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Harry McIntyre
(12 Nov 1930 - 15 August 1994) This page is in memory of my dad. He wrote this in 1994. It has nothing to do with Celtic, but he would have loved the fact that people around the world can now read his memoirs. These are his own words. I will copy the rest of his memoirs when I get the chance. Hope you enjoy it. Foreword Harry
McIntyre (1st February 1994) Some seven or eight years ago, I decided to research my
family tree, & as I uncovered great great grandparents, I realised that I
knew nothing about them, apart from the few sketchy details. I thought that was
a pity that they hadn’t the forethought to jot down a brief synopsis of their
lives, e.g. what kind of house did they live in, what their occupations were,
the wages they earned, how they met their spouses etc. (perhaps they couldn’t
read or write) to pass on down the generations, for such as I, who would have
found it most interesting. To this end, I am going to try & write about the kind
of life I’ve had. I have no writing or grammatical skills & will probably
deviate a lot. If this journal survives, some McIntyre or whatever their names may be, may find it interesting in the future. I make no apologies for the expletives that will punctuate my writing. ‘How is it possible to write about people, or yourself, if you don’t use the language that they used?’
“When I am dead & in my grave And all my bones are rotten This little book will tell my name When I am quite
forgotten.” 1930s I was born at 133 Grovepark Street, Maryhill, Glasgow, NW
on the 12th November 1930. My parents were Henry McIntyre & Sarah
McIntyre (nee Scott). Home for me was a third floor room & kitchen in a slum
tenement. The kitchen was where the family slept, cooked & washed. It had a
bed recess or ‘hole in the wa’ bed, where I was born & where my parents
slept. It comprised of a spring mattress sitting on bedboards. It could be shut
off from view by a pair of curtains. I also slept in this bed with my parents
until I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. (No wonder I was their last child!). There was also a black leaded range, which had a black cast iron kettle sitting alongside the fire to give us hot water. The kettle had a couple of marbles or ‘bools’, which started to rattle when the water level dropped, telling one to refill it. Such technology! There was a small gas ring, which sat on the range where the meals were cooked. The oven was heated from the fire. The sink was of black cast iron. It only had a cold-water tap & this was where the family washed & where mother washed small items of clothing with the aid of a scrubbing board, which was made of a wooden surround & corrugated zinc. I think that they cost sixpence from Woolworth’s. I saw one recently in an antiques fair & it was on sale for £15! The sink was also used by the family to pee in during the
night, rather than go out to the WC or ‘Cludgie’ as it was called, which was
outside on the half landing. Ours was shared with the family next door. It was a
terrible place. There was no glass in the window, no seat on the pan. There was
never any toilet paper in it. Small squares of newspaper with a piece of string
through them hung on a nail on the wall. The newspaper made your bum black (how
did I know!!) the first words I ever strung together probably were “There’s
somebody in” as a neighbour tried to get into the Cludgie. I remember thinking
that if I was rich, I would have a toilet with a velvet seat on the pan, a small
stove to make a cup of tea & a magazine rack for my comics, so that I could
spend a pleasant half an hour in there. The kitchen also had a wooden table, which got scrubbed
faithfully. I don’t remember seeing a table cover on it. It was usually
covered with a couple of pages of the Evening Times. I think this was where I
learned to read at an early age. With no electricity in the house, lighting was
from a gaslight, which had an inverted mantle, which was so fragile that a
bluebottle landing on it would put a hole in it, reducing the light given out.
Because we had no electricity in the house, the radio, or wireless as it was
called, ran off two batteries. One was large, one was small. Also an accumulator
was required, which contained a lead cell & acid. This had to be recharged
every few days by electricity. Having none in the house, we would take ours to Mrs.
Wishart’s newspaper shop in Hopehill Rd, where she charged them for people
like us. I think she charged one penny for an overnight charge. Popular
programmes in the thirties were ‘In the town tonight’ ‘Band Wagon’
‘Into the Battle’ & ‘Hippodrome.’ The kitchen also had two pulleys, where mother hung her
washing to dry. One had to go about the kitchen with head bowed, to avoid
getting slapped in the gub by the wet washing. The kitchen was wallpapered three
quarters of the way up, with a one-inch border. The remainder of the wall to the
ceiling had frieze paper, which got whitewashed. There was also a shelf, which
ran the length of the wall across from the fireplace. This was used to store the
best crockery (if you had any that is). Our next-door neighbour's were very posh.
