I WAS BORN IN 1925
And in that year you could buy -
20 cigarettes for 5p
An all-wool cardigan for 25p
Silk stockings for 31p
Pair of shoes for £1.20
Lady’s coat for £3.15
Lady’s watch 18ct gold for £3.50
Man’s 3 piece suit for £2.00
Wardrobe, dressing table, and small chest for £21.00
A brand new car for £200.00
And a gallon of petrol for 8p!!!
And in that year you could buy -
20 cigarettes for 5p
An all-wool cardigan for 25p
Silk stockings for 31p
Pair of shoes for £1.20
Lady’s coat for £3.15
Lady’s watch 18ct gold for £3.50
Man’s 3 piece suit for £2.00
Wardrobe, dressing table, and small chest for £21.00
A brand new car for £200.00
And a gallon of petrol for 8p!!!
-o0o-
I’ve mentioned before that in the 1930s there were really very few cars
on the streets. People could walk quite safely on the main road, and the
side streets were the areas where children played.
The only people we knew who had cars were one or two doctors (although one who lived in our street used to do his rounds on foot or by bicycle), and some tradesmen. And that was the case until Andrew came on the scene.
Andrew’s family had a good class gents’ outfitters business locally and he often had the use of their car, an Armstrong-Siddely. At that time he was courting an aunt of ours, and my adventure began one day when the car appeared outside our tenement building. He was probably delivering a message from my aunt to my mother, but the outcome was that he would take me out for a run in the car.
Now, I had never been in a car before, and no doubt he thought that this would be a great thrill for me. But oh, no, it was the opposite! As we drove away, me sitting beside him, I thought he was taking me away for good. I know I didn’t cry, but I’m sure I sat there terrified, uttering not a word.
When I got to know him better of course, things were quite different, and Rita and I used to enjoy a little outing in Uncle Andrew’s car.
The only people we knew who had cars were one or two doctors (although one who lived in our street used to do his rounds on foot or by bicycle), and some tradesmen. And that was the case until Andrew came on the scene.
Andrew’s family had a good class gents’ outfitters business locally and he often had the use of their car, an Armstrong-Siddely. At that time he was courting an aunt of ours, and my adventure began one day when the car appeared outside our tenement building. He was probably delivering a message from my aunt to my mother, but the outcome was that he would take me out for a run in the car.
Now, I had never been in a car before, and no doubt he thought that this would be a great thrill for me. But oh, no, it was the opposite! As we drove away, me sitting beside him, I thought he was taking me away for good. I know I didn’t cry, but I’m sure I sat there terrified, uttering not a word.
When I got to know him better of course, things were quite different, and Rita and I used to enjoy a little outing in Uncle Andrew’s car.
-o0o-
WHEN I WAS SMALL, I think I was always seeking approval. I wanted to be
liked - by relatives, teachers, other boys and girls, and most important
of all (and this is something that lasted into adulthood), I wanted to
please my mother. You might say that this is something that is common in
some degree to all children, but it becomes more important to a child
who perhaps doesn’t have much confidence in himself.
However there was something in which I did feel confident , and that was my musical ability. I knew I could play the piano and play it well. When I was 7 and Rita 4, we were sent for piano lessons to an aunt of ours (not the school teacher) and we both made good progress. This aunt used to hold piano recitals in a local hall when she would hire 2 grand pianos and all her pupils would sustain an evening of solos, trios and quartets. From that time on, I was hooked on the idea of playing in public, and I think I probably became quite a musical show-off.
However there was something in which I did feel confident , and that was my musical ability. I knew I could play the piano and play it well. When I was 7 and Rita 4, we were sent for piano lessons to an aunt of ours (not the school teacher) and we both made good progress. This aunt used to hold piano recitals in a local hall when she would hire 2 grand pianos and all her pupils would sustain an evening of solos, trios and quartets. From that time on, I was hooked on the idea of playing in public, and I think I probably became quite a musical show-off.
At secondary school it was the custom for the pupils to march in and out
of school in the morning, at intervals, lunchtime and at home-time.
Music was provided by a rota of pupils on the piano in the assembly
hall. The classrooms were on 2 levels positioned round the central hall,
and there was a very satisfying echo as the music soared upwards. Very
early on, I joined the group of pianists, and had a lot of fun finding
well-known music which, though not necessarily marches, could be adapted
to march time.
Outside school three friends who were violinists joined with me to form a quartet. We practised in each other’s homes and sometimes had the opportunity to play in public.
