So This is Glasgow!

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 694, 20 June 1929, Page 15

So This is Glasgow!

AN INNOCENT ABROAD. . . j NIGHT LIFE IN DOCKLAND. . . . DODGING THE -KEELIES. - ’ j “SU’NDY” ON GUIDE BOOKS (Written lor THE SUN by C.T.C.W.) Midnight chimed from three or four clock-towers at the moment the ship edged her way into her berth at Glasgow Docks. Seven weeks out from New Zealand—a long voyage in these days. Eight thousand tons of rusted plates and tired engines. Cn 'board a hundred weary men.

\ LMOST apologetically the produce carrier took up lier position astern of a proud Anchor finer resplendent in new paint and bright brass. Nobody took any notice of the new arrival. She simply merged what little personality she knew with those of a line of vessels ranging up and down the Clyde as far as the eye could see, and that was half a mile, even though a smoke-laden mist hung low and clammy, and it was night.

First foot oil United Kingdom soil. A proper innocent abroad, I. A curious feeling, that. So this was Glasgow! Well, this old Scottish town looked extensive and interesting. Lead on, McDuff! His name was not McDuff, this sailor whom I had followed down the ship's side. He was Sandy Mclntyre, A.B. He was going ashore to And his land legs. 1 could go with him, but it meant roamin’ the streets in the wee sma’ hours. In and out among railway wagons, over the top of packing-cases, between dockside warehouses and out into mean streets. Mclntyre knew his course blindfold. “Why do you keep to the middle of the road?” I asked, noting that lie avoided the sidewalks and watched that 1 did also. “Well,” he said, casually, “last voyage a fireman got crowned by a gang of keelies (young city toughs). “They cracked him as he walked past a doorway, and like the laddie in the Scriptures who fell among the thieves, he was left by the wayside half dead, cleaned oot o’ his cash.” I wished he had informed me of Lhe incident before we started out, and told him so. “Ah, weel,” he explained, “that would be six months ago, and the keelies were hungry, it being winter. They mightn’t be so dangerous now, and again they may be wur-r-rse .** In a few minutes we reached what they call the Finniesston Ferry, the terminals of which are broad flights of steps down to the black, oil-coated Clyde, at this point 150 yards from bank to bank. Disturbed only by the slop-slop of the tide against the landing, and the rat-tat-tat of a riveter in some far-off shipyard, the silence _of the night made apparent a sense of unbelievable loneliness. But soon a fussy puffing announced the departure of the ferry from the farther side and out of the mist—it was denser now—there appeared what was surely the devil’s own barge. Its sleepy engineer a little tardy in shutting off steam, grunted when the craft mounted j the two bottom steps as if trying to climb out of its disagreeable element. We helped him push it back, jumped aboard cind in less than a minute had bade him good night. The strange ! thing about these ferries, for there are several at -intervals on the river, is i that although they are operated by ! Scotsmen no charge is levied for the crossing! Mclntyre headed for the more sombre quarters of the town, being in no mood for the bright lights of Argyle or Jamaica Streets. Always he continued to glance to the right and to the left and to the rear. Now and then we came upon policemen tall and massive in their greatcoats, but as we plunged deeper into the dingier parts, policemen were fewer and the streets appeared deserted. Horrible streets these, narrow, flanked by huddled houses all grimy and forbidding. Auckland liad some like ! them shoved away down the city’s j back-cracks —only a few, though. But this unending squalor, what grade of humanity could live here? The lowering fog hung over the chimney pots like a mantle of death. It steamed round the windows, an evil genii seeking entrance to kill. Rags in the broken panes, yellowing newspaper pasted over the cracks offered what resistance the tenants could afford. Was this Glasgow? Presently Mclntyre stopped before a drinking bouse more pretentious and better lighted than the rest. “Pull your cap over your eyes and get deeper into your coat,” he muttered, “and look as if you’ve been here afore.” Round the low-ceilinged room which was lighted by a flaring gas outfit lounged or sat a dozen men. Some were reading, some smoking, some drinking, and all seemed drowsy. Young fellows predominated-. As we sat down there was a momentary silence and an exchange of glances. Apparently our coming stimulated little interest, for they all fell to low talking again. All were dressed much alike, in tweed caps, tweed coats, mufflers round their throats, similar threadbare trousers and shabby boots. AU were sallow-coraplexioned, hollowcheeked and had prominent eyes. It seemed at first that the gaslight affected an illusion of pallor, but McIntyre’s weather-beaten face glowed with t its usual splendid bronze. Circumstances being what they were I should not have been surprised had my companion whispered that we had intruded into a hotbed of revolutionary anarchists. Mclntyre divined my thoughts. “Harmless,” he said quietly. “They’re talking about horses. Poor as rats, but always got a bob for the horses. How do they live? They don’t j live; they exist, and God alone knows j how! But they’ve always got a shilling for a bet. Aye. the dole and a j bit o’ work here and there. Most of ’em have no’ liad a regular job for months. You saw all those empty slipways when we were cornin’ up the Clyde. Aye, Scotland’s empty cradles. These lads, some of them get a work when Harland and Wolff or other of | the shipbuilders get an order. They carry hot rivets and that sort o’ thing. Since the war foreigners have got the trade and all these puir devils ha’ got to go hungry—but ye’ll notice they’ve always got a bit for the horses.” The ale was beginning to loosen the sailor’s tongue. “It shakes you up, all the sights hereaboots? They never told you this in the guide books, eh? What do the geography books say’ 7 ‘Glasgow: largest city in Scotland, a million population, has many beautiful buildings, notable of which are the University, the Cathedral of St. i Mungo, the Municipal Offices; cheap- !

est and finest tram service in the world, also the world's greatest shipbuilding centre.’ “You people in New Zealand are all of a flutter because ye’ve a bit o’ unemployment. A few thousands maybe. Well, in Glesca there’s 30,000 lookin’ for work since the war. And everybody except those who have no' got a job has stopped worryin*—including the Government. . . . They’re used to it and when you’ve been here a week ye’ll no be worryin’—ye'll get used to it.”