They used to put sticking plasters around the jam jars, so that you didn’t
burn your fingers when you were drinking your tea!! Back to the shelf, we used
to have pewter & delf dishes laid out in descending order of size. What the
hell they were for, I’ll never know. There were also the inevitable brass jam
pan & kettle. I never saw them being used either. Also on the shelf was a
paraffin lamp (which had belonged to my grandmother), which was used if one
didn’t have a penny for the gas meter, which was also on the shelf. My sister
Annie still has the lamp, which now must be well over 100 years old. The gas meter would get emptied every so often. The gasman
would lay out the pennies in twelve’s (One old shilling) & mother would
get two or three shillings back as rebate. You were always sure to get a penny
from your mammy for sweeties after the gasman left. You could get quite a lot
for a penny in those days. Four dainty caramels, two macaroon bars, two ice
cream pokey hats etc. The gasman was sometimes asked to call again by some
women, when their husbands would be out, incase he commandeered the rebate to
buy drink. The lobby, which connected the kitchen with the bedroom,
was unlit & contained the coalbunker, the clothes poles & a rack for
hanging up coats. The bedroom had two double beds & a hole in the wa’ bed.
This was a posh one. It had a door on it. The bed that I later slept in was
hoaching with fleas & bed bugs. I would wake up in the morning to see what
nocturnal damage they had done to my body. I would be covered in bites. I became
a dab hand at killing them between my thumbnails. The bugs gave off a terrible
smell when they were burst. I didn’t really think anything of the bed being
hoaching. I suppose that I thought that everyone else’s bed were the same. I
would like to have seen my mattress being burnt. It would have gone off like
Chinese crackers, as the fleas & bugs exploded!! There were eight families living up our close. The
McKillop’s, McLaughlin’s, Straiton’s & Morrison’s. I can’t
remember the names of the others. My parent previously lived in a ‘single
end’ in the close & when my mother’s mother died, they moved up to the
top flat to her house. My mother took care of her brothers & sisters. God
knows where they all stayed. There were thirteen of them!! One of the pastimes for the people in the street was to
‘hing’. This was kneeling on a on a chair, looking out of the windows,
leaning on a cushion & shouting conversations to each other. This would go
on until the early hours of the morning in the summer. I remember hinging one
night, listening to a fight in a house across the street, along with the other neighbour's. When it ended, the lady, who was English, came out to apologise to
everyone for disturbing them, saying “I’m very sorry for the disturbance you
shower of nosey bastards” I nearly fell out of the window laughing!! This lady kept a house of ill repute, or a knocking shop as
we called it. There was a constant stream of men who would go in. they must have
been hard pushed, for she was no oil painting. If beauty is skin deep, she was
born inside out. One night when I was hinging, two detectives came creeping down
the street & tried to peer into her window, which was on the ground floor.