On one occasion, we were rehearsing in the assembly hall for a school event, when the interval bell rang. As it was my turn to play the pupils out, the violinists joined me in playing “Deep in the Heart of Texas”. And instead of marching out, a host of pupils gathered round to join in - “The stars at night are big and bright, CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”
Outside school three friends who were violinists joined with me to form a quartet. We practised in each other’s homes and sometimes had the opportunity to play in public.
On one occasion, we were rehearsing in the assembly hall for a school event, when the interval bell rang. As it was my turn to play the pupils out, the violinists joined me in playing “Deep in the Heart of Texas”. And instead of marching out, a host of pupils gathered round to join in - “The stars at night are big and bright, CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!”
-o0o-
In an earlier blog I said that my fellow-pupils in primary school were
generally well behaved. That was true also in secondary, although
sometimes we were high-spirited and ready for a bit of nonsense.
There were quite a number of teachers with whom we would never consider stepping out of line. However, the science teacher was a poor old soul (he seemed very old to us), and a favourite ploy with some boys (not me, sir) was to turn on a Bunsen burner and blow into it. The result was that the burner which the old fellow was using to demonstrate an experiment, would go out. On another occasion someone attached an iron clamp to the back of his jacket, and he strolled round the classroom with it hanging like a tail behind.
If any of my classmates ever played truant, I wasn’t aware of it. I must tell you however that some of us for a time managed to “plunk” gym. Nobody really enjoyed the gym periods, for we seemed to spend most of the time running round the room. I think the idea was mine, and one day 2 of 3 of us, instead of attending, went to a rarely used small room next to the ladies staff room where we passed the time doing homework. We weren’t missed and the following week more boys joined us in our little hideaway.
This continued and the number of escapees grew each week. It bacame obvious that the gym teacher wasn’t interested in whether we attended or not. It was also obvious that the more people who gather in a small room, the noisier it will be. The din was heard in the ladies staff room, questions were asked, and unsatisfactory answers given. Surprisingly no punishment followed (I think the Head knew that the gym teacher was really no use), but from then on we had to attend the gym class.
There were quite a number of teachers with whom we would never consider stepping out of line. However, the science teacher was a poor old soul (he seemed very old to us), and a favourite ploy with some boys (not me, sir) was to turn on a Bunsen burner and blow into it. The result was that the burner which the old fellow was using to demonstrate an experiment, would go out. On another occasion someone attached an iron clamp to the back of his jacket, and he strolled round the classroom with it hanging like a tail behind.
If any of my classmates ever played truant, I wasn’t aware of it. I must tell you however that some of us for a time managed to “plunk” gym. Nobody really enjoyed the gym periods, for we seemed to spend most of the time running round the room. I think the idea was mine, and one day 2 of 3 of us, instead of attending, went to a rarely used small room next to the ladies staff room where we passed the time doing homework. We weren’t missed and the following week more boys joined us in our little hideaway.
This continued and the number of escapees grew each week. It bacame obvious that the gym teacher wasn’t interested in whether we attended or not. It was also obvious that the more people who gather in a small room, the noisier it will be. The din was heard in the ladies staff room, questions were asked, and unsatisfactory answers given. Surprisingly no punishment followed (I think the Head knew that the gym teacher was really no use), but from then on we had to attend the gym class.
-o0o-
I’ve been told that I could talk before I could walk. My mother used to
recall the occasion we were visiting a friend’s home. The lady took me
up in her arms, and pointing out the window towards the railway said,
“Look, there’s a choo-choo”. To which I replied, “No, no! That’s a
train!”
-o0o-
I was upset! I was horrified! I was blazing mad!
I produced no more.
A few years later my next major opus was to be an opera. The short overture was quickly completed - a very sombre beginning on double basses which merged unexpectedly into a bright 6/8 march. The first scene was a forest glade where a boy and his sister would have a duet followed by a minuet-like dance. And that’s as far as I got. The unfinished song began with the boy -”O sister dear, come o-o-over here”. Thankfully I can’t remember any more.
For many years Lou Preager and his band were the main attraction at Hammersmith Palais de Danse, from where they made regular broadcasts. In 1945 in collaboration with the BBC he organised a “Write A Song” contest with a major prize for the winner. By that time I had made up quite a few tunes, and I thought “This is my big chance!”
I chose one of my compositions, tidied it up a bit and wrote it down on manuscript as neatly as I could. My effort was a slow waltz called “You’re not to blame” (with words which I’ve no intention of quoting here), and I sent it off.
Yes, that was the last I heard of it! What was the song that won? A quick waltz written by two middle-aged ladies Eily Beadell and Nell Tollerton. Here it is, sung by Paul Rich with the Lou Preagar band.
