lift off from her chair and bounds down three flights of stairs three at a time, I was impressed as I never would have guessed that my mother was that agile. Straight in to Mrs Davidson's wee shop she runs to explain the "Faux Pas" he's not in jail, he's working the night shift, I only did it to frighten Brian ETC. Sure, sure says Mrs Davidson, alas, sadly, mother was too late, the broadcast had already been sent and at least half of Keppochhill Rd now knew that Matt Diamond was a jailbird, my mother was mortified. Later in life she would laugh hysterically at this with me and although sad at the time it is still a fond memory that I wanted to share with all you younger parents out there, don't make up stories that could haunt you in the future," the truth always wins"

Tenement Tales--Chapter 3

BrianDiamond — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 10:13:29 CST

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

PALS FROM BAIGRAYHILL

billymatheson — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 09:03:00 CST

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

Remembering Old Springburn

QueenofScots — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 15:06:20 CST

Poster credited to originator Susan Scott.
Poster sent to Harrymc direct by Susan.

Welcome Everyone

This site is a resource and gathering point for people who once lived in Springburn to the late 70s. This will include Petershill Balornock and Barmulloch. Given the widespread destruction of the area in the 1970s recollections of what has become a vanished world are fading fast and our aim is to gather memories of Old Springburn under one umbrella before they disappear altogether. We can all do that by sharing pics and memories. Please note: This site is self editing and can take a little bit of time to get used to. You must register in order to post your own stories about your schools, your football teams, workplace, the once famous shops and also a section to build up old photographs of Springburn in the pre demolition period. Please do this; it costs nothing, you won't be spammed and it means the site can grow and be original.

We want to encourage chat in the Discussion Forum, but KEEP THE LANGUAGE CLEAN; NO SWEARING, or INSULTING LANGUAGE, please. Also let us know if any copyright infraction has unwittingly occurred on our side and we will put it right,either by removing or crediting any piece. DO NOT reproduce elsewhere, credited personal photos belonging to site members or any text from the TELL YOUR STORY section. All rights are reserved. We are doing everything we can to source fresh unseen material of old Springburn to share and this site is non profit and for educational / historical interest only. If you have any old photos please get in touch.

Have fun
Steve

Links

Harrymc — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 15:07:12 CST

Quite a few of our members have mentioned that they would support a petition to save at least a little of what remains of Springburn as we knew it.The PUBLIC HALL and THE WINTER GARDENS are of particular interest.There is also the MUSEUM which was closed through lack of funding which could possibly be returned to Springburn if the PUBLIC HALL were to be restored.This link might help;-
http://www.my-cause.com/springburns_heritage

Springburn Streetmaps. Allows you to take a virtual walk through Springburn. Just click on the site and go to Glasgow and 'drop' the little figure into the Springburn area. ( Also does global cities)
http://maps.google.com/help/maps/streetview/

Springburnhttp://maps.google.com/help/maps/streetview/ Local Information and History
http://springburn.eveningtimes.co.uk/area/

Article on Springburn the Rotting Borough...go to link and search for Rotting Borough
http://scotlandonsunday.scotsman.com

Official government source of genealogical information for Scotland
http://www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk/

Photographs and information on Scottish Cinemas
www.scottishcinemas.org.uk

Excellent information , great photographs and discussion board on Glasgow
http://links.glasgowguide.co.uk/cgi-bin/in.cgi?id=2317

Informative site about Springburn Park Past & Present
http://www.glasgow.gov.uk/en/Residents/Parks_Outdoors/Parks_gardens/springburnpark.htm

Friends of Springburn Park
http://friendsofspringburnpark.co.uk

Photographs of Springburn community life and industry
http://gdl.cdlr.strath.ac.uk/springburn/

Photographs of Glasgow including Springburn
http://www.mitchelllibrary.org/virtualmitchell/

Images of Springburn
http://www.geocities.com/TheTropics/Shores/6891/images.htm

The Scottish Banner
http://www.scottishbanner.com/default.aspx

Springburn Virtual Museum (Index of all images)
http://gdl.cdlr.strath.ac.uk/springburn/springindexcommunity.html

Springburn and its Churches
The link below does not appear to work. It may have been replaced by the link afterwards.
http://www.asno38.dsl.pipex.com/history1.htm

http://www.fordsall.com/history1.htm

A very interesting Historical Site
www.oldglasgowpubs.co.uk

Multimaps

aussiejocki — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 17:27:31 CST

There is no abstract available for this page revision.

Photos of Modern Springburn

Harrymc — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 14:33:41 CST

This site is not about what Springburn has become; it is about what it once was. However, history is only ever understood by the ability to compare and contrast. This section has photos mainly although not exclusively, taken by Norrie from the mid 90s to the present and covers what remains of most parts of the district we hear so much of in the forums. Harry Mc has also taken a fair number of these photos in June/July 2008

Please post photos below.