When they heard me laughing, they looked up to me & said “Get tae fuck
inside that windae ya wee cunt.” In those days, there used to be a lot of
vendors who came round the streets with their horses & carts. Very few
vehicles in those days. The coalmen all had their unique calls. Instead of
‘coal’ it would sound something like ‘awall.’ In those days when money
was scarce, some ladies would pay the coalman ‘in kind’ behind the door, or
give him a table ender. I heard one coalman who was heard to shout, “ coal for
money” as he hung weakly onto a lamppost!! There would also be a fish cart
that came round selling ‘Loch Fyne herring 10 a penny.’ He would have to
sell 2400 to make a pound. I don’t know how many he would have to sell to make
a living, & feed & stable his horse. There was also a ‘soor milk
cart’ that came round the streets. The milk would be in large churns &
people would go to him with jugs. I could never stand the stuff. There was a stable across the road from us where the coalmen etc would stable their horses. Some of the lads around the street would help clean the place out & brush the horses down for a few pennies. I never ever could stand the smell of the place. Another familiar face around the streets in those days were lamplighters. There were no electric streetlights around us, just gaslights. The closes were lit by gas. The lamplighters worked split shifts. They would start in the afternoon or early evening, depending on the time of year. They each carried a ladder & a little pole containing carbon, which they lit & used to ignite the lights in the streets & closes. They would then return in the morning & turn them off again. A favourite prank of schoolchildren in those days would be to get some carbon from the lamplighter & put them into the inkwells in the classrooms. This would cause the ink to bubble up & all over the desktops. Immediately next to our building stood Stark's Paper Mill which had quite a large pond of water, which was always stagnant in the summer. The smell from it was appalling, wafting into the house if the windows were open. Our street Grovepark Street was known locally as 'doon the burn' so called possibly because Glasgow's famous Molindiner Burn ran underneath it on it's way from the north of the city down to the River Clyde. The Molindiner Burn was built over as Glasgow expanded. I've never been sure if nit is the Molindiner that ran under the street. You can certainly hear water. Ra burn also had a garage and a clothing factory. Also McPhaills Foundry that I can remember. It was also a good street to play. 'Tanner Ba' football, as there was no windows that could be broken. I started primary school in 1934 at the age of four and a half. I went to Oakbank Street School, which was just up the road from us in Camperdown Street. Apparently on my first day, the teacher, a Miss Caldwell who was a wonderful old lady who had also taught my Aunt Sophie, called the register. On receiving no answer to 'Henry McIntyre` said to me "That's you." to which I apparently said "naw it's no. Ma name is Harry" Why do parents christen a child with one name and then call them by another? During my years in Primary School, I was a bright child. I was always top of the class or thereabouts. In those days, the clever dicks sat at the top of the classroom and the dunderheids sat at the bottom. At the end of every month, the best pupil would get a Dux medal to pin onto their jersey for a month. I was a regular winner. There were about 40 children in my classroom. With my father being unemployed during the depression years of the thirties, my parents didn't have enough money to buy me school clothes, so my mother would have to apply to the Education Authority of Glasgow in Bath Street for me to get 'Parish Claes'. Parish Claes were instantly recognised as such. Boys would get a three piece suit in grey herring bone material. A jersey with red piping on it, two shirts and a navy blue tie with red stripes & pink woolen combinations which were most uncomfortable next to the skin. We also got a pair of 'tackity boots' with the letters E.A.G (Education Authority of Glasgow) perforated on to the ankles. This was to prevent parents pawning them!! Children, who's parents were unemployed, or on 'the buroo' also received free school milk, which normally cost a halfpence a day. Some children, who's father were fortunate to have a job could be very cruel to us unfortunates who had to endure the stigma of "Free School Milk and Parish Claes. Ach I suppose they were the good old days" I can remember shortly after I started school I was on a tram car with my mother and I started to read out an advert on the tram. I got a skelp on the lughole from her, saying "You're no supposed to be at school yit!" She had been dodging my halfpenny fare. One of my earliest memories is being taken across the road to my Auntie Sophie's house because there was a fire in the house through the wall from us. I remember being laid at the bottom of her bed. When I mentioned this to my mother a good many years later, after some thought, she said that I couldn't possibly remember that incident as I was only about six months old. If she is correct about my age, it is a remarkable memory. My home life in the early thirties wasn't a particularly happy period in my life. My father who was unemployed during the depression years, was rather fond of a drink and would sometimes spent more than he should have from his buroo money. He would also pawn something from the house to get money for drink & when he came back home there would be an almighty row between my mother and him. My mother would often physically assault him, giving him a black eye on occasions. To his credit he never laid a hand on her. I can remember on numerous occasions, as small as I was, trying to separate them. Ours was not the only around which had such ructions. Arguments could be heard from neighbouring