-o0o-
This photo of my father’s family was probably taken about 1916
Back Row: John b1900, my father Robert b1893, Charlie (Charlotte) b1896, George b1892, and Jean b1898
Front Row: Lizzie (Elizabeth) b1905, Grandma (Charlotte) b1865, Walter b1910, Grandpa (John) b1868 and Isa (Isobel) b1900
John and Isa were twins -the only twins that I know of in the wider family.
Have you noticed that my father and Charlie have their pinkies linked?
Front Row: Lizzie (Elizabeth) b1905, Grandma (Charlotte) b1865, Walter b1910, Grandpa (John) b1868 and Isa (Isobel) b1900
John and Isa were twins -the only twins that I know of in the wider family.
Have you noticed that my father and Charlie have their pinkies linked?
-o0o-
I REMEMBER the September day in 1937 when our town made the front page of the national newspapers.
We were all shocked to learn that 10 young tattie howkers (potato pickers) from Ireland had lost their lives when fire broke out in the bothy where they were living. They were the male members of a group from Achill in County Mayo.
We were all shocked to learn that 10 young tattie howkers (potato pickers) from Ireland had lost their lives when fire broke out in the bothy where they were living. They were the male members of a group from Achill in County Mayo.
The girls, some of whom had brothers and cousins among the dead escaped,
as they had been accommodated in a separate building. The cause of the
tragedy was never really known.
I REMEMBER the summer evening in 1940 when a company of the Free French Alpine Chasseurs arrived in our town. They, along with others of the Allied forces, had been forced by the Germans to evacuate Norway, and we saw them looking absolutely exhausted coming along the road.
Many of them were billeted in a church hall near where we lived, and quite a number of the local families would invite one or two of them for tea. We got to know one soldier quite well, Marius Reviglio. He had been a lift attendant in Nice and so his English was fairly good.
We were surprised to see how easy-going the French soldiers were in comparison with the other nationalities. I don’t think it occurred to us that, after their Norway experience, they would be entitled to a complete rest.
On one occasion when Marius came to us for tea, he told us that he had to meet an officer at a certain time. When it was time for him to go, he was still drinking tea, and we pointed out that he was going to be late. You can imagine our surprise when he replied “Ze officer, he will wait”.
I REMEMBER that the little music group we had while at secondary school started off as a trio with Douglas and Andrew on violins and myself on piano. We held concerts in each other’s homes and relatives were pressurised into attending. I don’t recall if there was an admission charge or perhaps a collection, but I know that we sent donations to the RAF Benevolent Fund.
Later we added another violin played by Archie and we had a number of “outside” engagements including a church dramatic club’s productions, when we provided the pre-curtain and interval music.
The Minister in his vote of thanks rebuked us, half in fun, half in earnest, for playing “Anywhere on earth is Heaven when you’re with someone you love”.
I REMEMBER the day in June 1965 when the Queen and Prince Philip came to Kirkintilloch.
At that time I was on the staff of the Town Council working in the Burgh Chambers. When we learned of the impending visit, many of my colleagues announced that they weren’t really interested and wouldn’t go to see them. And I felt much the same way.
However, as the big day grew nearer, members of the staff including myself were asked to assist in the stewarding of the many schoolchildren who would be attending.
And guess what happened - everyone of us, including the most anti-royalist, suddenly became enthusiastic about the whole thing. The event passed off very well indeed, and the Queen and Philip were their usual charming selves. And we were just as excited as the school children!!!
I REMEMBER the summer evening in 1940 when a company of the Free French Alpine Chasseurs arrived in our town. They, along with others of the Allied forces, had been forced by the Germans to evacuate Norway, and we saw them looking absolutely exhausted coming along the road.
Many of them were billeted in a church hall near where we lived, and quite a number of the local families would invite one or two of them for tea. We got to know one soldier quite well, Marius Reviglio. He had been a lift attendant in Nice and so his English was fairly good.
We were surprised to see how easy-going the French soldiers were in comparison with the other nationalities. I don’t think it occurred to us that, after their Norway experience, they would be entitled to a complete rest.
On one occasion when Marius came to us for tea, he told us that he had to meet an officer at a certain time. When it was time for him to go, he was still drinking tea, and we pointed out that he was going to be late. You can imagine our surprise when he replied “Ze officer, he will wait”.
I REMEMBER that the little music group we had while at secondary school started off as a trio with Douglas and Andrew on violins and myself on piano. We held concerts in each other’s homes and relatives were pressurised into attending. I don’t recall if there was an admission charge or perhaps a collection, but I know that we sent donations to the RAF Benevolent Fund.
