Mum’s Story (part 3)

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Having had my 13th birthday and feeling all grown up, Connie another girlfriend who lived across from me, decided it would be a nice day out to take the train into the town centre.  After all we were teenagers!  The railway station was only a short walk up from where we lived so our mothers agreed we could go. The train line was known as the Glasgow Circle so we could not go wrong!

We duly bought our railway tickets and eagerly waited for our train to arrive. The journey into Glasgow took about half an hour. The puff puff of the train approaching was so exciting.  It finally stopped and the doors were opened for the passengers. It was a busy train with lots of children clamouring aboard, having a day like us going to the shops in Glasgow. As the train left the station we both felt really grown up and enjoyed our run to the big city.  The scenery was so nice – seeing the countryside, the cows, sheep, horses all nibbling at the grass, very peaceful.

After almost half an hour panic set in.  We were on the wrong train!  When eventually the ticket collector came around and looked at our tickets he told us we were on the express train to TROON, in Ayrshire!

“How can we get off?”

“You can’t until you reach your destination.”

Not having mobile phones in these days and having no money, we were in a complete state of panic. When we eventually disembarked we were no longer teenagers, we were two stranded little girls miles away from home, unable to let our parents know because there was no such thing as telephones in our homes.

Eventually when we made the return journey, around half past seven at night, we ran the whole way home to meet our frantic parents all out looking for us. I can’t remember ever being so happy to see my mum, dad and sister standing there with their arms outspread.

At the age of fifteen I started my first job working as a BAZADA girl! This was a filing cabinet with a queer name. The company was A & D Frazer, selling motor car parts, in Pollockshaws. I was grown up by this time and able to get on the right train to go to work and back. I loved my work. I felt so important talking to customers, asking their name, the chassis number of the car, looking up my BAZADA file to see if we had the part in stock. On occasion I had to go to another part of the factory which meant a long walk through the factory full of mechanics.  At first I felt very self-conscious but, as the time went by, I became used to the wolf whistles and exchanged many a laugh with the lads.

There was one lad there who seemed to be very interested in me, we got on very well. His family had a business and he also had a small business doing, what is now known as gigs.  I went with him and his friend at weekends – Jim was my boyfriend and John was there to help set up the music centre. The music was varied and the dancing was fun. Our relationship lasted a couple of years until he joined the Merchant Navy travelling on the well-known ship ‘Captain Cook’ to Australia and back.  Each trip was a six months stint.

Elizabeth and with Jim Waterston 1949

Mum, Jim and Elizabeth

Within that time I changed my job to work as a Dictaphone typist in a company called The Iron Trades Insurance Company. I worked with a fleet of typists, six of us in all. The insurance men dictated their letters onto a cylinder worked by a machine which was put into a sleeve then put into a box and brought through to the typing pool.  A typist picked up the cylinder and commenced typing the letter ready for signing and posting.

I had by then moved on to travelling in style by using a Corporation bus. It was during one of my journeys home that I was introduced by a friend to a handsome, dark-haired, young man, who incidentally lived two minutes away from me on the other side of the road. We occasionally met on our journey home and passed the time of day with each other.

It had been a while since our paths crossed then I found out that he had moved.  He had left his job and was now working as an insurance agent with the Prudential Assurance Company. During our conversations we found out that we both enjoyed ballroom dancing and arranged to meet at the Berkeley ballroom one Saturday night.

Dad

Bob (my dad)

Our relationship was an on/off kind of affair.   We both went out on dates in between seeing each other at the Berkeley where he danced me every dance!  We were well known where we lived. Everyone thought we were so well matched.  When travelling on the bus we did nothing but talk and laugh, a great friendship.

As we became more serious we went on holiday to the Isle of Man, dancing to Joe Loss’ Band in the evenings and meeting friends in the afternoon for strawberries and ice cream. There were also afternoons we would hire a row boat and sail into the sunset.  I remember it well as my muscles in my arms were getting bigger with all the rowing!

Mum and Dad on Isle of Man

By the time I turned twenty, my sister, Elizabeth was married to her sweetheart, Ian, a lovely person.  I was proud to call him my brother-in-law.

Elizabeth and Ian wedding photo067

Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Ian on their wedding day

Bob and I were now rightly known as a pair. We would go off to the dancing by bus waving to mum as we drove off but often missing the last bus home intentionally or by accident!  We had to get the last bus or it meant a long walk home from the terminus. While walking over the bridge by the river Bob used to sing to me a song that we used to call our song – ‘Oh Shenandoah, I Love your daughter’ in the most romantic voicse.  Please click – Oh Shenandoah

Remembering those wonderful days made me realise my teenage years were passing and my next stage in life, the 20s was only just beginning.

Mum’ Story (part 2)

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Continuing my story into the early teenage years has caused me to smile on thinking back on them!   One evening my sister and I watched our dad making STILTS for both of us. He used four treacle or syrup tins, bored a hole at each side of the tins, slid strong string through the holes then tied a knot at each end. Hey presto!  We had stilts. We had great fun walking around on them.  Another fun time was with our wheel and gird. The gird guided the wheel as we ran alongside of it.  We ran for miles, good exercise.

Elizabeth and Janet 1943

Mum (right) aged 11 with her sister Elizabeth

My best friend, Helen Mills, and I had wonderful times playing near an old railway line where her dad had a plot where he planted vegetables.  There were no gardens at that time so the government rented out plots of land to people interested in growing potatoes etc.   Beside that area there was an old broken down house which we called our Castle. Our imagination went wild. We would pretend we lived in the olden days when ladies wore crinolines and rode in horses and chariots! Great fun.

Like most children, I so wanted a bike but we had no money to buy one.  I knew a lady who was selling one but she was going to charge me £5.  Desperate as I was I decided to earn the money to buy it.  I dog walked, baby sat, went shopping for old ladies, anything to get me £5. When I got the money together I went for the bike.  It was all Black! Sad and happy at the same time, I took it home to let my mum and dad see it.  I am sure they felt sorry for me having worked so hard to buy it that my dad painted the bike a lovely shade of purple, bought white wheel guards and a lovely white basket for my handlebars.  I was thrilled to bits.

This lovely bike of mine had a few stories to tell since coming into my possession.   My Uncle Bill, who had been a polio victim and over the years he had to have a leg removed, was fortunate enough to have a three wheel motorised car to get him around. He had many friends who went on cycle runs at weekends to various places and I got invited along.   My uncle told me to be careful of traffic and not to keep using my new bell which was a novelty.   I promised I would not use it and we merrily went on our ride.  However, a man and woman walked out in front of me and having been told not to use my bell, I did as I was told and BUMP, I drove straight into the woman who was, to say the least a bit upset.  When my uncle eventually stopped apologising to the woman and started on at me, I, in all innocence, said “it wasn’t my fault, you told me not to use my bell!”

Another unfortunate incident happened on a lovely summer day when two of my friends and I were cycling along a road near the park where the Glasgow Empire Building was erected.  I always remember that because I touched a railing and got an electric shock!  Happily cycling along singing the latest songs, we decided to cycle with our arms stretched out on each other’s shoulders.  I, being the one in the middle,  had no hands on my handlebars – not good!  Out of the blue I was thrown off my bike landing on the road in terrible pain. Out of nowhere came a very helpful gentleman who got me to my feet, into his car and into the Victoria Infirmary, result being I had a cracked collar bone.  No cycling for at least two months.  I often wonder if having bought an all-black bike had anything to do with my misfortune?

Many more incidents, with varying results, happened during my young years but, that is for another part of my story.

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