DOON THE WATTER
by Drew Miller
I don’t know where I came across the book of photographs in which I saw the 1949 images of Glasgow and in particular the warehouses and buildings opposite the Broomielaw.
But that image opened up a memory diary of childhood that had been buried for many years. Although I cannot remember actually getting on to one of the many steamers ready to go ‘doon the watter’ that left from that site. However, when I was about 10 and we were again going to Campbeltown, I seem to have a clear memory of those events.
If I could find that picture again, I am sure it would show not only the Waverley and its sister paddle steamer, it would also show The Duchess of Montrose. and my favourite, The Duchess of Hamilton.
These were big adventures for a wee lad of 10 and I can easily remember the engines, the white seats, the restaurant, and the sweetie shop. And of course, the marauding seagulls who could swoop and snatch a cone from you, in the blink of an eye.
My earliest memories are of sitting at Central Station and looking at the fantastic length of train carriages that seemed to go on forever. There must have been over twenty but on reflection, it was probably nearer thirty, as you could only really see the actual size of the train when it was going around a wide sweeping bend. And then there was that unmistakeable smoky smell entering each carriage as the wind direction blew this strange vapour into each space.
These enormous trains always ended at Fairlie Pier, and even when leaving the carriage, it was only when you began to move down towards the pier itself, could you turn around and fully appreciate the hordes of people and scale of this event, as we all headed down towards the Clyde. Steamers to Millport. Rothesay, Dunoon, Arran and Campbeltown were the most popular, and each had its dedicated throng of holidaymakers awaiting them to tie-up to the pier.
The Duchess of Hamilton was always the steamer that we awaited, and its regular destinations were Dunoon, Rothesay, Lochranza then on to Campbeltown.
We had stayed with the same families for almost all of the nine holidays we had at Campbeltown, normally the Halls, who lived at ‘The Walk, Dalintober’.
Mr Hall ran a taxi service from the pier, and ‘The Walk’ was in fact a street, so steep that I don’t think a car could actually get up it.
Dalintober had a small secluded sandy beach and was about 150 yards down from the very famous Springbank Malt Whisky distillery. I spent many a happy afternoon playing at that beach, and catching crabs and eels in the rocks just a few yards down from the old jetty. Campbeltown in those days was very much the typical seaside town, where fishing was one of the most important aspects of life, and with the local animal auctions held a few yards down from the main pier each week, there was always something interesting to see and do.
The Queen visited once when I was there and, again, I remember much of that, feeling that she had smiled at me from her Rolls Royce when passing. I have clear memories too of the two small cinemas on the front, the museum and the excellent cafe located right on the comer where knickerbocker glories were made. All seem as clear as if they were yesterday.
The toy and model shop halfway along Longrow was a particular favourite as I liked the Airfix models, and he always had a large collection. And the bakery where, just to stand in the queue waiting for a fresh-baked loaf, was heaven. Regular trips to Southend and Carradale were the norm and provided a welcome diversion from the daily walks along the front to the putting greens but not as inviting as were trips to Machrahanish. It had beautiful white sandy beaches that visitors always felt were taken from a Carribbean postcard and placed there for them to enjoy. My sister had good friends from the church who lived in Campbeltown and one of them had an uncle who took trips to Davaar Island, to see the famous cave paintings.
I went along quite a few times but was more interested in exploring around the lighthouse and the beach at the front of the island where I was always amazed to find a vast array of small shells that shone with mother-of-pearl designs. A few times I got to go out fishing with my father using the old hand lines and I do remember catching a few flatfish. But. mostly I remember teaming-up with the local boys who frequented the pier and spending lots of time trying to catch fish using just fishing line, a hook, and very little else.
I was always to be found at the pier around 5.00pm when the fishing boats tended to return so that I could see their catches. It was easy to find me, so I suppose it did give my parents a much deserved break. In those earlier holidays, my father, a keen photographer, was always taking views of the sites. and even later when he got an 8mm cine camera, he took views of the pier and the steamers going to and from Campbeltown. I looked at these just recently, and they were amazing to see again. The colours still so vibrant and the movement and action still so fresh.
I had an occasion to visit Campbeltown a few years ago, and although there had been major changes from what I remembered, the main buildings and pier are still as I remembered them. I even got a few photos identical to those taken by my father, only this time with my own family.
Gone now, however, are the steamers that traversed the Clyde resorts - but not my memories of them. It was always a happy trip ‘doon the watter’ when the three-piece band played Scots tunes and provided a unique atmosphere to all the passengers but in particular to a wee 10 year-old boy.