Later we added another violin played by Archie and we had a number of “outside” engagements including a church dramatic club’s productions, when we provided the pre-curtain and interval music.
The Minister in his vote of thanks rebuked us, half in fun, half in earnest, for playing “Anywhere on earth is Heaven when you’re with someone you love”.
I REMEMBER the day in June 1965 when the Queen and Prince Philip came to Kirkintilloch.
At that time I was on the staff of the Town Council working in the Burgh Chambers. When we learned of the impending visit, many of my colleagues announced that they weren’t really interested and wouldn’t go to see them. And I felt much the same way.
However, as the big day grew nearer, members of the staff including myself were asked to assist in the stewarding of the many schoolchildren who would be attending.
And guess what happened - everyone of us, including the most anti-royalist, suddenly became enthusiastic about the whole thing. The event passed off very well indeed, and the Queen and Philip were their usual charming selves. And we were just as excited as the school children!!!
-o0o-
The Jaap family about 1888
Back row: my grandfather John Armour b1868, Walter b1866, Richard b1870 and Robert b1872
Centre: Andrew b1875
Seated: George b1834, James b1878 and Jean Armour b1841
Back row: my grandfather John Armour b1868, Walter b1866, Richard b1870 and Robert b1872
Centre: Andrew b1875
Seated: George b1834, James b1878 and Jean Armour b1841
-o0o-
LIFE IN THE TENEMENT - The Wash House
In the back court behind tenement buildings stood the wash house. Inside there was a boiler heated by a coal fire and either a sink or washing tub where the clothes could be scrubbed by hand. Having been washed, the clothes were squeezed through a wringer and then hung out to dry. Of course if the weather was bad, you might have to dry your washing indoors. In the kitchen/living room there was a pulley suspended from the ceiling, which could be lowered by ropes and, after the clothes had been hung, raised again.
Jean tells me that she personally hated washday, for often her mother would keep her off school to fill up the boiler with water, make up the fire and light it, and fill the two tubs with water from the boiler.
Each family had their own particular day for using the facility, and there could be trouble if someone had hung out their washing on the wrong day. Can you imagine two women battling it out in the back court, washing being flung everywhere, scrubbing brushes flying. And faces at every window, enjoying the show!!!
In the back court behind tenement buildings stood the wash house. Inside there was a boiler heated by a coal fire and either a sink or washing tub where the clothes could be scrubbed by hand. Having been washed, the clothes were squeezed through a wringer and then hung out to dry. Of course if the weather was bad, you might have to dry your washing indoors. In the kitchen/living room there was a pulley suspended from the ceiling, which could be lowered by ropes and, after the clothes had been hung, raised again.
Jean tells me that she personally hated washday, for often her mother would keep her off school to fill up the boiler with water, make up the fire and light it, and fill the two tubs with water from the boiler.
Each family had their own particular day for using the facility, and there could be trouble if someone had hung out their washing on the wrong day. Can you imagine two women battling it out in the back court, washing being flung everywhere, scrubbing brushes flying. And faces at every window, enjoying the show!!!
-o0o-
I’ve already mentioned that when I was young I used to like listening to
Henry Hall on the wireless. It must have been the rhythm that appealed
to me for at that time I wanted to play the banjo.
Later when I was in my teens this desire had changed and my new desire was the saxophone. For a few weeks one summer a friend gave me a loan of an alto sax, and, with a great deal of energetic blowing and occasional shocks to the neighbours, I succeeded in playing one tune “It’s foolish, but it’s fun”.
Realising that I was quite keen on the instrument, my father took me to a music shop in Glasgow, hoping to pick up a sax for about £5. I can still remember the condescending manner of the salesman when he said to my poor father “You must be mistaken, sir. Alto saxes cost in the region of £40”.
Of course that was out of the question, but shortly after that incident I inherited a banjo from an unexpected quarter. The story went that my Uncle John when a young man had been jilted by a girl, and to compensate for his disappointment had bought a banjo. He hadn’t made much of it, and so it came to me, complete with plectrum, tutor book and banjo case.
I persevered with it for a while without much enthusiasm, for by that time the banjo was no longer fashionable and my tastes were changing again.
Soon I was having lessons on the pipe organ in our church, and a whole new world of music was opening up for me.
Later when I was in my teens this desire had changed and my new desire was the saxophone. For a few weeks one summer a friend gave me a loan of an alto sax, and, with a great deal of energetic blowing and occasional shocks to the neighbours, I succeeded in playing one tune “It’s foolish, but it’s fun”.
