greater pollok heritage

by Drew Miller

It may seem improbable but there are times when I do consider that things were not as bad as people would have you believe.

1958 was an example of how boys will find their own levels of excitement. Living in Freeland Crescent and going to Burnbrae Primary meant that I had a lot of pals living within a short distance of my home. Many were the football matches we took part in as boys on the large green within Freeland, although the police were over-diligent about chasing you.

However, my example concerns a weekly excursion that myself and my best pal, Billy Davidson, would get up to almost every Saturday morning. Although I had a lot of pals, Billy was different in one important way - he had a bogie! My uncle, Robert Brackenridge, lived across the road from us and worked in the shipyards. However, Uncle Robert did enjoy his beer and almost every Saturday we would call and empty his verandah of his ‘screw taps’ - India Pale Ale I think they were called.

Billy and I would load between 12 to 20 of these bottles into the bogie and head up to the brickworks and beyond, to the ‘family room’ of the Railway Inn. We would expect to get one penny for each bottle and would share and spend our booty at the small sweet shop that was run by the Jewish family in Nitshill Village. It would amaze you how far your pennies could stretch when you bought 20-a-penny gums, everlasting gobstoppers and the best of all, the Cowans Highland toffees which were 2 for a penny.

We would normally trundle back down the road, visiting some of the chickens kept in the old miners houses and imagine being miners when looking down some of the many local mineshaft entrances that were still there where modern Cleeves Quadrant now sits. We might even have met up with other chums who were about sharing their ‘5 Nelson’ under the railway arches. Mostly, however, we headed down to Freeland for a game of football with the bigger men and lads. This particular Saturday, however, would remain as a special and solid memory of the local area.

Billy and I had just collected our ‘swag’ when, for once, we decided to head over to the old cooperative buildings on Nitshill Road and search the backs for ‘luckies’. We heard a commotion and headed down to the Royal Oak where we saw over 100 men all gathered at the rear of the pub, drinking and gambling. It was the regular ‘pitch and toss’ school but what interested us was the beer bottles which were lying about, many of them the valued India Pale Ale. Okay, so we got our arses kicked but we did collect a full bogie of bottles for cashing-in. However, it did not all go to plan. Suddenly, the police were all around and bodies were flying everywhere and men were jumping dykes. It was total bedlam and we hung onto the bogie with whitened knuckles. The next minute, a man stuffed this bag into my chest and told me to take off over the dykes and walls leading up through the Dove Street houses and back courts. Everything was a blur and although the bag was not heavy, it was bulky, similar to a doctors bag and made of dark leather. So off I went, checking first that Billy was guarding the bogie and our treasure. Finding this a great adventure, I never once gave this bag a second thought and roamed over the back areas for about 40 minutes until I could see there was little activity at the Royal Oak. I then wandered back, as casual as you like.

Billy was there, along with this big man and I returned the bag to him. Without checking the contents, he went into his pocket and handed me a red, ten-shilling note - now this was really something!

Billy and I looked at each other and we knew in an instant where we would be going next. A quick visit to the ‘family room’ for some loose change and then we were off for a feed. I wish I could remember the name of the old woman who lived in the cottages next to the Railway Inn. I know she kept a whole flock of white chickens and we used to go and see her all the time. Anyway, she agreed to watch over the empty bogie.

We thought there was trouble brewing when we presented our ten bob note in exchange for our bundle of goodies but we survived and headed to the secluded area at the rear of the Volunteer to share our spoils. Well, I was as sick as a dog through pure greed and Billy looked decidedly green when we finished and trundled down to Freeland feeling very sorry for ourselves.

We played it very low key over the next few days and even when we again visited Uncle Robert to help him clear his verandah, the experience of the ten bob note changed forever the simple pleasures of our excursions to Nitshill.

Nitshill could have been seen as a rough house by people who did not know any better. However, there was a lot of character throughout the village and people did have respect for their neighbours and the local pensioners. Sadly, as demolition and modernisation took place, not only Nitshill but all of the small communities surrounding it, had their very souls torn out and characters with local identity became very thin on the ground.

I still remember the football matches within Freeland or inside Burnbrae, where teams of some 30-a-side were not uncommon. Very few players actually advanced within the game but at least a regular game was there if you wanted it. Perhaps this is why the Scottish game is unable to produce great players now, there being few areas available for football to be played upon. However, it did me no harm and indeed felt it made me a more genuine person for the experience - at least, one who remembers the area as it was.

P.S. I met the mystery man many years later and he confirmed my memory of the incident with the ‘bag of money’ from Nitshill.