households. Usually it was the husband who was doing the punching. What a helluva way to live! Unemployment resulting in the loss of a mans dignity through not being able to support his family resulted in them turning to the drink for solace with no way out of the poverty trap. An unwelcome visitor in those days was the 'means test man' who would call on people who had claimed financial assistance and would assess the contents of their house, and would say "If you can afford carpets or a wireless, you don't need assistance from us." I can remember a neighbour bringing her carpets, wireless and some other things to hide in our house before the 'test means' man called on her incase he refused her claim. Around 1934 I went with my father to Clydebank to see the launch of the Cunard Liner Queen Mary. I don't remember much about it. The only thing that stands out in my mind was being up to my ankles in mud. As a child, one would shout up to one's mammy "haw maw, gie's a piece" and she would throw one out of the window wrapped in newspaper. In my case it would be a slice of bread with margarine dipped in sugar. The better off children would get jam on theirs (a jeely piece). One of my pals would get a piece and sauce. There are a great number of contradictions of terms in Glaswegian dialect. For example, I would ask my mother for a penny for sweeties and back would come the reply "a penny for sweeties, I'll give you a penny for sweeties" That meant ye wurnae getting any. I remember a woman saying to her young son, "If you run out oanti that road and get killed, ah'll murder ye!!" Some games that we played as children were 'bools' (marbles). You could get multi coloured ones or large ones (plunkers). They were, if you were lucky enough to get them, large steel ball-bearings. Then the peerie season would come around. A peerie was a small wooden spinning top which would have chalk designs made on the top and you kept them spinning with a whip. Then there were the 'gird' season. A gird was normally a bicycle wheel with the spokes removed and they were propelled by means of a piece of wood. It's funny how the 'seasons' came around at the same time every year. The seeds of religious bigotry are sown early in Glasgow when you start primary school and wondered why your pal went to a different school. Your mammy would say "he's no wan o' us". My primary schools, Oakbank, was a non-denomination school, wrongly called a proddy school. It was immediately across the road from St Columba catholic school. Stoner fight would go on between the schools at 'play time'. We had to wait until the catholic boys threw them first before we could return them. Their school was immediately next to an old quarry, where the ammunition came from. If people are integrated in collages and universities, why not primary schools? In Glasgow, there are too many Protestants & Catholics, but not enough Christians. In 1938, I like everyone else in Glasgow went to the Empire Exhibition in Bellahouston Park. It was a huge event. The day that I went was the day that I met the Old Dowage Queen Mother. She gave me a pat on the head. She probably couldn't resist such a handsome little lad like wee Henry. The most traumatic event in my young life came in 1939 with the start of the Second World War. Just prior to the War being declared, all the children from the cities were evacuated to rural areas to escape possible bombings to the cities. I got evacuated to Dunblane with a family across the street from me, the McFarlane's, who were friends of my mother. I remember standing on Kelvinbridge Railway Station wearing a label with my name and address pinned to my jacket lapel. I had a tin mug on a string around my neck with a little cardboard case with my gas mask. I was 2 months short of my ninth birthday. On arrival at Dunblane, I remember all of us getting an Aero chocolate. Anytime I see this chocolate, it reminds me of Dunblane. We got billeted with two old ladies, of which, all I can remember is that they wore long black dresses. On my first night there, this being the first time I had ever left my parents, I 'peed the bed. I was mortified with embarrassment. So much so, I wanted to go back home to my mammy. It was in Dunblane that I heard the then Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain declaring War on Germany on the 3rd September 1939. I was so unhappy there that my mother had to take me back home to Maryhill again. I preferred to go back home again and face any bombing than stay there. On returning home, I found that the close had been shored up with large wooden beams and a brick baffle wall erected on the edge of the pavement opposite the close. This was where the families were supposed to sit during the air-raids. When the first air raid siren sounded, we all trooped down to the close in our warmest clothing, with blankets and flasks of tea and pillows. The mammy's carried the birth certificates & insurances in their handbags. It was most uncomfortable sitting in the close. And cold too. After the first couple of warnings, everyone said "sod this for a game of soldiers" and thereafter, stayed in bed. If a bomb hits us, the close won't save us. Everyone in Britain got issued with a gas mask in case the Germans dropped poison gas bombs. They took a bit of getting used to. Everyone hated them, but I suppose they were necessary. We had to carry them at all times. I think that I once took mine out to the cludgie on one occasion. A good place to try them out I suppose!! If the all clear sirens didn't go during the alert until after 2AM, the children didn't have to go to school that day. Needless to say, we all hoped that it wouldn't go until then. Everyone was also issued with an Identity card. The number on mine was 'SFFX 92 4. My fathers was 1, Mother was 2, my sister was 3 & I was 4. 1940s To be continued.........
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