Three photos illustrating the completed housing project on the
site of Albert Senior Secondary School (aka Albert Academy)

Upgraded pathway from Young Terrace/Edgefauld Rd to Haig St/Wellfield St.
July 2008

Young Terrace approaching Edgefauld Rd.
July 2008

Start of young Terrace from Edgefauld Rd.
July 2008

Young Terrace at corner with Edgefauld Rd
July 2008

Dykemuir Street

Shops in Wallacewell Road -June 2008

Fernbank Street Medical Centre (used to be the baby clinic)

St Monance Street from Broomfield Road June 2008

Villas in Broomfield Road opposite St Monance Street
November 2009

Rowanbank Clinic at Stobhill Hospital.

This house below is on Galloway Street,
first house on the right after the tenements, just as the hill begins

Looking up Hillkirk St

Looking down Hillkirk St towards what was Queenshill St

The Manse aka the Priest's hoose in Hillkirk Street
July 2008

Lane running off Hillkirk St, coming out at Carlston St

Corner of Hillkirk St and Springburn Rd.

Kay Street

New home for the Vulcan St fountain, looking up to Albert School

Above: Hawthorn Street/ Horne Streeet

Below: Hawthorn Street

New Cowlairs

Below: Photo of Valleyfield St in 2006.
The entrance to the Recabite Hall can be seen on the right.
I lived in no. 15 from 1950 to about 1964.
RonnieS

Valleyfield Street looking towards Adamswell St
July 2008

Below: Both Archie and I lived at 182 (the closest red door) different eras,

but we were there at the same time in fact.

This block was demolished in August 2006.

Thanks to Archie for the pic.

Crichton St at Keppochill Rd - 2001

Below: "Springburn Fountain and Thompson's Pub in the background"

From the stairs at the station.

I propose a little test for you expats. Can you still identify these streets in their isolation? If so, please type in their locations above each picture. There are many more to come, please note they are copyrighted. Thanks to NMc

reccabite hall door Valleyfield st

Top end of old Flemington Street

Petershill Road

Back courts of Petershill Road
from pathway leading to the new Leisure Centre .
July 2008

Barclay Street (below)

Back courts-Barclay Street July 2008

Campsie Street on way up to Albert SS

Glasgow skyline viewed from the corner of Mansell and St.Monance Streets.
Rear of new Albert Academy in the foreground
June 2008

St Monance st

Midton St

Midton St again opposite side

wits left of Laverockhall St

Petershill Road

Southloch Street off Petershill Road .
Is that the gates to the football park?

Springburn Road Thompson's pub on the corner. Carlston Street on the left

Springburn Road at Vulcan Street

Junction Springburn Road ,Flemington Street and Keppochhill Road.

Old fire station shown

The High Road of Springburn Road

Springburn Road, the High Road where the old Kinema was round to the left.

78 Balgrayhill Road on left & Barclay Street on right

Springburn Road at Cowlairs Road, the bottom windows were once the Co-Op

The same location again

Kay Street

Springburn Road looking toward Balgray Hill.
The old Sellyn's was on the left

Springburn Road

Is this where the old Bayne & Ducketts was?

Springburn Way

View of Springburn Railway Station from Atlas Square
7th June 2008

Atlas Square beyond Springburn Station
July 2008

Kepochill Road at Crichton Street.
The flat on the corner used to be Marias cafe

Keppoch Street.
The wall on the left is the bridge that carries the railway line into Queen Street

Keppoch street again.

Keppochhill Road

Keppochill Road at the Pinkston Bar

Newsagents General Store corner of Hawthorn St / Horne St
June 2008

Keppochill Rd June 2008

Keppochill Road 7th June 2008

Millarbank Street.
The Public Hall on the corner

Keppochill Road at Endrick Street

Modern Springburn 2008
The new alongside the old.

Keppochill Road at Pinkston road

Valleyfield Street

Looking down Wellfield street
June 2008

Paddy's Park 1999.

There wern't any trees there when I went sledging in the 1950s. RonnieS

Edgefauld Road from top of Wellfield Street

Entrance to the new houses on the site of Foresthall.
July 2008

Salvation Army Building

June 2008

Heritage & Hope - Atlas Square

A few more buildings which escaped the wrecker's ball.
June 2008
Balornock Primary - Langrig Road
from Balgraybank Street

Hydepark School

Gourlay Street School

NB Loco Building

Elmvale Primary

Library Building

from Atlas Square

Barnhill station July 2008

View up what was Berryburn Rd toward Bucksburn & Ryehill Roads.
New housing in progress July 2008.

Shops close to Broomfield Tavern Barmulloch

July 2008