Realising that I was quite keen on the instrument, my father took me to a music shop in Glasgow, hoping to pick up a sax for about £5. I can still remember the condescending manner of the salesman when he said to my poor father “You must be mistaken, sir. Alto saxes cost in the region of £40”.
Of course that was out of the question, but shortly after that incident I inherited a banjo from an unexpected quarter. The story went that my Uncle John when a young man had been jilted by a girl, and to compensate for his disappointment had bought a banjo. He hadn’t made much of it, and so it came to me, complete with plectrum, tutor book and banjo case.
I persevered with it for a while without much enthusiasm, for by that time the banjo was no longer fashionable and my tastes were changing again.
Soon I was having lessons on the pipe organ in our church, and a whole new world of music was opening up for me.
-o0o-
It must be difficult for a young person to imagine what it was like to live in a tenement building around 1930.
We had no electricity. Lighting was by gas which gave out a pretty poor light. The gas mantle fitting was usually above the fireplace which meant that the corners of the room were not well lit. On a winter’s night the darkness in the hallway was relieved only by the dim light from the living room/kitchen, shining through the window above the door leading to the hall.
The coal fire in the living room provided for heating and cooking, and the rest of the house was generally unheated, unless there were visitors or perhaps someone was ill.
The kitchen range - the big iron fireplace consisted of a nest for the fire and compartments where the food would be cooked. There were surfaces where pots could rest near the fire and often there was a swivel plate where a kettle could sit to boil up water over the open fire.
The ashes from the fire were removed each morning and the fire re-set and lit. The whole range was cleaned daily, and all the surfaces regularly black-leaded by the diligent housewife.
A sink with one cold water tap was usually located at the window, and at bath time water boiled in kettles was poured into a metal bath placed in front of the fire.
This room of course was the most important room in the house - everything happened there, it was where we lived. There was a bed in the recess where Rita and I slept. There was a big dresser with lots of drawers and a long shelf on the wall above for crockery. There was the big coal bunker, and the coalman would climb the stairs two or three times with a sack on his back to replenish our supply.
We were fortunate in having our own indoor toilet (no bath of course), but in other tenements toilets were out on the landing, and in some cases shared with other families.
So - no central heating, electric heaters, electric kettles, cookers, washing machines, tumble dryers, vacuum cleaners, shavers, hair driers, and of course things like TV and computers hadn’t been invented.
Nevertheless, that was our house - our home. And, despite anything I might say about our strict upbringing, it was indeed a happy home.
We had no electricity. Lighting was by gas which gave out a pretty poor light. The gas mantle fitting was usually above the fireplace which meant that the corners of the room were not well lit. On a winter’s night the darkness in the hallway was relieved only by the dim light from the living room/kitchen, shining through the window above the door leading to the hall.
The coal fire in the living room provided for heating and cooking, and the rest of the house was generally unheated, unless there were visitors or perhaps someone was ill.
The kitchen range - the big iron fireplace consisted of a nest for the fire and compartments where the food would be cooked. There were surfaces where pots could rest near the fire and often there was a swivel plate where a kettle could sit to boil up water over the open fire.
The ashes from the fire were removed each morning and the fire re-set and lit. The whole range was cleaned daily, and all the surfaces regularly black-leaded by the diligent housewife.
A sink with one cold water tap was usually located at the window, and at bath time water boiled in kettles was poured into a metal bath placed in front of the fire.
This room of course was the most important room in the house - everything happened there, it was where we lived. There was a bed in the recess where Rita and I slept. There was a big dresser with lots of drawers and a long shelf on the wall above for crockery. There was the big coal bunker, and the coalman would climb the stairs two or three times with a sack on his back to replenish our supply.
We were fortunate in having our own indoor toilet (no bath of course), but in other tenements toilets were out on the landing, and in some cases shared with other families.
So - no central heating, electric heaters, electric kettles, cookers, washing machines, tumble dryers, vacuum cleaners, shavers, hair driers, and of course things like TV and computers hadn’t been invented.
Nevertheless, that was our house - our home. And, despite anything I might say about our strict upbringing, it was indeed a happy home.
-o0o-
As a boy I spent a lot of happy hours drawing with pencil and paper, and
I believe the results were quite good. A few years before I retired I
thought I’d better prepare for it by trying a new hobby. And so it was
that I took up water colour painting. Some of my efforts must have been
quite good, for I managed to sell a few at art exhibitions. As time went
on however, music again began to take up most of my time.
-o0o-
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